David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Jan. 6, 2004

Time's up on Roman numbers

If you've seen Monty Python's Life of Brian, you'll remember a scene in which John Cleese's character angrily asks, "What have the Romans ever done for us?"

The movie is set during the Roman Empire's height, and the Romans' achievements obviously were quite considerable at the time, so a character in the scene sheepishly answers, "The aquaduct?"

Well, jolly good. Cleese's character is then bombarded with a long list of contributions the Romans made to the times.

"All right, but apart from the sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, a fresh water system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?"

I have one more that Mr. Cleese didn't mention -- Roman numerals, the bane of modern counting.

Am I the only one who thinks time has expired on Roman numerals? I saw a logo for next month's Super Bowl, and it took me about half an hour to determine which number Super Bowl it would be. It looks as though whoever typed out the logo's text momentarily gave his 2-year-old access to the keyboard.

Super Bowl XXXVIII? What is that?

I'll give you a minute to figure it out.

Got it yet? You might need to whip out a calculator to double-check your math.

It's Super Bowl 38. As I'm sure we all recall from fifth grade, which is the only time Roman numerals are taught, X equals 10, V equals five and I equals one. Three X's are 30 plus one V plus three I's give us a grand total of 38 (30 plus five plus three). So what's wrong with just writing out Super Bowl 38? What does football have to do with Italy? Incidentally, my favorite Super Bowl was Super Bowl XXX. It was so -- I don't know -- naughty.

Roman numerals are used by people who want other people to believe something is more important and prestigious than it really is. Sure, the Super Bowl is a big deal -- it results in millions and millions of dollars in advertising, ticket sales, hotel rooms, restaurant and bar tabs, merchandise sales, you name it. Even people who don't know a flea-flicker from a fumblerooskie know enough about football to realize that the Super Bowl is a big event.

So why do they still bother with the stupid Roman numerals? Does "38" not induce the same level of awe and reverence that "XXXVIII" does?

There are only two other places that we regularly see Roman numerals -- in copyright dates and at the end of boys' names who were named after their fathers who were named after their fathers, who were named after their fathers, blah, blah, blah.

Moviemakers like to use Roman numerals in their movie credits to indicate what year the flick was released. Maybe they think it adds a measure of importance and weightiness to their oh-so-important work. After all, as they say, it's not a "movie," it's a "film." Pardon my popcorn. If Weekend at Bernie's has a Roman numeral at the end of it, that negates usage for everyone else. Get over yourself.

The Romanized numbers aren't limited to a movie's copyright dates, though. Sometimes self-important groups like law firms or political-action associations will use Roman numerals to indicate when they were established. You'll see a sign like "Dewey, Chetham & Howe, Attorneys at Law, est. MCMXCVI." I guess they expect me to think that if they are savvy enough to encode 1996 into MCMXCVI, certainly they must be sharp enough to handle my legal spat.

Then there are the guys who name their sons II, III, IV and sometimes even V. Enough already. Unless you have the guts to go all the way and stick an Arabic number like 2 or 3 on your son's birth certificate, just forget about it. It's quite telling that men are the only ones who do this sort of thing. You don't meet little girls who are named Brittany III or Leslie IV. It's a guy thing, like chrome-trimmed mudflaps. If you want a number in your kid's name, do it right -- take the George Costanza route and name him Seven or Six or Three or whatever jersey your favorite baseball player wore.

Well, I suppose I had better be wrapping it up. With the end of that last sentence, I had pecked out MMMCMLXV characters, DCCX words and XVIII paragraphs. I'm beat. Maybe I need a XLV-minute nap.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.