One of the hazards of my line of work is that I often find myself in the company of mascots.
I have grown more comfortable interacting with mascots over time, but in my early years, I was not a fan. Clowns, magicians, or any performer in a costume in which you could not see their real face freaked me out.
As I matured, I tried relating to mascots by talking to the person in the suit. That is not the way to do it. It wasn’t until I took a turn in Mercer University’s old Toby the Bear costume with the unwieldy, giant fiberglass head that I began to understand how the mascot-human relationship works best.
My opportunity to serve Mercer in this special way occurred at the Half Century Club event for alumni who graduated more than 50 years ago. This took place sometime around the year 2000, which meant I was Toby for alumni who graduated in the 1950s.
My duties consisted largely of greeting little old ladies with vigorous hand waves, posing for pictures, and attempting hugs. The simple embrace proved to be my greatest failing as a mascot.
“Toby, you’re nothing but skin and bones,” said one sweet lady who was chagrined that her “bear hug” was less than ample.
“Ouch!” said another when I leaned in for a photo and bonked her on the head with my giant Toby helmet.
“Toby, are you OK?” one very considerate lady asked when she no doubt detected my heat exhaustion and heard heavy breathing echoing in the head piece.
From these kind and concussed gentle ladies, I learned the secret of navigating the mascot relationship. Don’t engage with the human inside, engage with the mascot as its own entity… like a dog or a cat. When I let Toby be Toby, my relationship with mascots improved dramatically.
As has been well documented in this space, my career has taken some twists and turns since I entered the world of higher education way back in 1999. I have befriended and been photographed with a number of mascots: Mercer’s Toby, Georgia Tech’s Buzz, Georgia’s Hairy Dawg, Oglethorpe’s Petey, among others. Even though mascots share certain characteristics in common, each has their own personality.
The latest iteration of Toby is fierce. Buzz is hyperactive and mischievous. Hairy is buff and intimidating. Petey is a Stormy Petrel with resilience, poise, and amazing dance moves.
Buzz and I did fly to New York City together to appear on the New York Stock Exchange. Buzz managed to hold it together on the plane and behaved only slightly inappropriately amongst the traders.
Also on this trip, when we were outside the Stock Exchange posing for photos with VIPs, ill-informed tourists kept yelling “Hey, Uga!” at Hairy. How embarrassing for them. Hairy is clearly not Uga. Uga is a real, live English Bulldog. Hairy is a person in a costume of a dog in a football uniform. (Very meta… a costume of an animal in a costume). I bet this happens more than Hairy would like, but I don’t think he minds. Just don’t call him “Spike.”
My favorite Buzz memory occurred during one commencement ceremony. The tradition is when a former Buzz graduates, they wear the iconic Converse shoes, and the current Buzz carries them onto the stage. Well, one particular graduation, Buzz was rolling around the floor of McMamish Pavilion in an office chair. In the downtime between the morning and afternoon ceremonies, Georgia Tech President Bud Peterson – knowing full well you can’t stop Buzz but can only hope to contain him – said to the event staff: “Buzz needs to calm down.”
Not likely.
In early 2024, I took Petey to the Georgia Capitol for Georgia Independent Colleges Association Day. I took Petey and served at his private security. I stood guard outside of the first floor restroom while he dressed. In my dark suit, I am often mistaken for a secret service agent, and as I waved people off the restroom saying it was “occupied,” people walked away whispering, “I wonder if the Governor was in there?”
No, it was someone WAY more important – Petey the Petrel.
But at that event Petey was the star. As school groups toured the Capitol, they ignored all the legislators in their business suits and dresses. Instead, they lined up to give Petey a high five and snap a photo. Petey was easily the most popular of the mascots, and he had the most stamina. While the others were taking breaks every 15 minutes, Petey pushed on, working a full two-hour shift.
Before you report me to the SPCA, I made sure Petey had plenty of water and a Chick fil-A chicken biscuit.
At the Georgia Student Finance Commission, we work with the Governor’s office each year to plan and host the Governor’s Valedictorian Reception. That is, quite simply, the motherlode of mascots. You haven’t lived until you’ve been a fly on the wall as Georgia’s mascots, including Buzz and Hairy Dawg, are all in a locker room comparing techniques and swapping stories. Mascots have seen some things, let me tell you.
It’s an open secret that the mascot costumes smell… ah… “earthy.” They are usually not far from a can of Febreze when doffing the suit and putting it away in storage. It is considered poor etiquette to mention odors in their presence. Would you want someone to talk openly about your malodorous fragrance? Mascots have feelings, too.
After my photo op with Kennesaw State’s Scrappy the Owl last week, I predictably sent a photo to my family group text thread. Harris, my middle son, quipped, “Lancer gets pics with all the mascots.”
Yes, Harris, I do. And when I complete my collection, I will frame all of the pictures and hang them in our newly redecorated bedroom. I’m sure my Darling Beloved will love it.
New South Essays 