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Chapter 6: I Heard the Checkered Owl Call My Name
 By Jim Caple |
Previously at 24 College Avenue: Jenn Robbins, the state College Red Devil mascot, has a summer gig as Woody the Checkered Owl for the minor league Lumnberview Timber Barons. Because the checkered owl is an endangered species that has closed off logging and thrown much of the town out of work, the fans hate Woody. After general manager Gray Sharbor rescues her from an attack by drunk fans, Jenn accidentally finds that the GM is obsessed with The Asterisk, the controversial slugger closing in on the all-time home run record. . . . Meanwhile, former State College point guard Jill Thomas is playing basketball in Mubai, where the Prince has granted her and teammates Chardonnay Knight and Camilia Brabrickavich dual citizenship t o play on the oil rich country’s Olympic team. After returning to the country from a weekend road trip, the three were arrested for wearing shorts in public and driving a car without a male escort. . . .
Dealing with the abusive fans was bad enough but making matters worse for Jenn was the Woody costume. Whoever designed it didn’t take into account that whoever was inside the costume would need to see and move. Most mascot uniforms are designed so that you can see through the mouth but Woody’s headpiece only allowed a limited view through the beak. There wasn’t much Jenn could do once in the costume, either. She could flap her wings a little but that was about it. Even walking was difficult. Mostly she waddled slowly like a penguin.
This was a significant handicap during the Timber Baron’s nightly costume race. Between the sixth and seventh inning, three fans were picked from the stands to race around the bases against Woody while wearing the costumes of local sponsors. One fan was dressed as a giant slice of pepperoni pizza. Another was a carton of milk. The third was a giant egg. The egg was the most aerodynamically designed and usually won. The milk carton won every once in a while and even the pizza stole a victory when the egg and the milk carton got into a fight.
Jenn, however, never won. She never came close.
She simply couldn’t build up any speed in her clumsy uniform, plus her opponents usually shoved her down or tripped her as well. She usually crossed home plate 20 paces behind in last place amid a shower of garbage thrown by the fans. This was the way the team wanted it. The Timber Barons had recently been purchased by a multi-national wood products company and its entire goal behind introducing the Woody mascot was to ridicule the checkered owl and increase public sentiment against it in the hope of getting it removed from the endangered species list, thereby opening up the surrounding forest for logging and greater profits.
Jenn’s focus wasn’t on the race or her opponents when the starter’s gun went off, however. No, she was wondering what to do about Gray Sharbor. On the one hand, the notebooks she saw in the general manager’s office indicated a dangerous obsession with The Asterisk. The slugger had started his pro career in Lumberview when Sharbor was the batboy/mascot and the notebook documented his entire career with photos. Disturbingly, in a few pictures showing The Asterisk’s family, Sharbor had photo-shopped the player out and photo-shopped himself in next to his wife and kids. Worse, Jenn also found a detailed itinerary of where The Asterisk would be playing and staying, along with layouts of the stadiums and – worst of all – an order form for a rifle and scope.
Was Sharbor planning to kill his hero, ala Mark David Chapman and John Lennon? The idea sounded outrageous but you never knew these days. Why, the Department of Homefront Protection had just increased the terror threat to polka dot. (Or was that a decrease in the threat? Jenn could never keep the color codes straight.)
On the other hand, Sharbor had treated her so well. He had saved her from the attack and looked after her tenderly. He made sure she always had plenty of water during her performances and had an air-conditioned room to cool off in when she got too hot. He told her that he hated the idea behind the checkered owl mascot and that if it were up to him, he would bring back the team’s old mascot, which was a ripoff of Smokey the Bear. He then would tell her about his days as the mascot and the two would share mascot horror stories over beers long after the game. They had become friends and she felt that reporting her suspicions would be a betrayal.
But what if he really was planning to shoot The Asterisk? As she weighed this consideration, Jenn rounded third base, once again far behind her opponents, waddling in front of the Lumberview dugout when she saw Timber Barons first baseman Kent Cusick swinging a bat playfully at her..
“Hey Woody,’’ he called, “Does the Endangered Species Act protect you from this?’’
Cusick didn’t mean to hurt her. He just was playing around. In fact, he just wanted to tap her lightly on the beak in order to get a reaction from the crowd. Unfortunately, he was in the middle of a steroid cycle and didn’t realize his strength or how hard he was swinging the bat. Or that because of the limited vision Jenn had in the costume that she wouldn’t be able to see the bat and duck until it was too late.
Jenn flopped to the ground like an owl falling out of a tree.
# # #
Jill, Chardonnay and Camilia were still fuming when they were given permission to enter the Prince’s court. They had been held for 10 unpleasant hours before the Prince had learned about their arrest and ordered their release.
“What the hell is going on?’’ Jill demanded when the three had been seated at the Prince’s 30-foot, gold-trimmed dining table. His servants glared hard at her.
“Please,’’ the Prince said, setting down his fork. “You must be discreet with your language for the moment. It is a sensitive time.’’
As the Prince continued his dinner of pan-fried Komodo dragon, he explained that during the players’ recent road trip, the religious mullahs had once again asserted their moral authority within the country. Mubai, he said, normally was the most liberal and western of the Persian Gulf states but periodically the religious fundamentalists would take a stand and conservative law took effect. That is why the three had been arrested for dress and activities that previously had not been an issue.
“Do not worry, though -- this is merely a temporary shifting of a few grains in a desert of sands,’’ the Prince said. “The mullahs need to flex their muscles on occasion but even the strongest camel must eventually pause for water. This shall pass. It always does.’’
“And what do we do in the meantime?’’ Chardonnay asked. “Play in burkas?’’
