It’ll end up on giant screens and promotional posters and videos before they fight. When ring announcers welcome them at the beginning of the fight, and call them out as the winner at the end, it’s all part of it.
It’s what made Marvin Hagler “Marvelous,” Ray Leonard, Ray Robinson and Shane Mosley three lumps of “Sugar” and Muhammad Ali simply “The Greatest.” Names are names, but a nickname is a moniker that becomes part of a fighter almost as much as the way they attack in the ring.
It’s a descriptor that follows them throughout their career and their lives. Yes, other sports have players with nicknames, but in team sports it can get lost, outside of a few rare exceptions.
But in boxing, where there are only two fighters in the ring, it becomes something more — especially when it’s emblazoned on a fighter’s trunks.
“It describes your alter ego,” Claressa Shields said. “I think people get confused when they feel like fighters are the same person they are inside the ring as they are outside the ring. A lot of us are completely different.”
Nicknames mean different things for everyone and cover a spectrum — from the ludicrous to the meaningful, to something random that just kind of stuck. They can be used as differentiators for people with common names, and as a way to try and create excitement and brand recognition for fans.
“Money” became a way of life for Floyd Mayweather — his lifestyle brand is called “The Money Team,” or TMT for short. “Golden Boy” enveloped a lot of Oscar De La Hoya’s persona, and became the name of his boxing promotions company. “Raging Bull” became more than a nickname for Jake LaMotta — it turned into a 1980 classic movie nominated for eight Academy Awards and nabbed Robert DeNiro the Oscar for Best Actor.
We spoke to some of today’s fighters to understand the origins of their nicknames.
Teofimo Lopez: “The Takeover”
Teofimo Lopez and his sister, Andrea, were sitting at home in Las Vegas in 2017, kicking around ideas. Trying to think of a catchphrase more than a nickname — something to describe Lopez’s lofty career aspirations.
“I think it has a statement or a stamp on it that that is yours,” Lopez said about having a nickname. In thinking of fighters like Mayweather and “Iron” Mike Tyson, they were certain that Lopez needed something.
“I was like, ‘Let’s do ‘The Takeover.” She said, ‘We taking over the world,'” Lopez said. “I said, ‘Say that again.’ And I put ‘The.’ And she put ‘Takeover.’ And we just put it together, man.”
By 2018, Lopez and his team started really pushing “The Takeover” as a concept, not knowing if it would actually stick. They thought it might, but Lopez put on the full court press as he tried to mention it in every conversation and social media post he could.
By osmosis, it became his nickname — a transition from “El Brooklyn.” He still likes “El Brooklyn,” as it ties into where he comes from. Lopez fought as “El Brooklyn” in New York. But as he grew, “The Takeover” made a lot more sense.
It serves a dual purpose. Besides sticking with fans, it sends a message of what he’s trying to accomplish.
“When you think of ‘Takeover,’ it’s everything. The world and everything in it,” Lopez said. “And that’s what it comes to, and that’s what I’m trying to imply. Teofimo is not just going to be a name that you only hear once.”
Tyson Fury: “The Gypsy King”
The King of the Gypsies is real and, as Tyson Fury tells it, he has lineage on both sides of his family who were once “The Gypsy King”: Uriah Burton and Bartley Gorman. They fought bare-knuckle. While Fury does not, he said he earned the title of “The Gypsy King” after beating Wladimir Klitschko in 2015 to win the WBA, IBF and WBO heavyweight titles. And, unlike the titles he did let go for a period of time, he hasn’t relinquished the nickname since.
“I always knew I’d become ‘The Gypsy King’ and that’s the ultimate nickname,” Fury said. “I always aspired to be the best, always wanted to be the heavyweight champion of the world. And there’s a lot of honor and respect that comes with my inherited title because there’s gypsies in every country in the world.
“I don’t know if you notice, but they always come and support me. Whatever country I go to in the world, there’s gypsies there and I am ‘The Gypsy King.’ So they all come to support me.”
