Michigan Football's Recruiting Philosophy in 2025: Nominative Determinism

But I'm Gonna Need to See the Birth Certificates

McHale Blade. Titan Davis. Bear McWhorter. These are not the names of characters in the terrible action-adventure novel I wrote at 14. These are the names of actual recruits committed to Michigan Football, slated to join the team as freshmen in 2026 suggesting that Michigan’s coaching staff is prioritizing linemen whose names are extremely on the nose. I call it the nominative determinism doctrine.

Last week’s Book of Jobbed installment, which posted to the webpage but not to your email inboxes because I did not press the right button, alluded to Luke Fickell’s nominative determinism—that is, that his last name is pronounced “fickle” and he is arguably the most fickle man in a profession dominated by fickel men. Nominative determinism is the idea that people are drawn to professions and hobbies that are connected to their names. I argue that this concept can be applied to a person’s essence.

Take my last name, Plagens. My ancestors were German Catholics, but “Plagen” is a Yiddish term which can mean “unfortunate person who suffers.” Daniel means “God is my judge.” I was clearly meant to write sports blogs.

Bear McWhorter was born to be a three-star interior offensive lineman. Bears maul people. So do the guards in Michigan’s ground’n’pound system. McWhorter, meanwhile, has an onomatopoeia quality reminiscent of the guttural noises along the line of scrimmage after the quarterback yells “turbo, set, hut.”

Blade is a four-star defensive lineman from Chicago, ranking around the 160th overall football recruit in the cycle, with the exact figure depending on the recruiting service. He projects as an edge rusher. You know what else has an edge? A blade.

Titan Davis is another four-star defensive lineman. I would say he’s another four-star defensive lineman from the Midwest, but he plays in suburban St. Louis. I’m not sure what St. Louis is, exactly. It’s not the Midwest, but it’s not Southeast either, and its food is too good to stuff the region into the bin labeled “GREAT PLAINS :(”.

At any rate, the etymology of Titan is worth examining. It hasn’t gotten a great run lately. Setting the exploding submarine aside, the Tennessee Titans have been stinking up professional football for the last 20 years with their special brand of also-ran mediocrity. Their string of semi-success from 2017 to 2021 is attributable almost entirely to having a six-foot-three, 250-pound running back who was guaranteed to gain four yards on every carry before he got hit, then gain another four yards while he dragged the tackler with him.

But I presume Titan—if that is his real name—is name for the Titans of Greek myth, a race of ancient gods who preceded the deities atop Mount Olympus. Renaissance-era art suggests they were a bunch of naked dudes, but Disney’s Hercules made them cool. They became kaiju-sized monsters made of rock, ice, lava, and angry clouds. Now that’s a front four if I’ve ever seen one, though we’re going to have to take the angry clouds out of the rotation in obvious running situations. I trust him to rush the passer but not absorb blocks.

I can’t help but be skeptical, though, that “Titan Davis” and “Bear McWhorter” are their legal names. “McHale Blade” I believe without the paperwork, but I’m going to see some documentation on Titan and Bear. These feel like nicknames that they want out there for branding purposes. All the more power to them. They’re barely adults and already approaching 300 pounds. I’ll call them whatever they want me to call them. But if the staff is really going to go all-in on the nominative determinism team-building doctrine, we’re going to need to see some birth certificates.