Team mascots have cool jobs, sort of

SACRAMENTO -- Minor League players move up and down over the years, but mascots are forever. Maybe not forever, but mascots are as important to the Minor League Baseball experience as having a speedy leadoff hitter.

For this week's installment of "Working the Minors," I suited up as Dinger, the mascot for the Sacramento River Cats to see what it was like inside the costume.

But before I could put on the suit, I had to learn the ropes. So, I traveled to Sacramento to follow Dinger-regular Ricky Gonzalez for a day.

When I arrived at Raley Field I was first taken to an innocuous solid white door with no markings. This was Dinger's Closet, home to the Dinger costume and a place that I would become very familiar with over the next two days. Ricky showed up minutes later, and after a quick introduction we began discussing the game plan for the next two games.

On day one, I would follow Ricky around with one of the handlers and watch him perform, to get a feel for what I would be doing. A handler is a member of the team's staff who walks with Dinger around the park to make sure that he doesn't run over any small children -- and that those same small children don't destroy the costume.

The next day it would be my turn in the suit. I would start the game and go as long as I wanted. He would be there to spell me if I couldn't take Dinger the distance.

After we made our plans, the conversation quickly turned to the perils of being a mascot. The Dinger costume has a body suit, oversized shoes, a full head and furry gloves. Needless to say it gets hot in there -- really, really hot. Ricky showed me an article written by another fearless journalist who had attempted to be Dinger for a day. She lasted mere minutes before succumbing to severe headaches and vomiting. This was about the time I started to get a little worried.

Ricky attempted to reassure me by saying he had only been taken to the hospital once, and that was on a really hot day when he wasn't feeling well before donning the costume. Despite his best efforts, I was still highly concerned. This was going to be harder than I thought.

That feeling was confirmed when I decided to put on the costume to get a sense of what the next day could be like. First off, I was too tall for the costume. I was able to get the body suit on, but instead of Dinger's normal retro-style baggy pants, on me they looked two sizes too small. Clearly, Dinger wasn't designed with my 6-foot-4 frame in mind.

The next issue was the head. The moment I wriggled it on, I knew playing a mascot was not as easy as it looked. I couldn't see. Well, technically I could see -- but what I was experiencing was pure tunnel vision. Anything that wasn't directly in front of my face was a total mystery. I could hear Ricky telling me where the gloves were to try on, but no matter how much I swung my head around I couldn't find them. I could only imagine what this was going to be like when I was surrounded by hundreds of screaming children.

About 25 minutes before first pitch, it was Ricky's turn to put on the suit. This is his second year as one of the regular Dingers, and he was a pro at putting on the costume. While it took me nearly 10 minutes to get everything on properly, Ricky did it in seconds, slipping the neck underneath the jersey and lacing the boots with ease. Right before leaving the closet, he powered through an entire bottle of water, something he would do many times again before the game concluded.

We headed out to the field to prepare for the national anthem. The instant we hit the stands we were surrounded by people shouting for Dinger. I wasn't even in the suit, and it was overwhelming. By the time that first pitch was thrown, Dinger had hugged dozens of people, taken countless pictures and signed everything from balls to bats to leftover paper cups. After two innings of schmoozing with the fans, it was time for the first break.

Sunday was an easy day for Dinger. There were no on-field activities that he had to participate in, and no required times to be in the stands after the second inning. This meant that Ricky would have plenty of time to cool off and rest back in Dinger's Closet. Sacramento was playing Nashville that day, but in the closet -- with no TV, radio or windows -- we would never have known it.

Instead of worrying about the game, Ricky was downing water and an energy drink, trying to prepare for his next stint on the field. Frequent breaks are required throughout a game -- there is no way around it. Even an experienced mascot like Ricky needed at least a few innings off to make it safely through a game.

During Ricky's break, I left to explore Raley Field and imagine what the next day was going to be like. I tried to visualize walking down stairs without killing myself. I began to worry again.

After about half an hour, Ricky emerged in costume once again. This time he lasted about three innings, hugging, posing and signing. I learned Dinger's go-to moves: the high-five, the fist-pound, the head-rub -- and the classic pretend-to-steal-a-fan's-food. People of all ages were coming up to Ricky, not just little kids.

Watching Ricky, I noticed a peculiar thing about mascots -- most people have no idea who is in the suit, yet because a person is dressed as a mascot, it is somehow socially acceptable to do things that would normally violate someone else's personal space. It was a weird realization that the next day I would be expected to walk up and hug people or touch people whom I don't know, and who don't know me. I saw that in order to be a really good mascot you have to accept that departure from comfortable social interactions.