Fury said he’s declined other awarded British titles of nobility because of his respect for the honor of being “The Gypsy King.” And it’s a title he doesn’t plan on giving it up for a long, long time.
Fury also wants to have the star power of someone bigger than a boxer — rather that of a crossover star or even a musician, mentioning Elvis and one of his personal favorites, Tom Jones.
Boxing, he says, is merely the beginning of a journey.
“Gypsy King is a badass mother—–,” Fury said. “That’s what you should know. He’s a bad man. He’s taking over.”
Claressa Shields: “GWOAT”
Claressa Shields finally decided it was time for a change. For years, since she was a kid starting out in boxing, Shields had gone by “T-Rex.” It was on her gear. Heck, it was the name of the 2015 documentary made about her life.
But things have changed. She is one of the best, if not the best, female boxer in the world. She won her professional MMA debut with only months of training. So she saw the need for an update.
“GWOAT, Greatest Woman of All Time, goes into like I’m boxing now, I’m two-time undisputed, three-time division world champion,” Shields said. “I’m [a] MMA fighter, 1-0 with one knockout. I just felt GWOAT fit me better now because really I can handle any boxing style, any weight class, any sport.
“You got MMA, you got boxing. And I’m just kind of like, great, all around. So I just thought it was time to go ahead and just change it permanently and just let ‘T-Rex’ go.”
Shields said she made the decision on the switch after her fight against Marie Eve Dicaire in March on a pay-per-view card she headlined. The win made her a two-division undisputed champion and a three-division world champion, as well as the first boxer in the four-belt era to hold undisputed championships in two weight classes.
She believes her longtime fans saw the process and had waited for her to make the switch. It’s also a nickname she coined and trademarked in 2019 for use on clothing and other gear.
“It’s definitely been picking up a whole lot of momentum in the past year,” Shields said.
Her now-former nickname, “T-Rex,” came from the start of her career when she was age 11 and described her fighting style — a kid at the time, she was tall and lanky with fairly short arms. So the guy she sparred with called her “T-Rex.”‘
“He said, ‘Because your arms are short and you be looking like a little dinosaur when you trying to get us,'” Shields said. “He kind of did a little T-Rex arms and his mouth open and I just started cracking up.”
Childhood laughter led to a realization there was a catchiness to it, turning it into one of the most known nicknames in boxing. Throughout her career, that includes headlining her own pay-per-view card earlier this year, she kept her T-Rex moniker.
But she knew at some point it would be going away. That as her career progressed, she would want something a little different.
While she won’t have an issue being connected to “T-Rex,” she feels like she’s in a situation similar to when Floyd Mayweather switched from “Pretty Boy” to “Money.”
“I’ll always have ‘T-Rex’ inside of me,” Shields said. “But I just felt like ‘The Greatest Woman of All Time’ is ‘T-Rex’ times 10.”
Sebastian Fundora: “The Towering Inferno”
It makes sense that the then-20-year-old Sebastian Fundora had never heard of ‘”The Towering Inferno”‘ when it was suggested to him as a nickname in 2018.
The 1974 Paul Newman-Steve McQueen film came out 25 years before Fundora was born. But when he signed with promoter Sampson Lewkowicz, there was talk of a nickname.
Fundora is 6-foot-6, so Lewkowicz suggested “The Towering Inferno.” Fundora wasn’t really looking for a nickname, but four years later, it remains.
“I didn’t know what it was,” Fundora said. “It was just another nickname for my height. I didn’t really care for it that much, but people really started to like it. So if it works, it works.”
It was a stroke of ingenuity. Fundora feels his fighting style fits the name, despite still never having seen the movie. He feels his high punch rate makes sense with the moniker that first grew on him when he started fighting on television.
Now one of the rising junior middleweight prospects, he’s comfortable with the name and doesn’t mind it. “Why,” he says, “change a good thing?” So good, in fact, he might even decide to see a movie that’s considered one of the better disaster movies of all time.
“That gives me more of a reason to watch it,” Fundora said. “No one tells me that. They just tell me that it’s an old movie.”
