This kind of “pawn” is a “pledge.” To pawn is “to give as security” or “to stake, wager or risk.”

To “pawn off” is the same as the informal “palm off”: “to pass off by trickery or deceit.”

This “pawn” can be traced to the Latin “pannus,” for “cloth,” which presumably was used at one time as a medium of exchange.

The other “pawn,” the chess piece, has its origin in the Latin “pes,” or “foot.” That one gave rise to “pedo,” which in Late Latin was “one who has flat feet” and in Medieval Latin became “foot soldier.”

In a like manner, the pawn is the foot soldier on the chessboard. In general use, a pawn is “a person used to advance another’s purposes.”

Which reminds me of that great line from Mel Brooks’ “Blazing Saddles”:

“Mongo only pawn in game of life.”

In writing, however, redundancy is frowned upon. Here are some examples:

“Minimizing the financial cost.” Delete “financial.” A “cost” is generally a money thing. When it isn’t, “financial” would be inappropriate there, too.

“Unless additional venues are added.” Things are really adding up. Delete “additional.”

“A minor fender bender.” Delete “minor.” By definition, the informal “fender bender” is “a minor automobile accident.”

“A role model for others.” A role model for oneself would require multiple personalities, and that’s not a good role model. Delete “for others.”

“Historically unprecedented.” If it’s unprecedented, it hasn’t been done before. Ever. Throughout history. Delete “historically.”

“It’s a misnomer that a private college education is more expensive.”

Instead of “misnomer,” the writer wanted “misconception,” “misunderstanding,” “a mistaken idea” or something like that.

A “misnomer” is simply an incorrect name. Its Latin root is “nomen,” for “name,” which is where “nominal,” “nomenclature” and “nominate” came from.

Here’s another:

“Politicians are pandering this snake oil.”

A “pander” (often now written “panderer”) is “someone who caters to and often exploits the weaknesses of others.” In a more specific use, a “pander” is a “pimp.”

You don’t really pander a product, you pander TO a person or group.

I think the writer meant “peddling.”

Finally:

“Few parameters are being placed on the group.”

“Parameter” is a math term. When applied generally, it’s “any constant, with variable values, used as a referent for determining other variables” — which still sounds like a math term.

In the example above, “parameter” is meant as a stand-in for “boundary” or “limit,” which Webster’s says is a “usage objected to by some.” Count me as one of those.

We often use the adjective “proverbial” as a signal that what we’re writing (or saying) is probably a cliche, but it works — or we’re too lazy to find another expression.

This is not necessarily a bad thing. But be careful where you place it. Consider the following:

“We’re at the end of the proverbial road.”

In this expression, it’s really not the road that’s proverbial, it’s the end of it. So make it:

“We’re at the proverbial end of the road.”

Here’s hoping there’s a road sign to that effect.

Speaking of road signs, I was driving my usual route to work the other day when I encountered a sign that said “road construction ahead.” About a block later were other signs telling me my lane was about to end.

Why don’t they place the “lane ending” signs first, so I have plenty of time to try to adjust? That’s the thing I really need to know. I can wait to find out WHY it’s ending.

Words are terrible things to waste, even on road signs.

When you rearrange the pieces, perhaps to try to make one of these phrases sound less like a cliche, you also destroy its meaning. For example:

A story about the budget shenanigans in Springfield used the following to try to say that the governor had sprung yet another surprise on state lawmakers:

“Quinn threw another loop.”

Throwing a loop might be used to describe a rope trick. But idiomatically, you don’t actually throw a loop. The correct expression would be:

“Quinn threw them for another loop.”

The phrase “for a loop” can mean “into a state of amazement, excitement or confusion” or “into a usually sudden and unexpected reversal of fortune or a state of distress.”

The original phrasing above can only be described as loopy.

For example, the term “right of way” (plural is “rights of way”): The Associated Press votes for three separate words. Webster’s indicates that’s preferred, but also allows the hyphenated “right-of-way.”

“Garner’s Modern  American Usage” says it should be hyphenated in all uses.

So there’s no right or wrong, but we follow the AP here.

For other nouns formed by two nouns with “of” between them, unhyphenated seems to be the people’s choice. The list includes “act of God,” “cost of living,” “guest of honor,” “master of ceremonies,” “point of order,” “port of call,” “sleight of hand” and “speed of light.”

Among the hyphenated ones are “man-of-war” (both the ship and the sea creature) and “mother-of-pearl.”

As for “word of mouth,” Webster’s says no hyphens as a noun, hyphenated as an adjective. AP says hyphenated in both cases. And I didn’t see it in Garner’s.

For a punctuation mark whose function is to connect things, the hyphen sure causes a lot of divisions.

The list is long and includes “sightseeing,” “sight gag,” “a sight for sore eyes,” “at first sight,” “lose sight of,” “out of sight” and “have one’s sights set on.”

A “site” is a place, like the “site of a battle” or a “Web site.”

The third homonym is a verb, “cite.” It means “to summon to appear before a court of law,” “to quote,” “to refer to” or “to mention.” The noun is “citation.”

You could be cited for trespassing for trying to see the sights at a site where you’re not allowed.

Other than “sultan,” “sultana” and “sultanate” (from the Arabic for “ruler” or “prince” or, originally, “dominion”), there are just five common ones.

I covered “sulky” (and by association, “sulk”) previously, and that included a mention of one of the other three: “sullen.” Its definitions sound a lot like those for “sulky,” with the addition of “somber; dull” and “slow-moving; sluggish.”

Its origin is traced back to the Latin “solus,” meaning “alone” — truly, “one is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.”

The other two are “sully,” meaning “to soil, stain, tarnish or besmirch, now especially by disgracing”; and “sultry,” meaning “oppressively hot and moist,” “fiery,” or “hot or inflamed, as with passion or lust.”

It’s considered a variant of “sweltry,” but I think “sultry” has essentially replaced it.

“Sultry” also is right at home with “sulfurous,” which is associated with heated passions, even to the extreme: “suggesting the fires of hell.”

Now that’s hot.

Webster’s says it probably came from the Old English “-solcen,” which was tacked onto other words to convey “idle, sluggish.”

The noun “sulky” is a type of carriage, especially the kind used in harness racing. The dictionary says that application probably came from the adjective’s notion of “keeping aloof, because the vehicle seats only one person.”

I’m thinking another factor might be that it’s probably difficult to maintain a sunny disposition while seeing that particular view of a horse.

Webster’s labels the word “peeve,” which can be a noun or a verb, “informal” — what used to be called “colloquial.” “Peeve” means “an object of dislike” or “to annoy.” The adjective is “peeved.”

However, before any of those was the adjective “peevish” — “hard to please” or “showing ill humor or impatience.” It came from the Middle English “pevische”; that word’s origin, however, is unknown.

The word “pet” is thought to come from the Middle English “pety,” meaning “small.” In the phrase “pet peeve,” however, “small” has become “greatest” or “particular.”

So, a “pet peeve” is someone’s greatest annoyance.

Believe it or not, there’s more. Another “pet” is derived from the old phrase “to take the pet.” No, it isn’t dognapping. It’s another way of saying “to be in a state of sulky peevishness or ill humor.”

In that sense, “pet peeve” might be annoyance squared.

In any case, to be rated a “pet peeve” is sort of an honor among peeves.