Sports Widow

The Sports Widow Pays Tribute to Sports Team Mascots

October 9, 2007 10:30 AM | 0 Comments

As The Sports Widow, one of the few entrees I have into sports is, naturally, through the back door. Even though I don't relate to, care or understand the rules of the games themselves, I've discovered that the football game half-time entertainment, the pounding tribal music, the perky cheerleaders, the absurd fan behavior, tailgate party food and the concessions can sustain me. Oh, and for me in particular, there is that other sideshow, that animal magnetism: The Team Mascots.

In corporate America, they love to do warm-up activities at retreats, and a favorite is Three Truths & A Lie. You tell the group (3) truths and (1) lie, and they have to guess which one is the lie. One of my offerings is: One summer, I was the Wisconsin State Fair mascot - Violet the Cow.

I like to believe that the absurdity of it and my natural good looks will call them off the barnyard scent.

True confessions: At the age of 18, I was among a stable of young girls, who performed as Violet the Cow at the Wisconsin State Fair. Ironically, my mother didn't want me to work in the service industry, e.g. waitressing at Pop 'N Fresh Pies, but she placed dressing up as a cow in the laudable Public Relations category. It was hard work, but by golly someone had to be foolish or desperate enough to do it. And, I was. Here are some of the challenges I confronted, which give me compassion for all of those Mascots out there:

Enduring extreme heat. The Violet the Cow costume was a virtual sauna. Occasionally to give me a breather, I’d stop by one of the barns so I could remove my head. Unfortunately, it was frequently the Pig Barn. I would inhale a blast of hot air and the strong, pungent scent of pork and manure, which always prompted me to put the head back on and wish I’d thought of a different hide-out. I think today's mascots have internal cooling systems.

Maintaining a shroud of secrecy. Like CIA or FBI agents, joining the herd meant that I took a vow to never reveal my SECRET HUMAN IDENTITY. When you're as talkative and confessional as I am, this is extraordinarily difficult.

Battling limited visibility. In order to see, I had to peer through tiny mesh screens that covered Violet’s nostrils. I also depended on the kindness of Alice in Dairyland, my constant companion, who held my hoof and guided me through the fairgrounds and along parade routes. My line of sight was at about the torso level of the average adult, which placed me at approximately eye level to small children. This was not advantageous, as you will see.

Suffering countless humiliations. Bigger kids used to jerk my tail and peer up into my nostrils, muttering half-observations/half-threats like: “I know you’re in there. Are you a boy or a girl?” While appearing at The Mitchell Park Conservatory, also called The Domes, an unruly adolescent had the audacity to compare my udders to the three geodesic domes of the conservatory. While on another mission to cheer up sick children in the Milwaukee Children’s Hospital, first one child, terrified, began wailing at the very sight of me. Then, like dominos, all of the toddlers in the room fell into a cacophony of choking sobs. A television reporter witnessed the entire event. I was one sad bovine.

Basking in occasional hours of true glory. As a Mascot, there are some limelight moments. For me, it was the big parades through the fairgrounds. One time, Alice in Dairyland and I preceded the biggest attraction: a gigantic, inflatable Finback Whale we affectionately called Flo. When the processional began, I smiled at Alice in Dairyland (beneath my snout), squeezed her hand and whispered excitedly (because Violet was not supposed to be able to speak), “We’re going with the Flo!” Ten shriners holding 20 individual puppet-like strings controlled Flo, who blobbed above us like the Staypuff Marshmallowman. Things were going pretty well until an unusually strong gust of wind from Lake Michigan ripped the strings away from the hands of several of the shriners, and they began to lose control of Flo. The crowd went wild trying to help the shriners prevent Flo from flying away. At this point, Alice and I were stampeded, and I kept shouting “I am not an animal; I’m a human being.” I still wake up in the middle of the night reciting these muffled words and haunted by the vision of Flo as she went on to that giant ocean in the sky.

Risking their lives. Over 20 years after my stint as Violet the Cow, on July 10, 2003, one of my compatriots risked life and limb for the mascot cause. The event took place at Miller Park during a baseball game: The Milwaukee Brewers v. The Pittsburg Pirates. Between the sixth and seventh innings, 18-year-old Mandy Block, dressed as an innocent Italian sausage named Guido, was brutally knocked down with a bat while running the “Great Sausage” race. Her colleague, a hot dog, also fell to the ground in the fracas.

Focusing on the prize. You may ask what sustains we mascots, when the chips are down or we're literally knocked down. I always kept my eyes on the blue ribbon prize, the reward of seeing the smiling faces of young children, children who still believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, the Leprechaun, Violet the Cow and, yes, the Wisonsin Oversized Racing Sausages.

So, next time you want to take a swing at a mascot, make it the butt of your jokes or the victim of a vicious prank, remember me. Remember Violet the Cow, Mandy and Flo, even though she's technically not a mascot. We are NOT ANIMALS (or animal byproducts); we are HUMAN BEINGS.

Stop and mentally think: How would it feel to walk in our hooves, paws, outrageously giant shoes or, in Mandy’s case, her sausage casing.

Have you ever had the distinction of being a mascot? If so, tell your tale.