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English English language Etymology Expression Football Language Phrase origin Sports Usage Word origin

How ‘super’ and ‘bowl’ touched down

Q: After reading  your recent article about Hank Stram’s coining a football sense of “matriculate,” I remembered reading a long way back that Stram also coined “Super Bowl.”

A: No, Hank Stram didn’t coin the term “Super Bowl.” The first person to use it for the football championship game was Lamar Hunt, owner of the Kansas City Chiefs. Interestingly, Hunt had hired Stram, then a little-known assistant football coach at the University of Miami, as the first head coach of the Chiefs.

Hunt used the term on July 15, 1966, in a discussion with Joe McGuff, sports editor of the Kansas City Star, about a merger between the American Football League and the National Football League:

“I think one of the first things we’ll consider is the site of the Super bowl—that’s my term for the championship game between the two leagues” (Kansas City Star, July 17, 1966). The “b” of “bowl” was capitalized the next day in an Associated Press article that appeared in dozens of other newspapers.

Hunt suggested later that he may have thought of the name because his two children, Lamar Jr., then 10, and Sharon, 8, were playing all the time with a bouncy toy called the Super Ball.

The term had shown up a few years earlier in reference to a bowling championship: “What would they call the new Bowl game? The Super Bowl?” (Corona [CA] Daily Independent, Oct. 25, 1956). The term “bowl” here meant “place for bowling” or “event involving bowling,” according to the Oxford English Dictionary.

The OED says the football usage ultimately comes from the use of “bowl” to mean “an oval or bowl-shaped stadium intended or used primarily for college football; (later) a stadium known as a venue for bowl games.”

The dictionary’s earliest example, which we’ve expanded here, cites remarks by Arthur Twining Hadley, president of Yale University, about the naming of the Yale Bowl, the college football stadium in New Haven, CT:

“I am glad that Yale, in spite of its classical traditions, prefers the good old word ‘bowl,’ with its savor of manly English sport, to the ‘coliseum’ of the Romans or the ‘stadium’ of the Greeks” (Yale Alumni Weekly, July 4, 1913).

The OED suggests that “Super Bowl” was specifically influenced by “Rose Bowl” and “similar names of college championship games,” and cites this reference to the first football “bowl game,” played at the Rose Bowl Stadium in Pasadena, CA:

“Cougars inaugurated bowl game by beating Brown” (Salt Lake Tribune, Jan. 1, 1931).

Finally, let’s take a look at the origins of the word “bowl.” The noun, spelled bolen in Old English, is derived from bullǭ, a prehistoric Germanic root for a round object. The earliest OED citation is from Bald’s Leechbook, an Anglo-Saxon medical text written around the mid-ninth century.

This passage, which we’ve expanded by restoring an ellipsis, describes a treatment for toothache, which in ancient times was believed to be caused by parasitic tooth worms:

“Wið toþ wærce, gif wyrm ete, genim eald holen leaf & heorot crop neoþeweardne & saluian ufewearde, bewyl twy dæl on wætre, geot on bollan & geona ymb; þonne feallað þa wyrmas on þone bollan.”

(“For tooth ache, if worm eats [a tooth], take an old holly leaf & the lower part of heorot crop [perhaps hartwort] & the upper part of sage, boil two portions in water, pour into a bowl, and open [the mouth] over it; then the worms will fall into the bowl.”)

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Christmas English English language Etymology Expression Grammar Language Linguistics Phrase origin Punctuation Religion Usage Word origin Writing

Gentlemen, God rest you merry!

[Note: In observation of Christmas week, we’re republishing a post that originally appeared on Dec. 23, 2022.]

Q: Which is the more traditional version of this Christmas carol: “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen” or “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen”? I see it both ways, but the one with “you” looks better to me.

A: You’re right—“you” makes more sense than “ye” in this case, as we’ll explain later. In fact, the original pronoun in that early 18th-century carol was “you.”

But that isn’t the only misunderstanding associated with the song. There’s that wayward comma too. Here’s the story.