Gabriela Fundora: “Sweet Poison”
Freddy Fundora tried to give nicknames to all of his boxing children, other than Sebastian. When he saw his daughter take to boxing, he was struck with an idea: “Sweet Poison,” because it fit her personality.
There’s a connection to the comic book villain Poison Ivy, and the play-on names went from there.
“Outside of the ring I’m a girly girl and I’m always very feminine,” Fundora said. “But then when I go inside the ring, I’m a beast and I’ll destroy whoever goes in my way.”
The 19-year-old junior bantamweight had initially considered “Twisted Sister,” but then decided that would work better on her younger sister instead.
So far, it’s worked. The 5-foot-9 Fundora, who turned pro in May, has won her first four fights.
Danielle Perkins: “Skippity Paps”
Perhaps the weirdest nickname in boxing came from videos of a cat. Seriously. Danielle Perkins, a heavyweight who used to play college basketball at St. John’s, started saying “Give ’em the Skippity Paps” after watching videos of cats on their hind legs moving their front paws.
Fellow USA boxer Naomi Graham was aware of Perkins’ infatuation and called Perkins “Skippity Paps” for the first time. Perkins laughed. So she went with it, even starting to wear t-shirts with cats on them while sparring.
Then she started wearing cat t-shirts for sparring.
“They are all different cats,” Perkins said. “When I go to spar. It just keeps it light.
“I do try to break people’s jaws when I hit them. The least I can do is show up and be friendly.”
Jared Anderson: “The Real Big Baby”
When Jared Anderson was at the Toledo Power gym starting out as a boxer, others would come in, see his size at that time — almost 6-feet, 200 pounds — and wonder how old he was. When they were told he was 13 or 14, most people didn’t believe it.
Since it was a gym that was as much a boxing training center as it was a place for average humans to try and lose weight or gain mass, they would continually be taken by surprise.
“It’s like, ‘Wow, this kid is huge, but he’s still a baby for real,'” Anderson said. “So it just kind of stuck. They always used to say it. I really didn’t like it in the beginning, but it was a good name.”
It followed him through his time with Team USA. When he turned pro in 2018, Anderson considered changing it. He even floated out some possibilities on Facebook — one being the “T-Town Bully.” For the quasi-contest on social media, he had different logos made up by a friend’s cousin and then let fans decide.
“A lot of my older fans told me the bully wasn’t a good look,” Anderson said. “Nobody really likes a bully and I understood it and where it was coming from. I kind of liked the name at first, being young-minded, but it’s good for promotional reasons and everything.
“Plus, I was never like that, I was never a bully in school or anything, so it’s not good to pretend to be something you’re not.”
And so “Big Baby” still won out. Anderson said he’s done shopping for nicknames. It might not be the most original name in the world — former NBA player Glen Davis and fellow heavyweight Jarrell Miller are nicknamed “Big Baby,” too — but he’s “The Real” Big Baby, and it works for him.
Jamel Herring: “Semper Fi”
Herring’s nickname is self-explanatory. As a former Marine, it just made sense — even if at first he didn’t care whether or not he had a nickname at all.
“It just fit,” Herring said. “‘Once a Marine, Always a Marine’ is what we go by, and ‘Semper Fi’ means ‘Always Faithful.’ I took it as I always stayed faithful to the Corps, always stayed faithful to my craft in boxing.
“So that’s why I’ll continue to stick with ‘Semper Fi’ as my nickname.”
Herring sees parallels in his time with the Marines — two deployments to Iraq in 2005 and 2007 — and his career in boxing. He credits how he mentally handled fighting to his time in the Corps, where he dealt with difficult situations constantly — enough to have a book written about his life.
He thought about changing his nickname at one point in his career, but then Herring saw it mattered for reasons bigger than himself. When other current and ex-Marines heard the nickname, they knew he was one of them. He found Marines began rooting for him because of it. They felt connected to him.
And even though he’s the WBO junior lightweight champion, he prefers “Marine” to “Champ” when people call out to him.
“I don’t have to say much. They just know,” Herring said. “Sometimes they’ll say ‘Hey Marine,’ before ‘Hey, Champ.’ That tells you right there, where I came from.”
