Which Mascots Are Clumsy, Which Are Perverts

The Portland Pickles, a college summer-league baseball team, pulled a publicity stunt yesterday in which they “gave their mascot” control of their Twitter account so “their mascot,” Dillon, a pickle, could “accidentally” tweet out a photo of himself in such a way that it appeared his thumb was an erect, felt-covered [insert euphemism of your choice]. Here’s the photo, if you’re into that kind of thing. Tagged in the photo (evidently you can tag people on Twitter?) were a few other brands, two people with alternate names for wangs in their names, and a beat reporter for the Chargers who I immediately assumed one time accidentally tweeted out a nude photo of himself, but may have just been tagged for the purpose of sowing more chaos? I don’t know. That one was wild. Imagine getting tagged in that photo. I would be terrified. I would panic. I might quit the blogging game. Move to a country that speaks Portuguese. Not learn Portuguese. Find a creek and sit and look at it and wonder why I was tagged.

It was a good gag, partially because the mascot is among the weirdest-looking mascots in the world. I mean, look at the dude. He looks like Purdue Pete had a baby with a CPA who was also a baseball-playing pickle:

We write a lot about mascots here. We’ve also explained—sorry, whoa, man, a lot of people are going the wrong way down this one-way street outside the coffee shop window. That guy has no idea he’s doing it. Oh. Oh wait. He just figured it out. He’s not sure what to do. Ok he appears to just be turning off onto a side street, which is…also one way? No? Ok he’s out of sight now. Godspeed, Honda Accord.

Anyway, we’ve also explained that I personally was raised by a mascot, by which I mean earnestly that one of my parents was a mascot in college. You could say that I’m half-masc—OH GOD oh wait no that street isn’t one-way we’re good. Wow. Thought I was about to see a head-on crash.

Alright, back to the story. You could say that I’m half-mascot. Maybe that’s why I’m so fascinated by them. Maybe that’s why I’m spending time thinking up ways of pondering mascots like, “All mascots possess some degree of either clumsiness, pervertedness, or a combination of the two.”

You see, this wasn’t an accident. Dillon’s clearly a perv. Dillon’s a disgusting freak who should not be allowed at summer league baseball games. Call me a puritan, but get that guy the hell away from families. I don’t care that it’s Portland. There needs to be a line, and if Dillon didn’t cross that line, the line’s in the wrong place, even in Oregon.

But Dillon’s also clumsy. Because it was, simultaneously, an accident. Dillon isn’t a mastermind. He’s a pervert and a clutz. Some mascots are one. Some are the other. Dillon is both.

Disputing this dichotomy? Consider the following mascots:

• Purdue Pete: Pervert. Look at his face.
• Stanford Tree: Pervert. Look at its face.
• Brutus Buckeye: Pervert. Again, the face.
• Benny the Bull: Clumsy. Always spilling popcorn.
• Gritty: Clumsy. Bet he’s knocked over so many drinks with his hips.
• Blooper: Clumsy. Has killed and will kill again.
• The Notre Dame Leprechaun: Pervert. All leprechauns are perverts, not all perverts are leprechauns.
• Uga: Clumsy. You’ve met a bulldog before. You know.
• The Oregon Duck: Pervert.
• Big Al: More perverted than you realize but mostly a clutz.
• Sooner Schooner: The clumsiest.

I could go on. It applies to all of them. You know how much time Mike the Tiger spends mooning the populace and licking himself?

In short, we can’t be too surprised at Dillon’s actions yesterday. Dillon comes from a perverted, clumsy race. But we still must hold him accountable. Put that mascot in jail.