When you are called Buster, you meet dozens and dozens of dogs and cats that share your name. But the only adult man I’ve met with the same name as me is Buster Posey, who called me in 2010, at the request of his agent, for a story I was working on.
“Hey, Buster … it’s Buster,” he said.
“Buster, how are you?” I replied. He doesn’t show it often, but Posey has a very dry sense of humor, and that’s why we continue to clumsily greet each other that way. (Although this first name was passed down in his family, I would venture to assume that he, like me, probably greeted more pets named Buster than humans.)
Fortunately, even though we are both Busters in baseball, the facts of our jobs and lives have been quite different that we are not often confused. Sure, many times I’ve been featured on TV or radio as Buster Posey – including Scott Van Pelt at SportsCenter – but it has never gone further than a clear misidentification. Posey is one of the best athletes in his sport, a former college freshman converted to a catcher whose Cooperstown candidacy could lead to a broader re-evaluation of Hall of Fame credentials for the position, and I’m – well – me.
At least until five or six years ago, when the most difficult podcast interview I ever had took place. A really, really famous star – unnamed here, to protect the innocent – enthusiastically (and surprisingly) agreed to join the show. And on one or two questions in our conversation, I noticed that this really, really famous star thought he was talking to podcast host Buster Posey, a championship catcher, not Buster Olney, a schlubby sports journalist.