Gannon Knight Features

     I’m really not a fan of slapstick comedy, but my experience of participating in the “Smith’s Weiner Race” at an Erie SeaWolves game last week was something fresh out of a Saturday morning cartoon – especially when I started to run.
     But to back up, I ended up being an honorary member of the SeaWolves “Wolfpack” simply by chance. A good friend of mine is interning for the SeaWolves over the summer. They were short-staffed for this particular game, as the afternoon game schedule made it difficult for the regular members of the Wolfpack, who are all high school students and out-of-town college students, to attend.
     I agreed to do it, as I rarely turn down an opportunity to try something new.
     Little did I know what I was in for.
     After arriving at the ballpark, I received a jersey and ran through the schedule with the other members of the Wolfpack for the day. I was geared and ready to go.
     Then I scrolled down to the bottom of the list, where I happened to see my name – right next to “Weiner Race.” I was instantly horrified.
     When I saw my name on the list and realized what I would be doing, I had flashbacks to my very first SeaWolves game back in 10th grade of high school. At the time, I found nothing funnier than watching those poor innocent souls run around the field in suits that they were clearly not meant to fit in.
     I got a real kick out of the flailing arms on two of the Smith’s Hot Dog products. My friends and I even booed them. Once the flashback was over, I realized that karma certainly has a funny way of slapping you right in the face.
     Here was my punishment.
     As the time neared for me and my fellow Wolfpackers to run around and clearly embarrass ourselves, I kept thinking about how much of a jerk I was for laughing at those poor kids.
     The first challenge was getting the suit on, and after three failed attempts, I realized that this was going to possibly be even more embarrassing than I already anticipated. I eventually got the suit on and nearly toppled over in the process due to the extremely awkward top-heavy nature of the costume I was wearing.
     At that moment, I was no longer Janae Butler, and instead, I became Santino Sausage, also known as the darker hot dog with the green cap.
     While we waited for the inning to be over, we were given a run through of exactly how it was going to go, which basically meant we were just supposed to start running as soon as the gates opened.
     I decided to not pay attention to this portion of the instruction period, which ended up being my downfall.
     As I tried to figure out a way to run so that no one would be able to identify me, the gates opened.
     Herbie Hot Dog and Kenny Kielbsa took off in front of me, while I stood there, clueless that the race had actually started.
     I eventually caught on and took off. As much as I wanted to flail my arms like all those before me who had worn the suit, I realized I couldn’t because Santino’s cap was bouncing all over the place and I could barely see.
     The time I spent running, which was approximately 30 seconds, was horrific. It was a painful blur, as I could hear an entire elementary school class laughing at me. I even heard someone say “Wow. Santino really sucks today.” Awesome.
     As I finished the race, coming in dead last, I instantly gained the utmost respect for anyone who was ever made to put on a costume and run around or do anything ridiculous.
     It’s not as easy as it looks. And the suits aren’t soundproof, so when you tell us how much you feel sorry for us and any other insulting thing you can think of, we can definitely hear you. In addition to learning a lesson in karma, bullying and my lack of physical fitness, I learned a lesson in respect.
     The next time you see someone in a mascot suit at a sporting event or otherwise, give them a hug, instead of wondering whether a male or a female is the one staring back.
     They have feelings, too.