When you're named Buster, you meet dozens and dozens of dogs and cats that share your name. But the only adult human I've met with the same name as my own 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 doing?" I responded. He doesn't show it often, but Posey has a very dry sense of humor, and so we have continued to awkwardly greet each other in that manner ever since. (Even though this first name has been handed down in his family, I'd venture a guess that he, like I, has probably greeted more pets named Buster than people.)
Luckily, even though we're both Busters in baseball, the facts of our jobs and lives have been different enough that we're not often confused. Sure, there have been many times that I've been introduced on television or radio as Buster Posey -- including by Scott Van Pelt on SportsCenter -- but it's never gone farther than a clear misidentification. Posey is one of the best athletes of his sport, a former college shortstop converted to catcher whose Cooperstown candidacy may lead to a broader reassessment of Hall of Fame credentials for the position, and I am -- well -- me.
At least until five or six years ago, when the most difficult podcast interview I've ever had happened. A really, really famous star -- unnamed here, to protect the innocent -- enthusiastically (and surprisingly) agreed to join the show. And about one or two questions into our conversation, I realized that this really, really famous star thought he was speaking to podcast host Buster Posey, championship catcher, not Buster Olney, schlubby sportswriter.
