The BIG Apple

In this episode, The BIG Apple . . .

Have you ever wondered how New York City got the name The BIG Apple? What follows is consolidated from Wikipedia & the Interesting Facts e-newsletter.

Before it was referred to as The City That Never Sleeps, the term "Big Apple" was an expression that meant a big deal, an object of great desire, or big dreams.

The first time New York City was referred to as the "big apple" in print may have been in 1909 when American journalist Edward S. Martin wrote in his book The Wayfarer in New York that those in the Midwest (Kansas) are "apt to see in New York a greedy city. It inclines to think that the big apple gets a disproportionate share of the national sap." - However, the phrase doesn't seem to have been intended as a nickname, especially since the name was not capitalized.

A horse-racing column published by the New York Morning Telegraph in the 1920s popularized the term: "The Big Apple.”

“The dream of every lad that ever threw a leg over a thoroughbred and the goal of all horsemen. There's only one Big Apple. That's New York," racing journalist John J. Fitz Gerald wrote in a 1924 column eventually named "Around the Big Apple.”

Legend has it Fitz Gerald first heard the term from two stable hands in New Orleans. As etymologist Michael Quinion explains, "the Big Apple was the New York racetracks; the goal of every aspiring jockey and trainer for those New Orleans stable hands, the New York racing scene was a supreme opportunity, like an attractive “big red apple.”

Jazz musicians during the 1920s & 30s also contributed to the use of the phrase as they referred to New York City, specifically to the city and Harlem as the world's jazz capital. Besides song and dance, two nightclubs in the city used "Big Apple" in their names.

Then in the 1970s, the president of the New York Convention and Visitors Bureau, Charles Gillett, began a tourism campaign around the slogan designed to counter New York's rising crime rates and a bad reputation.

Today attendees to Citi field, the New York Mets National League ballpark, are reminded that New York is The BIG Apple. Every time a Mets player hits a home run – a large red apple (Home Run Apple) rises from behind the outfield wall to mark the accomplishment. It has become a symbol of Mets baseball, recognized throughout Major League Baseball as an iconic feature of Mets' stadiums. The apple first appeared in Shea Stadium in 1980; it was 9 feet (2.7 meters) tall and is still on display at Citi Field outside the Jackie Robinson Rotunda.

Citi Field now uses a new apple. The replacement is 18 feet (5.5 meters) tall and 16 feet (4.9 meters) wide. So, for Mets fans, it's still a big deal, an object of great desire, and a heroic display of big dreams.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening; see you in the next episode.

Comments

Opening Day Magic 2026 . . .

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

Overcooking the Grid

In this episode, terrified of smart toasters, yet demanding infinite electricity for potato personality tests. Pull up that chair again, and let’s hope your coffee is safe this time. In our last chat, we talked about our well-meaning but occasionally delusional AI friend, Chef Adamas, and his penchant for hallucinating blueberries into your Carbonara. We learned how to manage his quirks by keeping our “digital pantry” organized. But today, we need to look past the chef and take a hard look at the sheer size of the kitchen we are building for him. And folks, that kitchen has gotten completely out of hand. Down in Louisiana, tech companies are currently building an artificial intelligence data center the size of 70 football fields. It is a four-million-square-foot digital brain that requires so much electricity they are building three new natural gas power plants just to keep the servers from literally melting down into a puddle of expensive silicon. And what are we using this god-like, ...

Sierra Reflections 2011

Wrapped in the cozy warmth of a down bag I’m jolted awake from a deep slumber - nature calls. The silence is shattered by the rustle of my sleeping bag. The sweet aroma of the mountain fills the air, and that ever-present biting crisp air on your cheeks! The zipper moans as you free yourself, then the struggle to find your wool sweater, pants, and shoes to stumble into the brisk morning air. Another zipper whines as you crawl to escape the protection of your mountain shelter. Quietly . . . do not disturb is the invisible sign worn by your fellow campers. Photo: Robert Weldon Darkness surrounds you, it's early morning, late summer. It’s tranquil, except for the soft gurgle of the trout stream that lulled you to sleep the night before. Finally - clear weather, the rains have stopped; millions of stars twinkle like tiny sparkling diamonds against a pitch-black sky. Orion, the hunter is clearly visible in the eastern sky; careful inspection you can see ...

The "Doctor" Who Never Was

In this episode: The "Doctor" Who Never Was — A Return to the World of Seuss. Let’s take a trip back to March 2, 2022. I was four years younger, significantly more naïve, and I made the mistake of asking an innocent question that—somehow—still echoes through the halls of pediatric offices everywhere: Where exactly did the name Dr. Seuss come from? Because if we pause for even a moment, the whole thing is absurd. At some point, we collectively decided to accept moral guidance, life advice, and the occasional existential gut‑punch from a man whose résumé included oversized footwear, gravity‑defying cats, and an aggressive campaign to convince us that green ham was not only edible, but desirable. No white coat. No stethoscope. No medical board. Just rhymes. This wasn’t really a question about a title. It was a question about authority—and how easily we accept it when it comes wrapped in whimsy and ends with a couplet. Theodor Seuss Geisel was born in Springfield, M...

On The Fly

Search This Blog