Josh Taylor: “The Tartan Tornado”
Taylor was sparring with experienced pros before his debut and was dominating, so much so that people in the gym started calling him “The Tornado.” Taylor liked it, but being Scottish is part of his pride, part of his soul. So he wanted something clearly Scottish in there as well.
“So I said, ‘What about ‘The Tartan Tornado,'” Taylor said. “And we stuck with that.”
While that’s the public nickname, there is another one his friends call him with a deeper backstory. Sometimes, Taylor goes by another name: “Hank.”
“Hank” is derived from the 2000 Jim Carrey comedy “Me, Myself and Irene,” where Carrey played a Rhode Island state trooper with dual personalities — Charlie Baileygates, and his alter-ego, Hank.
“Hank” doesn’t necessarily describe Taylor’s personality, but rather a combination of what he does in the ring and some poor decisions with his locks.
“In one sparring and training camp, I went and got a haircut and the barber butchered me and gave me a ‘Hank’ haircut,” Taylor said. “Went back to the gym and was shadowboxing and [former two-division world champion] Carl Frampton came up with ‘Hank.’
“It kind of stuck. Sometimes in the gym, I’m hyperactive and a bit crazy sometimes …”
Taylor prefers to go by “The Tartan Tornado” — “Hank” is more of an inside joke — but he doesn’t mind it. It suits his boxing style, how he moves and, yes, the haircut he still has to this day.
Thoroughbred racing suffered its most ignominious, industry-deflating moment 50 years ago today with the breakdown of Ruffian, an undefeated filly running against Foolish Pleasure in a highly promoted match race at Belmont Park. Her tragic end on July 6, 1975, was a catastrophe for the sport, and observers say racing has never truly recovered.
Two years earlier, during the rise of second-wave feminism, the nation had been mesmerized by a “Battle of the Sexes” tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs. King’s win became a rallying cry for women everywhere. The New York Racing Association, eager to boost daily racing crowds in the mid-1970s, proposed a competition similar to that of King and Riggs. They created a match race between Kentucky Derby winner Foolish Pleasure and Ruffian, the undefeated filly who had dominated all 10 of her starts, leading gate to wire.
“In any sport, human or equine, it’s really impossible to say who was the greatest,” said outgoing Jockey Club chairman Stuart Janney III, whose parents, Stuart and Barbara, owned Ruffian. “But I’m always comfortable thinking of Ruffian as being among the four to five greatest horses of all time.”
Ruffian, nearly jet black in color and massive, was the equine version of a Greek goddess. At the age of 2, her girth — the measurement of the strap that secures the saddle — was just over 75 inches. Comparatively, racing legend Secretariat, a male, had a 76-inch girth when he was fully developed at the age of 4.
Her name also added to the aura. “‘Ruffian’ was a little bit of a stretch because it tended to be what you’d name a colt, but it turned out to be an appropriate name,” Janney said.
On May 22, 1974, Ruffian equaled a Belmont Park track record, set by a male, in her debut at age 2, winning by 15 lengths. She set a stakes record later that summer at Saratoga in the Spinaway, the most prestigious race of the year for 2-year-old fillies. The next spring, she blew through races at longer distances, including the three races that made up the so-called Filly Triple Crown.
Some in the media speculated that she had run out of female competition.
Foolish Pleasure had meanwhile ripped through an undefeated 2-year-old season with championship year-end honors. However, after starting his sophomore campaign with a win, he finished third in the Florida Derby. He also had recovered from injuries to his front feet to win the Wood Memorial and then the Kentucky Derby.
Second-place finishes in the Preakness and Belmont Stakes left most observers with the idea that Foolish Pleasure was the best 3-year-old male in the business.
Following the Belmont Stakes, New York officials wanted to test the best filly against the best colt.
The original thought was to include the Preakness winner, Master Derby, in the Great Match Race, but the team of Foolish Pleasure’s owner, trainer and rider didn’t want a three-horse race. Since New York racing had guaranteed $50,000 to the last-place horse, they paid Master Derby’s connections $50,000 not to race. Thus, the stage was set for an equine morality play.
