Mascots And Me

Last night, Spiral Stairs, my friend M* and I went to the Washington Nationals game, and I almost came to blows with the Nationals mascot Screech, a fat six foot tall eagle. Or to be more precise, I almost lept over the railing and choked that sonofabitch.

Some background is probably in order. I have been told that I have a pathological dislike of team mascots. At least the guys in suits who dance around trying to fire up fans at a sporting event. I find them annoying, provocative, unfunny and distracting. Their gestures and dances are more taunting than inspiring. I especially hate G-Wiz, the Washington Wizards mascot. Aside from stumbling around the arena like a drunk flailing his undersized arms, this pervert spends most of his time feeling up the Washington Wizards dance team.

So last night, we were enjoying the game, minding our business when Screech came by and started flirting with this woman in front of us, kissing her, cupping her breasts, who knows. For some reason, the geeks who put on these absurd outfits think that they are somehow entitled to fondle women. Even more troubling is that these women seem to agree.

Anyway, I was getting more and more annoyed, and for some reason, Screech started shaking and convulsing. I said out loud,"I think Screech is jonsing for some shit. What is it you are on, Screech? The horse, smack? Or maybe meth? Yeah, its meth isn't it." There were many kids around, but its better they learn now the truth about this fat bird trying to win their affection.

Suddenly, Screech looked at me and point his finger at me. This was clearly an act of provocation. If they were selling beer in glass bottles, this is where I would have broken off the end of it, and gone at Screech. But the beer bottles we had were plastic. Oh yeah, did I mention I'd had a fair amount of beer at this point?

Then I realized what Screech was up to. He wanted me to leap that fence. He'd be fine, in that padded stupid suit. I on the other hand would be quickly apprehended by the security staff and thrown in jail. It was some sort of rope-a-dope shit. I was about to tell him to meet me in the parking lot, but as I turned to throw down that gauntlet, he'd already moved on to some other section at the ballpark. "Coward," I mutter under my breath.

* M posed a question last night that perhaps you, our readers, can answer: can you get hepatitis from eating bad mussels?