Take it from a former Mr. Met: It ain't easy being a mascot
— -- A little before 11 p.m. on Wednesday, I received a text from a friend of mine who used to be the mascot for the Baltimore Orioles. It was a heads-up that my Twitter feed was about to explode, thanks to the now-infamous video snippet of Mr. Met giving the middle to finger to fans. He knew. You see, Mr. Met used to be me -- or I used to be Mr. Met. For those who have been a professional mascot, the lines sometimes get a bit blurry. But the key word is professional.
A mascot is the most visible PR tool at a team's disposal, which is why you can't just stick anybody into the costume and hope for the best. You can't do what some minor league teams do each night, which is have all the interns essentially draw straws, with the loser getting stuck with the suit. As we saw in vivid detail Wednesday, all it takes is one moment for that to fall apart.
Here's the thing: You're inside an oversized costume built to grab the attention of every fan in the stadium -- especially children. You need to assume all eyes are on you from the moment you emerge from your dressing room until you shut the door behind you again.
I've been there. I've had beers poured on me. I've had drunken fans attack me from behind in an attempt to knock me to the ground. And yes, when the Mets were losing big -- which happened quite a bit during my tenure in the suit, from 1994 to 1997 -- I was on the receiving end of many four-letter words that weren't "M-E-T-S."
Heck, my head was shaped like a giant baseball and the Mets actually sent me to the upper deck on bat day after having armed the children with weapons of (literally, in my case) Mass destruction. Was I ever tempted to respond in kind? Sure, I'm human. But I never did, because I recognized the responsibility attached to being Mr. Met. I enjoyed my job, and I took it seriously.
As I detailed in my book, "Yes, It's Hot in Here," people can forget there's an actual Mr. (or Ms.) inside the Mr. Met costume. Some fans treat mascots as if they're less than human. Inside the suit, you're tired, drenched in sweat and in physical pain from carrying the weight of the costume on your shoulders. It's understandable why someone might snap, even for just a moment. It could happen to the most experienced performer, never mind someone thrust into the job at a moment's notice.
There are also pitfalls you might not consider. When I was Mr. Met, I made it a policy never to hold infants for photos or video. I was always terrified that as soon as parents placed their most precious cargo in my oversized, four-fingered hands, that would be the moment some inebriated fan would decide to tackle me from behind. If you think there's outrage from Mr. Met's hand gesture, imagine what would ensue from a viral video of a mascot dropping a baby.
As a mascot, you simply don't put yourself in those situations. And as an organization, it behooves you to avoid headaches -- like the one the Mets are currently suffering -- by making sure your hiring practices are thorough. After all, you never want anyone pointing the finger at you.
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