By Brendan Loy

On Monday, NPR aired a story on the question of what’s the proper way to pronounce the year 2010. Is it “two-thousand ten,” or “twenty ten”?

To me, the answer is obviously the latter. The only reason we’ve been saying “two-thousand one,” “two-thousand two,” etc., is because it feels awkward to say “twenty-oh-one,” “twenty-oh-two,” and so forth. (For some reason, “nineteen-oh-one” doesn’t feel so verbally awkward, and neither will “twenty-one-oh-one.” Yet “twenty-oh-one” sounds horrible. I’m not sure why. Possibly because “twenty” ends with a vowel sound?)

But of course, you can’t simply call 2001 “twenty-one,” or 2009 “twenty-nine,” because those are completely different numbers (21, 29). So, instead of the awkward “twenty-oh-nine” or the incorrect “twenty-nine,” we’ve been using the longer (but not too long) “two thousand nine.” No “oh,” no inaccuracy. Hence: the terrorist attacks of September 11, two-thousand one. George W. Bush’s victory in the two-thousand four election. The epic USC-Notre Dame game on October 15, two-thousand five. The financial crisis of two-thousand eight. Et cetera, et cetera.

The “twenty-oh-whatever” verbal awkwardness goes away next year, though — and meanwhile, the “two thousand”-based pronunciations start to get more and more unwieldy. When will it end, if not now? Two thousand eleven? Two thousand nineteen? Two thousand twenty-one? Two thousand one hundred one? Surely we will, at some point, revert to the pronunciation scheme that we’ve used throughout modern history, splitting the year’s number into two parts of two digits each. And, since it’s going to happen sometime, there’s no reason on God’s green earth why it shouldn’t happen next year, what with the disappearance of the “oh” removing the sole reason we got into this linguistic mess in the first place.

At least, I don’t think there’s a reason. What’s frustrating about the NPR story, though, is that it doesn’t really address this issue, or provide any reasonable counterarguments for why 2010 actually should be called “two thousand ten.” Maybe that’s because there are no such arguments, but surely the advocates of this position can do better than some guy (Jim Burk) citing 2001: A Space Odyssey — which is totally irrelevant because, as I’ve stated above, 2001 is a completely different case, due to that awkward intervening “oh” before the “one” — and some other guy (Jimm Lasser) saying it’s more “grownup” to use the longer form instead of the “nickname.” (Did “grownups” call 1999 “one thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine”? Was “nineteen ninety-nine” a “nickname”? Will “grownups” call 2086 “two thousand eighty-six”? Will they call 2234 “two thousand, two hundred thirty-four”? Why didn’t Robert Siegel ask Mr. Lasser these questions?)

By the way: what did they call it in 2010: Odyssey Two? That’s obviously the correct reference, notwithstanding Mr. Burk’s silly reference to the irrelevant original movie. But I don’t recall: was it called twenty-ten or two-thousand-ten in the sequel? Anyone know?

By Brendan Loy

Should they? Of course not. Will they? Quite possibly, writes Stewart Mandel:

Is the loser of the Pitt-Cincy game really going to end up in the Meineke Car Care Bowl? Really??
– John, Chicago

If Notre Dame finishes 7-5 [or 8-4], most likely.

The Gator Bowl has first choice of Big East teams after the BCS, but it’s also allowed to select Notre Dame once over a four-year period that ends this season. This is the bowl’s last chance to get the Irish for the foreseeable future since the Gator is switching to an SEC-Big Ten matchup next year, and it’s long been assumed the bowl will take advantage of it. The next Big East bowl after that is Meineke.

That said, the Gator knows how it will look publicly if it bypasses an 11-1 Cincinnati or 10-2 Pittsburgh team in favor of a 7-5 Notre Dame team (contrary to what’s been published some places, there is no formal rule preventing this), and the bowl’s president, Rick Catlett, has expressed concern recently over the fact the Irish would be coming into the game on a backslide and possibly without their coach. So the Irish are no longer a given. But I think come Selection Sunday, the Gator will realize that even a downtrodden Notre Dame is going to bring a lot more fans and a lot more TV cachet (especially for a ND-Miami or ND-Virginia Tech matchup) than Cincinnati or Pittsburgh.

And hey, Brian Kelly may wind up coaching in the game either way.

With regard to that last point: Heh.

Mandel seems to be assuming that Notre Dame will lose at Stanford, and thus that 7-5 (with a win over UConn on Saturday) is the best possible outcome for the Irish. That seems a reasonable assumption, but hey, you never know. I think the above scenario would still hold if ND actually sweeps its last two games, which is why I added the bracketed “or 8-4″ to Mandel’s initial “7-5″ reference. (If the Irish finish 6-6, the bowl selection rules change, and God knows where they’ll end up.)

Of course, the possibility of the Cincy-Pitt loser going to the Meineke Car Care Bowl, bumped there by the hapless, rudderless, and possibly coach-less Irish, also depends on the Cincy-Pitt loser not getting into the BCS. Which seems like a pretty good bet right now… but if Oklahoma State loses to Colorado tomorrow or Oklahoma next weekend, and either TCU or Boise State loses another game (or Iowa and Penn State both flop in their season finales, and Wisconsin also loses another game), and USC doesn’t win out and crawl back into the Top 14, and assuming Texas wins the Big 12, it’s possible 11-1 Cincy or 10-2 Pitt might wind up in the Fiesta Bowl or the Sugar Bowl, giving the Big East a stunning BCS two-fer. But that’s a lot of “ifs,” some of them pretty unlikely. Barring a lot of dominoes falling, the best bet for Cincy or Pitt to avoid Meineke Car Care Bowl hell is a UConn win over Notre Dame on Saturday.