As the most noteworthy thing to happen to me this summer was probably being felt up by a four-year-old in the check-out line at Shopko, the issue I am about to address if of (somewhat) greater societal importance.
I speak, of course, of the heinous act of cased-meat-clobbering that occurred at Miller Park during a match between the Milwaukee Brewers and the Pittsburgh Pirates. For those who missed the highlights, here's a brief synopsis:
The regular between-inning race of costumed mascots dressed as different flavors of sausage turned tragic following the unprovoked bat-walloping that awaited the Italian link as it passed the Pirates' dugout, bringing it down with one swift blow to the chef's hat.
I'll admit I laughed at every one of the numerous replays, but I digress–the mascot rage is being directed at the wrong targets. You see, these wursts are a rarity among foam automatons and their animated counterparts for the simple reason that they wear pants.
I know what you're thinking–"What the hell, you pasty freak, most of them are animals or inanimate objects that don't wear clothes!"
True indeed, but pause a moment to consider how many of these creations wear other articles of clothing, but no pants. Take our own Bucky Badger, who appears decked out in the requisite accessories to promote a plethora of sports, but never is a pair of pants among them, even for winter activities.
Lest you think this is an isolated anomaly that gives no credence to my suggestion of shady doings on a grander scale, look no further than a TV, grocery store or whimsical craft catalog. Twinkie the Kid, Yogi Bear, Porky Pig–adornments galore, but no lower quadrant coverage in the lot of them. Even the beloved Peter Rabbit was, simply put, a pantsless pervert.
This means that someone, at some point during each of these characters' conceptions, made a conscious decision not to include a simple pair of slacks, and evidently all others in the chain of command acquiesced.
Were no objections raised merely because these entities lack visible gender-determining anatomy? Or is this an unconscious manifestation through popular culture of latent desires the civilized society beyond Langdon St. has deemed unacceptable to express in a more forthright manner?
Origins aside, why has this phenomenon endured and propagated? Where are the cries of indecency? Where are the book-banning moral activists to shield the children? (That sit-in at the Alabama courthouse can't account for all of them.)
Our good pal John Ashcroft says we should forgo looking up articles on breast cancer or the mating rituals of the blue-tufted bog-hoppers of Sri Lanka in public libraries in the name of guarding the collective innocence of the nation's youth–but the kiddies can sit back and watch Spuddy Buddy gyrating around in only a sweatshirt and shoes hawking Idaho potatoes?
Yes, if violence in the media begets violent behavior, by the same logic, saturating the commercial market with child-friendly characters sans pants is no doubt going to encourage a trouser backlash one of these generations. And then where will this world be? You think we've got problems now, just you wait, people.
Holly Noe's column runs each Friday. If you can top her alma mater's exhibitionist mascot, the Fighting Golden Beaver, she can be reached at [email protected].