But not everyone knows that we have a second kind of flying squirrel in Virginia (unless you read about it in our October 2007 issue). The one noted above—the one people see around the state—is the Virginia southern flying squirrel; the other is the more reclusive, mountaintop-favoring Virginia northern flying squirrel, which lives in select spots in the mountains of far southwest Virginia.

And now we have a third: the Richmond Flying Squirrels. That’s the name chosen, from more than 6,000 entries in an online contest, for the new Richmond baseball franchise—formerly the Connecticut Defenders—whose first season begins next spring. Other finalists included the Rock Hoppers, the Rhinos, the Flatheads, the Hush Puppies and the Hambones.

The announcement caused a region-wide double take, with responses ranging from “Is this a joke?” to “So we are rodents now?” to “Ahhhhhhahahaha!” (which might have issued from someone in this office) to “NEVER, EVER will I take my family and grandchildren to a team with such a ‘stupid’ name. It makes a mockery of America’s pastime” to “Go Flying Squirrels! I can’t wait to get my hat w/the squirrel tail hanging off the back!” (I want one too!)

But really, it could have been so much worse. Minor league baseball actually has a long history of frankly bizarre names. Lookit: There’s the Lansing Lugnuts, the Toledo Mud Hens, the Savannah Sand Gnats and the Walla Walla Walla Wallas. Some long-ago names are even crazier—the mystifying Oswego Starchboxes, the Davenport Onion Weeders, the Burlington Babies, the Kalamazoo Celery Eaters and the unfortunate Troy Washerwomen.

Feel better now? No?

Well, they could also have named it after the Virginia big-eared bat.

Enjoy the World Series, y'all.