At this point, I have been internally pronouncing Damyean Dotson’s first name as “Dam-Yeen” for far too long. There is no going back to the correct pronunciation. The funny pronunciation is too deeply ingrained in my brain.
However, thanks to the smooth announcing of one Clyde Frazier, I have been informed that Dotson’s nickname is either “Dot” or “Dots”. If I can start using either one of those whenever I’m thinking about Dotson, then I don’t have to feel bad that I’ve made a mockery of hir first name. It will take some effort on my part, but I think I can make this mental U-turn given enough time, especially when you factor in that just “Dots” is a lot easier to think/say than the deliberate mispronunciation of “Dam-Yeen”.
The downside of this new nickname (which might not actually be that new; I don’t watch enough Knicks games to catch everything that their announcers say) is that thinking of it will inevitably remind me of the time-tested, quintessentially American, frozen pseudo-ice-cream treat known as Dippin’ Dots. I never get to have Dippin’ Dots. I haven’t had Dippin’ Dots in almost two decades. But not a week goes by where I don’t think to myself “Man, I want some Dippin’ Dots so god damn bad right now.”
I can imagine that my unholy cravings for the delicious frozen snack (most commonly sold at sports stadiums) will reach such an intensity that I will do heinous, possibly illegal, definitely unethical things to get the delectable confection into my mouth. If DTB unexpectedly goes dark, it’s because I got arrested. I can only hope that I will have consumed at least half a serving of Dippin’ Dots before they slap the cuffs on me.