Beginning in the Middle Ages, English speakers used “rest you” or “rest thee” with a positive adjective (“merry,” “well,” “tranquil,” “happy,” “content”) to mean “remain in that condition.” (The verb “rest” is used in a somewhat similar sense today in the expressions “rest assured” and “rest easy.”)

In the earliest and most common of such expressions, the adjective was “merry,” according to citations in the Oxford English Dictionary. And at the time, “merry” had a meaning (happy, content, pleased) that’s now obsolete.

So in medieval English, the friendly salutation “rest you (or thee) merry” meant remain happy, content, or pleased. The OED explains it more broadly as “an expression of good wishes” that meant “peace and happiness to you.”

The form “rest you merry” was used in addressing two or more people, while “rest thee merry” was used for just one. This is because our modern word “you,” the second-person pronoun, originally had four principal forms: the subjects were “ye” (plural) and “thou” (singular); the objects were “you” (plural) and “thee” (singular). The expression we’re discussing required an object pronoun.

The OED’s earliest example of the expression, in 13th-century Middle English, shows a single person being addressed: “Rest þe [thee] murie, sire Daris” (the letter þ, a thorn, represented a “th” sound). From Floris and Blanchefleur (circa 1250), a popular romantic tale that dates from the 1100s in Old French.

As early as the mid-1200s, according to OED citations, “you” began to replace the other second-person pronouns. By the early 1500s, “you” was serving all four purposes in ordinary usage: objective and nominative, singular and plural.

As a result, the usual form of the old expression became “rest you merry” even when only one person was addressed. And it was often preceded by “God” as a polite salutation, with the meaning “may God grant you peace and happiness,” the OED says. The dictionary cites several early examples of the formula:

  • “o louynge [loving] frende god rest you mery.” From an instructional book, Floures for Latine Spekynge Gathered Oute of Terence (1534)by Nicholas Udall. (The English is presented as a translation of the Latin greeting Amice salue.)
  • “God rest you mery bothe and God be your guide.” From Like Wil to Like (1568), a morality play by Ulpian Fulwell.
  • “God rest you merry sir.” From Shakespeare’s As You Like It (c. 1600).

Soon after Shakespeare’s time, we find the formulaic “rest you merry” addressed to “gentlemen.” In plays of the 17th century in particular, it’s often spoken by a character in greeting or parting from friends.

The popular playwright John Fletcher, for example, used “rest you merry gentlemen” in at least two of his comedies: Wit Without Money (c. 1614) and Monsieur Thomas (c. 1610-16).

It also appears in several other comedies of the period, including works by the pseudonymous “J. D., Gent” (The Knave in Graine, 1640), Abraham Cowley (Cutter of Coleman-Street, 1658), Thomas Southland (Love a la Mode, 1663), and William Mountfort (Greenwich-Park, 1691).

In most of the 17th-century examples we’ve found, there’s no comma in “God rest you merry gentlemen.” When a comma does appear, it comes after “merry,” not before: “Rest you merry, gentlemen.”  This is because “rest you merry” is addressed to the “gentlemen.”

In his comedy Changes: or, Love in a Maze (1632), James Shirley has “Gentlemen, rest you merry,” a use that more clearly illustrates the sense of the expression and removes any ambiguity.

This brings us to the Christmas song “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen”— the title as given in The Oxford Book of Carols and other authoritative collections. The oldest existing printed version of the song was published around 1700, though the lyrics were probably known orally before that.

As the OED says, “rest you merry” is no longer used as an English expression; it survives only in the carol. But the syntax of the title, the dictionary adds, “is frequently misinterpreted, merry being understood as an adjective qualifying gentlemen.” So the comma is often misplaced after “you,” as if those addressed were “merry gentlemen.”

In fact, the carol originally had no title. The words first appeared, as far as we can tell, in a single-page broadsheet entitled Four Choice Carols for Christmas Holidays with only a generic designation—“Carol  I. On Christmas-Day.” The broadsheet had no music, either; the words were sung to a variety of tunes.