“[Ruffian’s] abilities gave her the advantage in the match race,” Janney said. “If she could do what she did in full fields [by getting the early lead], then it was probably going to be even more effective in a match.”
Several ballyhooed match races in sports history had captured the world’s attention without incident — Seabiscuit vs. Triple Crown winner War Admiral in 1938, Alsab vs. Triple Crown winner Whirlaway in 1942, and Nashua vs. Swaps in 1955. None of those races, though, had the gender divide “it” factor.
The Great Match Race attracted 50,000 live attendees and more than 18 million TV viewers on CBS, comparable to the Grammy Awards and a pair of NFL “Sunday Night Football” games in 2024.
Prominent New York sportswriter Dick Young wrote at the time that, for women, “Ruffian was a way of getting even.”
“I can remember driving up the New Jersey Turnpike, and the lady that took the toll in one of those booths was wearing a button that said, ‘I’m for her,’ meaning Ruffian,” Janney said.
As the day approached, Ruffian’s rider, Jacinto Vasquez, who also was the regular rider of Foolish Pleasure including at the Kentucky Derby, had to choose whom to ride for the match race.
“I had ridden Foolish Pleasure, and I knew what he could do,” Vasquez told ESPN. “But I didn’t think he could beat the filly. He didn’t have the speed or stamina.”
Braulio Baeza, who had ridden Foolish Pleasure to victory in the previous year’s premier 2-year-old race, Hopeful Stakes, was chosen to ride Foolish Pleasure.
“I had ridden Foolish Pleasure and ridden against Ruffian,” Baeza said, with language assistance from his wife, Janice Blake. “I thought Foolish Pleasure was better than Ruffian. She just needed [early race] pressure because no one had ever pressured her.”
The 1⅛ mile race began at the start of the Belmont Park backstretch in the chute. In an ESPN documentary from 2000, Jack Whitaker, who hosted the race telecast for CBS, noted that the atmosphere turned eerie with dark thunderclouds approaching before the race.
Ruffian hit the side of the gate when the doors opened but straightened herself out quickly and assumed the lead. “The whole world, including me, thought that Ruffian was going to run off the screen and add to her legacy,” said longtime New York trainer Gary Contessa, who was a teenager when Ruffian ruled the racing world.
However, about ⅛ of a mile into the race, the force of Ruffian’s mighty strides snapped two bones in her front right leg.
“When she broke her leg, it sounded like a broken stick,” Vasquez said. “She broke her leg between her foot and her ankle. When I pulled up, the bone was shattered above the ankle. She couldn’t use that leg at all.”
It took Ruffian a few moments to realize what had happened to her, so she continued to run. Vasquez eventually hopped off and kept his shoulder leaning against her for support.
“You see it, but you don’t want to believe it,” Janney said.
Baeza had no choice but to have Foolish Pleasure finish the race in what became a macabre paid workout. The TV cameras followed him, but the eyes of everyone at the track were on the filly, who looked frightened as she was taken back to the barn area.
“When Ruffian broke down, time stood still that day,” Contessa said. Yet time was of the essence in an attempt to save her life.
Janney said that Dr. Frank Stinchfield — who was the doctor for the New York Yankees then and was “ahead of his time in fixing people’s bones” — called racing officials to see whether there was anything he could do to help with Ruffian.
New York veterinarian Dr. Manny Gilman managed to sedate Ruffian, performed surgery on her leg and, with Stinchfield’s help, secured her leg in an inflatable cast. When Ruffian woke up in the middle of the night, though, she started fighting and shattered her bones irreparably. Her team had no choice but to euthanize her at approximately 2:20 a.m. on July 7.
“She was going full bore trying to get in front of [Foolish Pleasure] out of the gate,” Baeza said. “She gave everything there. She gave her life.”
Contessa described the time after as a “stilled hush over the world.”
“When we got the word that she had rebroken her leg, the whole world was crying,” Contessa said. “I can’t reproduce the feeling that I had the day after.”
