You say potato; I say pimiento. Close? Right? Wrong. As an instructor of first-year college writing, I’m used to this kind of mistake. We’ve come to blame the “Whole Language” fad that somehow is ubiquitous in the lower grades. It’s likely ubiquitous becuase it’s easy. Rather than force students to read the right word, it asks them to guess. Look at the beginning, look at the end, look at the totality of the word in its environment rather than it’s phonetic parts. To be fair, some of the holistic theory behind whole language makes sense, and I’m sure that well-schooled practioners (likely educated in something other than whole language) can pull it off with admirable results. However, the results I tend to see are much more line with the following example.

In a story today (June 25) on ESPN’s website, a sidebar declares

Shaquille O’Neal’s first full year with the Phoenix Suns, in which the team won nine fewer games, was an abomination when looking at his history with new teams.

Wow, I knew the Shaq reign in Phoenix wasn’t going exactly according to plan, but “abomination”? That seems a bit strong. M-W.com suggests that an abomination is something that is abominable. Thanks. Further digging reveals that it is something that ” worthy of or causing disgust or hatred “. Now, it may be true that fans of the Phoenix Suns find Shaq’s performance worthy of disgust, but, putting on another whole language hat, the context of the sentence suggests that perhaps the author had another word in mind.

I’d suggest that the writer really meant that Shaq’s performance in Phoenix was an “aberation.” That is something that is “deviating from the usual or natural type.” Why do I say this? Because the sentence–and the accompanying data chart–refer to Shaq’s performance differing significantly from his performance with other teams: that Shaq’s Phoenix performance is different from his performance on other teams.

Yes, “abomination” and “aberration” begin with “ab” and end with “ation.” That much is true. What our muddled writer and editors seem to miss is that there’s a big difference between “omin” and “erra”. Just as there’s a big difference between “ota” and “imien.” In this last case, it’s the difference between a large, starchy root that can be made into a lovely mound of creamy comfort and a large, red pepper that we like to enjoy stuffed into olives. In the author’s case, “omin” suggests that the entirety of Shaq is vile and worthy of scorn while “erra” connotes the idea that Shaq just had a bad season.

For the sake of the Cleveland Cavaliers, let’s hope that I’m not making an “omin” “erra” in calling out this poor choice of words.