The sheet was probably published in 1700 or 1701, according to the database Early English Books Online. Some commentators have said the lyrics existed earlier, but we haven’t found any documents to show this. The other three songs on the sheet are designated “Carol II. On St. Stephen’s-Day,” “Carol III. On St. John’s-Day,” and “Carol IV. On Innocent’s-Day.”  Here’s a facsimile of the front side, with “Carol I” at left.

“God rest you merry Gentlemen” (without a comma) is the first line of “Carol I,” and it later became used as the title. It appeared as the title in some printings of the carol by the late 1700s.

But well into the 19th century the song was sometimes referred to simply as “Old Christmas Carol” (in Sam Weller, a play by William Thomas Moncreiff, London, 1837) or “A Christmas Carol” (in The Baltimore County Union, a weekly newspaper in Towsontown, MD, Dec. 23, 1865).

For the most part, music publishers over the years have printed the title with “you” (not “ye”) and with the comma after “merry,” a form that accurately represents the original meaning. But in books, newspapers, and other writing the title has also appeared with “ye,” a misplaced comma, or both.

Why the misplaced comma? Apparently the old senses of “rest” and “merry” were forgotten, and the title was reinterpreted in ordinary usage. It was understood to mean that a group of “merry gentlemen” were encouraged to relax and be jolly.

The OED’s earliest example of the misconception dates from the early 19th century, where Samuel Jackson Pratt refers to “God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen” as “a time-embrowned ditty” (Gleanings in England, 2nd ed., 1803).

And why the shift from “you” to “ye”?  Our guess is that it represents an attempt to make the carol sound older or more “traditional.” (Not coincidentally, “ye” began appearing in place of “you” in 18th- and 19th-century reprints of those old comedies we mentioned above, as if to make them more antique.)

We’ve found scores of “ye” versions of the carol dating from the 1840s onwards in ordinary British and American usage.

A search of Google’s Ngram viewer shows that “you” versions were predominant in books and journals until the mid-20th century. But in the 1960s, “ye” versions began to rise, and by the ’80s they had surpassed the “you” versions. (Placement of the comma isn’t searchable on Ngram.)

Today, both the “ye” and the misplaced comma are ubiquitous in common usage, despite the way the title is printed by most music publishers and academic presses.

Perhaps the music of the carol bears some of the blame for the wayward comma. While the song has had several different musical settings, it’s now sung to music, most likely imported from Europe, that some scholars believe was first published in Britain in 1796. And the tune doesn’t allow for a pause before “gentlemen,” so the ear doesn’t sense a comma there.

As the music scholar Edward Wickham writes, “The comprehension of whole sentences of text, when sung, relies in part on the perception of how those sentences are segmented and organised.”

“The music to the Christmas carol ‘God rest you merry, Gentlemen,’ ” Wickham says, “makes no provision for the comma and thus is routinely misunderstood as ‘God rest you, merry Gentlemen.’ ” (“Tales from Babel: Musical Adventures in the Science of Hearing,” a chapter in Experimental Affinities in Music, 2015, edited by Paulo de Assis.)

One final observation. All this reminds us of an entirely different “ye” misunderstanding—the mistaken use of “ye” as an article. This misconception shows up in signage of the “Ye Olde Gift Shoppe” variety, an attempt at quaintness that we wrote about in 2009 and again in 2016.

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English English language Etymology Expression Grammar Language Linguistics Usage Word origin Writing

We dasn’t commit ourselves

Q: I thought I might further muddy the waters of the wonderful word featured in your post about “dasn’t.” I once saw it defined as a contraction of “darest not,” but frustratingly I can’t recall the source. I first saw “dasn’t” as a youngster reading the Huck Finn novel you mention.

A: In “I dasn’t scratch,” our 2009 post  (updated in 2022), we include “dasn’t” among the many dialectal contractions of “dare not.”

As we say in that post, the negative “dare” contractions in the Dictionary of Regional American English include “daren’t,” “durn’t,” “dursent,” “durstn’t,” “ders(e)n’t,” “daredn’t,” “dar(e)sn’t,” “darshin,” “das(s)n’t,” “das(s)ent,” and “dazzent.”