The Prince clapped his hands and laughed heartily. “Burkas! On basketball players! Such stereotypes you Westerners hold. Perhaps you think we will arm our officials with swords to hack off your hands for a flagrant foul? Both hands for fouling out?’’ He laughed at his own joke until tear drops swelled in his eyes.
Jill was relieved. “So how will this work? You’ll make some sort of announcement allowing us to play as usual?’’
The Prince was silent. He rubbed his chin, stroking the salt-and-pepper hairs of his goatee.
“My religious advisors indicate such a move would not be wise at the moment.’’
“So what then?’’ Chardonnay said. “We’ll play in secret?’’
The Prince reached for his tea and took a long sip. He set it back down and spoke. “No, I have a better plan.’’
“Such as?’’
“A moment please,’’ the Prince said, raising his eyebrows to signal a servant. The servant brought over an easel and set it up by the Prince’s throne. On the easel was a drawing of a basketball player wearing a uniform that vaguely resembled the outfit Barbara Eden wore in “I Dream of Jeanie.’’ The player had on a pair of silky blue parachute pants, a coordinated long-sleeve blouse, a blue scarf wrapped lightly around her face and a Fez-like cap on top of her head.
“My personal stylist designed your new uniforms. You see? It is no burka but instead a lovely uniform suitable for both the hardwood and the harem. Do not worry. Athena assures me the veil sheds sweat easily. Plus, it will only be for a few games until the mullahs tire of this current campaign and the country returns to normalcy.’’
“And if we refuse to wear this?’’
“I am afraid refusal is quite impossible.’’
# # #
The bat only momentarily stunned Jenn. It didn’t hurt her as much as it jolted her into action. All the humiliation she had endured as the Checkered Owl mascot, all the stress, pain and heartache she had been through over the past year, came exploding to the surface.
“That does it,’’ she shouted, bouncing back from the blow. “I’ve @#$& had it up to here with the way you guys have treated me.’’
She grabbed the bat from the stunned Cusick and swung it towards him as if it was a light saber and he was Darth Vader. He backed away from Jenn, edging his way to the safety of the dugout.
“That’s right, run away,’’ she called after him. “You’re not so big and tough without your bat, are you?’’
Cusick retreated into the dugout and Jenn ripped the Owl headpiece off and attempted to hurl it after him, cursing the first baseman all the while. Unable to do so because of the restrictive movements of her owl garb, she cursed and unzipped the costume. When she stripped down to her running shorts and t-shirt, the stadium organist began playing an almost unlistenable version of “The Stripped.’’ The crowd began clapping and hooting for Jenn to take more off.
“What, you think this is Mardi Gras and I’m going to flash my tits?’’ Jenn said as she looked at the fans who had spent the past several weeks making her life a living hell. “You have got to be @#$& kidding me if you think I’m taking my damn clothes off for you @#$&. I’m a mascot, not a goddamn stripper.’’
But while there was no way Jenn was going to strip, the way the crowd was reacting did get her adrenaline pumping and gave her an idea. The fans wanted a show? Well, they were going to get a show all right.
First, she leaped on top of the dugout and broke into an impromptu dance that included the Robot, the Sprinkler, the Hammer Dance, the Ickey Shuffle and the Macarena. Then she jumped off the dugout and ran out to third base. She grabbed the base, yanked it from the ground and tossed it into left field. Then she ran to second base, yanked it from the ground and tossed it into center field. Then she ran to first base, yanked it out of the ground and threw it into the opponent’s dugout, smacking their center fielder in the head and drawing blood. When the umpire tried to calm her down, she only kicked dirt on his shoes and pantomimed mooning him.
The crowd roared its approval, egging Jenn on further. She didn’t disappoint. She hadn’t had this much fun at a game since she was Bubby the Red Devil. So instead of calming down, she took her act to the next level by grabbing a ball bag, then crawling across the infield to the first base line and lobbing balls into the opposing dugout as if they were hand grenades until the bag was half-empty. Then she stomped over to the Timber Barons dugout and fired the rest of the baseball at Carsick, who was apologizing profusely. Jenn didn’t hear him, not that she could have stopped herself anyway. She charged into the dugout and moments later she tossed a rack full of bats, the Gatorade jug, the medical kit and a toilet onto the field.
When stadium security attempted to apprehend her, Jenn evaded them easily and raced away down the right field line. She might have gotten out of the stadium safely had she not spotted the club’s cherished axe, won decades earlier in a postseason tournament against the rival town, and kept on display by the bullpen. Without pausing to think things through, she grabbed the axe and wandered over to the right field foul pole. She gestured to the crowd as if asking “Should I?’’ and they applauded enthusiastically.
After weeks of abuse, the Timber Baron fans now loved Jenn.
She swung the axe and took a couple strong licks at the foul pole, counting each stroke. This made the crowd even more excited and began chanting “10, 9, 8. 7, 6 . . .’’ each moment the axe tore into the foul pole. The pole began to shake with each axe blade cutting into it, and with one last swing, Jenn heard the pole snap and tumble to the ground.
“Timber, you mother @#$&,’’ she shouted.
Jenn probably would have gotten away with her little performance had the pole not fallen right on the Timber Barons bullpen, the roof that was painted with an advertisement for the paper manufacturing corporation that owned the team. “OUR LUMBER HOLDS UP TO ANYTHING – EVEN CHECKERED OWLS!!!’’ the ad’s slogan unfortunately read before the foul pole struck the roof and shattered it into hundreds of fragments.
“Uh-oh,’’ Jenn said. “I hope they don’t take that out of my paycheck.’’
Next: Hollywoodland
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