Do you call Derek Jeter… Derek? Or Jeter? Or Mr. Jeter? Or do you just… not?
Once I saw Adam Fox walking out of a Sweetgreen.
That’s not the point of the story, but I feel like you need to know that for context. Because the point is—what do you do when you see an athlete in public? More specifically, what do you say? I don’t mean like, if you should go up to them or not. That’s a different ethical dilemma and one I am wildly unqualified to settle because I still haven’t figured out whether I’m supposed to say “you too” when the waitress says “enjoy your meal.”
No. I mean: how do you address them?
See, with hockey guys, I only ever really think of them as last names. Panarin. Fox. Shesterkin. You hear the announcer yell it over and over, and now that’s the only name your brain uses. I’ve never in my life referred to Jonathan Quick as “Jonathan.” It feels… illegal?
But then I saw Adam Fox—and, again, this was just a Sweetgreen, like a Tuesday afternoon vibe, not glamorous at all—and I had this bizarre moment of identity crisis. Because I thought, “Should I say hi? Should I say… Fox? Foxy? Adam?” And suddenly it hit me that I don’t know how to talk to any of these guys. I know their PPG and their ice time per shift and their goals against average when they’re on the ice with Trouba, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to say “Hey, Adam!” or “Sup, Fox” or “Mr. Fox, sir, love your work.”
And don’t get me started on Yankees players. Aaron Judge? You call him “Judge,” and you sound like a twelve-year-old trying to impress your friend’s dad. You call him “Aaron,” and now it feels like you’re trying to sell him solar panels. “Excuse me, Aaron—have you considered lowering your utility bill?” No thanks.
Maybe it’s a New York thing. These guys have such massive presences—posters in subway stations, endless replays on the YES Network, their names floating over skyline shots in grainy MSG montages. They’re like semi-mythical. You’re not supposed to talk to them. They’re part of your life, but not your world.
I think if I ran into Jeter (hypothetically—he’s probably in some Miami penthouse filled with rare wines and even rarer humility), I’d short-circuit completely. What do you say to Derek Jeter? “Hi, Derek”? That sounds so wrong. “Hi, Mr. Jeter”? Now I sound like I’m there to interview for a job at the Player’s Tribune. “Hi, Captain”? Weird military energy. Probably a no.
So here’s where I’ve landed: if you see an athlete in public, you should just sort of give them a respectful nod like you’re both characters in a Scorsese movie. You don’t say a name. You don’t force a moment. You just acknowledge that you both exist, briefly, in the same world—even if one of you is there for a salad and the other is spiraling into an existential crisis over what to call strangers who score goals for your favorite team.
Anyway, I didn’t say anything to Adam Fox.
I got something with goat cheese and ran outside, both of which I immediately regretted.
Life goes on.
– NYking99