Similarly, Merriam-Webster online describes “dasn’t,” “dass’nt,” and less commonly “dassent” as dialectal versions of “dare not.”

However, the DARE and Merriam-Webster entries raise this question: How did “daren’t,” the most obvious (and standard) contraction of “dare not,” end up as the dialectal shortening “dasn’t”?

A “Word History” item in Merriam-Webster answers by describing “dasn’t” as “partly contraction of (thoudarst not” (from Middle English), partly contraction of (hedares not.”

As for your suggestion, we haven’t seen any authoritative source that describes “dasn’t” as a contraction of “darest not.” But we’ve found some plausible comments from readers of reputable websites suggesting that “darest not” might have become “dasn’t” through the loss of the “r” sound before “s” by assimilation, as in “cuss” for “curse”  and “bust” for “burst.”

The linguist Anatoly Liberman discusses this loss of the “r” sound in “Do you ‘cuss’ your stars when you go ‘bust’?” a 2012 post on the OUPblog of Oxford University Press. Liberman doesn’t mention “dasn’t,” but a comment by a reader, John Cowan, cites the contraction of “darest not” to “dasn’t” as an example of “r”-loss:

“Some other examples are passel ‘large amount’ < parcel, gal > girl, palsy ultimately from paralysis, and many more that are archaic, like skasely < scarcelyhoss < horsepodner < partner, and dasn’t < darest not.”

And in “Old-timey contractions,” a 2022 post by the linguist Mark Liberman on the Language Log, reader John Swindle, commenting on possible “r” loss examples, suggests “dasn’t” could be “a contraction of ‘darest not,’ ” and not limited to “singular or even to present tense.”

What do we think? Well, it’s not impossible that “dasn’t” evolved as a contraction of “darest not.” But until we see some solid evidence, we dasn’t commit ourselves.

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English English language Etymology Expression Language Usage Writing

Evacuation roots

Q: I was catching up with The Wire, the TV crime series. In episode one of season five, originally aired in 2008, editors at The Baltimore Sun tell a reporter that a building is evacuated, not a person, except when given an enema. I looked in a number of dictionaries and they disagree. Where did this myth come from?

A: We had a similar experience in the early 1980s when we were working at The New York Times. An editor there also insisted that you evacuate (or empty) a building, not a person—unless the person is getting an enema.

Interestingly, the principal writer on The Wire, David Simon, had been a crime reporter for The Sun, and may have run into an editor or two like the one we encountered at The Times.

There’s no legitimate reason to restrict the verb “evacuate” to the narrow definition advocated by that Times editor and by the fictional editors on The Wire.

The New York Times Manual of Style and Usage didn’t have an entry for “evacuate” in the 1980s, and it still doesn’t. The same is true of The Associated Press Stylebook, the guide generally followed by The Baltimore Sun—the newspaper depicted on The Wire.

And the house dictionary at the two newspapers, Webster’s New World College Dictionary, had a much more expansive view of “evacuate” in the 1980s and still does.

The definition in the dictionary’s second edition (1979) includes three senses that are transitive (used with an object) and two that are intransitive (without an object). All five were then—and are today—standard English:

Transitive: “1. To make empty; remove the contents of; specif., to remove air from so as to make a vacuum. 2. To discharge bodily waste, esp. feces. 3. To remove (inhabitants, troops, etc.) from (a place or area), as for protective or strategic purposes; withdraw from.”

Intransitive: “1. To withdraw, as from a besieged town or area of danger. 2. To discharge bodily waste, esp. feces.”

(We have the second, third, fourth, and current fifth editions of Webster’s New World in our library, as well as various editions of many other standard dictionaries.)

Why did the real and fictional editors take such a restrictive view of “evacuate”? Our guess is that they mistakenly believed the first and second senses listed in Webster’s New World (transitive #1 and #2) were the only legitimate meanings. Or perhaps they were overly influenced by the etymological roots of the verb.