The Janneys soon flew to Maine for the summer, and they received a round of applause when the pilot announced their presence. At the cottage, they were met by thousands of well-wishing letters.
“We all sat there, after dinner every night, and we wrote every one of them back,” Janney said. “It was pretty overwhelming, and that didn’t stop for a long time. I still get letters.”
Equine fatalities have been part of the business since its inception, like the Triple Crown races and Breeders’ Cup. Some have generated headlines by coming in clusters, such as Santa Anita in 2019 and Churchill Downs in 2023. However, breakdowns are not the only factor, and likely not the most influential one, in the gradual decline of horse racing’s popularity in this country.
But the impact from the day of Ruffian’s death, and that moment, has been ongoing for horse racing.
“There are people who witnessed the breakdown and never came back,” Contessa said.
Said Janney: “At about that time, racing started to disappear from the national consciousness. The average person knows about the Kentucky Derby, and that’s about it.”
Equine racing today is a safer sport now than it was 50 years ago. The Equine Injury Database, launched by the Jockey Club in 2008, says the fatality rate nationally in 2024 was just over half of what it was at its launch.
“We finally have protocols that probably should have been in effect far sooner than this,” Contessa said. “But the protocols have made this a safer game.”
Said Vasquez: “There are a lot of nice horses today, but to have a horse like Ruffian, it’s unbelievable. Nobody could compare to Ruffian.”
ESPN baseball reporter. Covered the Washington Wizards from 2014 to 2016 and the Washington Nationals from 2016 to 2018 for The Washington Post before covering the Los Angeles Dodgers and MLB for the Los Angeles Times from 2018 to 2024.
NEW YORK — A blunder that typifies the current state of the New York Yankees, who find themselves in the midst of their second six-game losing streak in three weeks, happened in front of 41,401 fans at Citi Field on Saturday, and almost nobody noticed.
The Yankees were jogging off the field after securing the third out of the fourth inning of their 12-6 loss to the Mets when shortstop Anthony Volpe, as is standard for teams across baseball at the end of innings, threw the ball to right fielder Aaron Judge as he crossed into the infield from right field.
Only Judge wasn’t looking, and the ball nailed him in the head, knocking his sunglasses off and leaving a small cut near his right eye. The wound required a bandage to stop the bleeding, but Judge stayed in the game.
“Confusion,” Yankees manager Aaron Boone said. “I didn’t know what happened initially. [It just] felt like something happened. Of course I was a little concerned.”
Avoiding an injury to the best player in baseball was on the Yankees’ very short list of positives in another sloppy, draining defeat to their crosstown rivals. With the loss, the Yankees, who held a three-game lead over the Toronto Blue Jays in the American League East standings entering June 30, find themselves tied with the Tampa Bay Rays for second place three games behind the Blue Jays heading into Sunday’s Subway Series finale.
The nosedive has been fueled by messy defense and a depleted pitching staff that has encountered a wall.
“It’s been a terrible week,” said Boone, who before the game announced starter Clarke Schmidt will likely undergo season-ending Tommy John surgery.
For the second straight day, the Mets capitalized on mistakes and cracked timely home runs. After slugging three homers in Friday’s series opener, the Mets hit three more Saturday — a grand slam in the first inning from Brandon Nimmo to take a 4-0 lead and two home runs from Pete Alonso to widen the gap.
Nimmo’s blast — his second grand slam in four days — came after Yankees left fielder Jasson Dominguez misplayed a ball hit by the Mets’ leadoff hitter in the first inning. On Friday, he misread Nimmo’s line drive and watched it sail over his head for a double. On Saturday, he was slow to react to Starling Marte’s flyball in the left-center field gap and braked without catching or stopping it, allowing Marte to advance to second for a double. Yankees starter Carlos Rodon then walked two batters to load the bases for Nimmo, who yanked a mistake, a 1-2 slider over the wall.
“That slider probably needs to be down,” said Rodon, who allowed seven runs (six earned) over five innings. “A lot of misses today and they punished them.”
