As you may have noticed from this thread, the question of the origin of the saying “The whole nine yards” has caught my attention. I must admit that I became fascinated by the phrase and its history. Semi-obsessive that I am, I spent much of last night researching the etymology of the saying. Disappointingly enough, I was unable to find a definitive answer. I did find a few more possibilities, including:
“The whole nine yards” is a dental term. Dental floss was originally grown on vast ranches in Montana. It was harvested from a plant related to corn (*Pomegrante zappus*) with tassellike growths which grew to a uniform length of nine yards. These strands were harvested, dried and distributed to dentists to use to promote proper oral hygiene. An especially stubborn obstruction between a bicuspid and a molar might require an entire strand – which brings us back to our saying.
My research uncovered many such explanations for the source of our favorite phrase. Unfortunately, none of the histories I found provided the rigorous standards of documentation which is the watchword of this denizen of the SDMB.
But fear not, fellow Dopers! My journey through the wiles of the philology and etymology were serendipitous. I discovered something far more fascinating than the source of “The whole nine yards.” At the risk of straining my natural modesty, I submit that my discovery will provide revolutionary insights into the nature of language, human social development and physio-linguistics.
Enough blather! Here’s what I learned. **Every human language I researched used a combination of phonemes which sounded very much like the English phrase “The whole nine yards.”** Incredible, but true. Here are some examples:
Spanish * Dejo leniñe llards* “Where are the chipmunks?”
Mandarin Ti Ho Le Ni Ne Yar Deese “I am a notary public, madam.”
Flemish Deniyrds “Once, when I was kid, we lived in a house by a lake. It was nice, but there were many bugs there, especially in the summers. It had green shutters. The house, that is. Not the bugs. How’s your mom?”
Welsh Llanden Ddæhee wweerhooaalfair nneeanderllanfog llandoyear raeidfairsolwithingame “Cheese”
French Le hoalé naine johards “I surrender!” (Nobody saw that one coming, huh?)
Old High German Dö Hurlst Nun Jahrds “My dog has no nose.”
Middle High German Die Harlt Nein Jahreden “How does he smell?”
Late High German Das Hoort Neün Jeardenin “TERRIBLE!”
Polish Dalsk czorl knûrn jzarlskis “I am the rock of love.”
Cantonese zhe cho le ne nay yee la deezha “No MSG”
Russian De horlt nin loards “Who is John Galt?”
Danish Dinsk wehurlsk nöne yœlrsken “Why have you lengthened my marmots?”
Greek Te Ψιv Νιv Υaρdζ “Introduce me to your sister, Cyril.”
Sanskrit Deholninjhards “Thank you, come again.”
I could go on and on. I’ve documented similar phrases in at least 42 more modern and historical languages ranging from Proto-Indo European, Urdu and Frisian through Navajo, Kyrgyz, and Ebo. I’m just astounded that none of the so-called “academics” have discovered this amazing correlation before. I’m booking a flight to Oslo.
“Owls will deafen us with their incessant hooting!” W. Smithers