The Oxford English Dictionary, an etymological reference, says “evacuate” ultimately comes from the classical Latin evacuare, which Pliny the Elder used “with the sense of to empty (the bowels)” in Historia Naturalis, an encyclopedic collection of scientific knowledge in ancient times.

When the verb entered English in the 16th century, the OED says, it meant “to empty, clear out the contents of (a vessel or receptacle).” In the dictionary’s earliest citation, it’s used in the sense of to empty the bowels:

“After you haue euacuated your body, & trussed your poyntes, kayme your heade oft” (“After you have evacuated your bowels and tied your laces, comb your hair often”). From A Compendyous Regyment or a Dyetary of Helth (1542), a guide to health and hygiene by the physician and author Andrew Borde.

In the 17th century, the verb took on the transitive and intransitive senses of evacuating people from a place. The first transitive citation in the OED refers to people evacuated during William the Conqueror’s invasion of England:

“Action had pretty well evacuated the idle people, which are the stock of rapine.” From “Short History of William I,” written by Sir Henry Wotton sometime before 1639 and published in Collectanea Curiosa (1781), edited by John Gutch.

The first intransitive example, which we’ve expanded, is from A Discourse About Trade (1690), by the English economist and merchant Josiah Child. This passage refers to people who evacuate, or leave, England to work in the West Indies overseeing slaves:

“The People that evacuate from us to Barbadoes, and the other West. India Plantations, as was before hinted, do commonly work one English man to ten or eight Blacks.”

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English English language Etymology Expression Grammar Language Phrase origin Usage Word origin Writing

‘Went to go see a movie’

Q: I’ve been noticing lately the strange use of “went to go” to form the past tense, as in “went to go see a movie,” “went to go swim,” and “went to go download a video.” I see this as an example of a lack of awareness of how English works.

A: We’d describe the use of “went to go” in your examples as colloquial or informal rather than redundant.

The construction is extremely common in speech, in quoted material, and in casual posts on TikTok and Reddit. But it’s rarely found in edited prose.

In fact, “went to go” often describes a situation in which an action was attempted but failed. That use of the expression has been around for quite some time.

Here’s an example from an article in The New York Times of June 25, 1865—yes, 1865!—about a trial in which a woman accuses a ship’s captain of raping her:

The Times said the woman testified that “being very sleepy, she went to go to bed and could not find the key to her door.” The captain eventually let her in, she said, and he later assaulted her.

In fact, the verb “go” doesn’t mean only to move, travel, or proceed somewhere. It has many other senses, so it’s not necessarily redundant to use the verb twice in the same sentence. For example, “go” used progressively can express the future, as in “I’m going to go to the movies.”

And in an expression like “go see a movie,” the verb “go” appears “often with the sense of motion weakened or absent,” according to the Oxford English Dictionary.

The “go” here is in its base form (infinitive, imperative, subjunctive, etc.), the OED says, “with a following verb also in the base form.” Examples: “go look,” “go find,” “go get,” and so on.

The dictionary has examples for the usage dating back to Anglo-Saxon days, though it says this use of “go” is now colloquial or informal in American English and nonstandard in British English.

As for the use of “went to go + infinitive,” the exact phrase you’re noticing (“went to go find,” “went to go visit,” “went to go buy,” etc.), it appears to have increased noticeably in the late 20th and early 21st century.

Here’s an example from Monica Lewinsky’s testimony before a federal grand jury in Washington about her relationship with President Clinton (Aug. 20, 1998).

Asked about her notorious blue dress, she remarked: “I didn’t really realize that there was anything on it until I went to go wear it again and I had gained too much weight that I couldn’t fit into it.”

And here’s a more recent example from a Nov. 3, 2025, article in The New York Times about the artist Greer Lankton, who died of a cocaine overdose in 1996 at the age of 38.

“I went to go see her in Chicago three months before she died. I think she was desperate to die; that’s all she could talk about” (the jewelry designer Paul Monroe on visiting Lankton, known for her lifelike hand-sewn dolls).

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