Jazz Chisholm Jr.’s throwing woes at third base — a position the Yankees have asked him to play to accommodate DJ LeMahieu at second base — continued in the second inning when he fielded Tyrone Taylor’s groundball and sailed a toss over first baseman Cody Bellinger’s head. Taylor was given second base and scored moments later on Marte’s RBI single.
The Yankees were charged with their second error in the Mets’ four-run seventh inning when center fielder Trent Grisham charged Francisco Lindor’s single up the middle and had it bounce off the heel of his glove.
The mistake allowed a run to score from second base without a throw, extending the Mets lead back to three runs after the Yankees had chipped their deficit, and allowed a heads-up Lindor to advance to second base. Lindor later scored on Alonso’s second home run, a three-run blast off left-hander Jayvien Sandridge in the pitcher’s major league debut.
“Just got to play better,” Judge said. “That’s what it comes down to. It’s fundamentals. Making a routine play, routine. It’s just the little things. That’s what it kind of comes down to. But every good team goes through a couple bumps in the road.”
This six-game losing skid has looked very different from the Yankees’ first. That rough patch, consisting of losses to the Boston Red Sox and Los Angeles Angels, was propelled by offensive troubles. The Yankees scored six runs in the six games and gave up just 16. This time, run prevention is the issue; the Yankees have scored 34 runs and surrendered 54 in four games against the Blue Jays in Toronto and two in Queens.
“The offense is starting to swing the bat, put some runs on the board,” Boone said. “The pitching, which has kind of carried us a lot this season, has really, really struggled this week. We haven’t caught the ball as well as I think we should.
“So, look, when you live it and you’re going through it, it sucks, it hurts. But you got to be able to handle it. You got to be able to deal with it. You got to be able to weather it and come out of this and grow.”
Bobby Jenks, a two-time All-Star pitcher for the Chicago White Sox who was on the roster when the franchise won the 2005 World Series, died Friday in Sintra, Portugal, the team announced.
Jenks, 44, who had been diagnosed with adenocarcinoma, a form of stomach cancer, this year, spent six seasons with the White Sox from 2005 to 2010 and also played for the Boston Red Sox in 2011. The reliever finished his major league career with a 16-20 record, 3.53 ERA and 173 saves.
“We have lost an iconic member of the White Sox family today,” White Sox chairman Jerry Reinsdorf said in a statement. “None of us will ever forget that ninth inning of Game 4 in Houston, all that Bobby did for the 2005 World Series champions and for the entire Sox organization during his time in Chicago. He and his family knew cancer would be his toughest battle, and he will be missed as a husband, father, friend and teammate. He will forever hold a special place in all our hearts.”
After Jenks moved to Portugal last year, he was diagnosed with a deep vein thrombosis in his right calf. That eventually spread into blood clots in his lungs, prompting further testing. He was later diagnosed with adenocarcinoma and began undergoing radiation.
In February, as Jenks was being treated for the illness, the White Sox posted “We stand with you, Bobby” on Instagram, adding in the post that the club was “thinking of Bobby as he is being treated.”
In 2005, as the White Sox ended an 88-year drought en route to the World Series title, Jenks appeared in six postseason games. Chicago went 11-1 in the playoffs, and he earned saves in series-clinching wins in Game 3 of the ALDS at Boston, and Game 4 of the World Series against the Houston Astros.
In 2006, Jenks saved 41 games, and the following year, he posted 40 saves. He also retired 41 consecutive batters in 2007, matching a record for a reliever.
“You play for the love of the game, the joy of it,” Jenks said in his last interview with SoxTV last year. “It’s what I love to do. I [was] playing to be a world champion, and that’s what I wanted to do from the time I picked up a baseball.”
A native of Mission Hills, California, Jenks appeared in 19 games for the Red Sox and was originally drafted by the then-Anaheim Angels in the fifth round of the 2000 draft.
Jenks is survived by his wife, Eleni Tzitzivacos, their two children, Zeno and Kate, and his four children from a prior marriage, Cuma, Nolan, Rylan and Jackson.