After another quick break, we headed out to the field for the seventh-inning stretch. I was allowed to go onto the field to help lead the crowd and throw out a Frisbee, which didn't go well. I was directly in front of the Sacramento dugout, and in order to get it over I threw it as hard as I could. It whistled over the dugout and straight into someone's chest.

After hustling off the field hiding my face, we headed to an autograph booth, where Dinger spent the rest of the game signing anything and everything that people brought. The only thing he wasn't allowed to sign was the people themselves, due to liability issues.

By the end of the day, Ricky looked exhausted, but that was all in a day's work for a mascot. It was his sixth straight game as Dinger, and he was ready for a break -- which he would get the next day, at my expense.

I decided to get to the ballpark early the next day. In an effort to calm my nerves, I put on just the head and practiced navigating around Dinger's cluttered closet. It didn't really help my confidence, since I kept running into the folding chairs that were strewn throughout the tiny room.

The day before, Ricky told me that I was getting the top wrangler, James Clemmer, for my debut as Dinger. He showed up about an hour before game time, and we started breaking down how everything was going to go. I would start the game as Dinger and go as long as I could. Ricky would be there to take over if I had to tap out at any point.

About a half-hour before first pitch, it was time to suit up. Unlike Ricky, I needed a hand to get the costume on, and after about five minutes of pushing and prodding I finally had the thing on. It was game time.

Twenty-five minutes before first pitch I made my grand entrance, emerging from the tunnel behind home plate. All the regulars commented to me how tall Dinger had become, but I didn't let it faze me. I was on. The moment I stepped into the sight of the crowd, the cries of "Dinger" came pouring down from all around me. I looked out Dinger's nose, trying to pick out where the voices were coming from, but more often then not I couldn't find them, even if they were right in front of me.

James proved to be enormously helpful in solving this problem. He would tap me on the shoulder and point out where people were who wanted a picture, a high -ive or anything else. Without his help, I would have been in serious trouble.

After about five minutes, I started feeling more comfortable. It was still awkward, and getting progressively hotter, but I was really getting a feel for what I should be doing. I had an easier time finding the kids who wanted to say "Hi" to Dinger, and I even signed a baseball, all while staying totally silent.

Right before the national anthem, there was a check presentation on the field, and I was hustled through the gate leading to the playing area to pose for photos with the group receiving the donation. I smiled (although no one could see it) and waved to the camera, praying that I was facing the right way. I guess it turned out all right, because when I stepped back off the field, James congratulated me on not making a fool of myself.

Then it was time for the national anthem. That was when I felt the wheels starting to wobble on their axles. It would seem like just standing there with your hand on your heart should be the easiest of tasks for a mascot, and it was. But in that minute and a half with no action, my body started taking stock of what was going on.

When I was mingling with the crowd, my mind was occupied by how to get an infant to stop crying, but during the anthem it turned to the uncomfortable situation I was in. By "the rockets red glare" I started feeling a little wobbly. By "the home of the free" I could feel my hands starting to shake. I knew I didn't have much more left in the tank.

I stuck around through first pitch, but I was spent. I could feel my shirt sticking to my skin under the costume, and my hair was starting to mat to my forehead. I needed a break and some water, quick. I walked over to James and signaled that I needed to get back to the closet. We hustled back down under the seats, but the tunnel seemed to have gotten a lot longer since the beginning of the day.

The second the door was closed I took the head off as quickly as I could. My hands were shaking, which made unbuttoning the jersey particularly difficult. I finally gave myself some air and slumped into a chair. I had been drinking water almost non-stop for the last two days, but after a half hour it felt like every ounce of water that was once in my body was now in sweat form and no longer of any use to me. I drank four entire bottles of water in the next 10 minutes as the world slowly began to come back into focus. I knew that I was going to need a very long rest before I'd be ready to re-emerge.

After about 20 minutes of resting, I decided to pull the plug. I was nowhere close to recovered and slightly afraid of what might happen if I tried to go back out. Recalling the horror stories I'd heard the day before, I decided to pass Dinger duties back to Ricky for the rest of the game.

After one half-hour with the crowd, my mascot career was over.

I followed Ricky around for the rest of the ballgame with a newfound appreciation for his talents. Sure, I was disappointed I didn't last longer in the costume. But I did come away with new respect for the people who perform in one of Minor League Baseball's most central traditions.