Cocky's no Chicken

Cocky. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Tuesday afternoon I got a call. It was TG. "Wanna go see USC play The Citadel in baseball tonight? I got four free tickets."
After making sure the "date" didn't involve a hasty trip to Charleston (the venue was Carolina's spanking-new stadium in Columbia), I agreed.
After all, the weather was fine. Carolina fine, and as the song says, nothing could be finer.
The Boo would tag along, good sport that she is, and we'd sell the fourth ticket to cover five-dollar parking. TG promised to take us out afterwards for dessert or "whatever."
(I adore "whatever." Always look for it on the menu.)
Besides, when it comes to baseball and TG, I have a soft spot. Our first date -- Thursday, August 24, 1978 -- was at Comiskey Park in Chicago. The White Sox beat the Kansas City Royals 4-1.
The weather was beautiful that night too.
On Tuesday the Gamecocks beat the Dawgs 10-1. Truth be known, the game was over practically before it started.
TG was despondent about the humiliation of his alma mater but for Boo and me, who couldn't have cared less who won, the night was about people-watching.
Prepared. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Like the elderly ladies in front of us. One of them, as shadows began lengthening and the temperature fell below 68 degrees Fahrenheit, put on a stocking cap. She was already wearing a heavy fleece jacket.
Must've been a Chicago fan.
And then there was Cocky.
The University of South Carolina's mascot is a big red rooster who wears jersey number 01. Predictably he's got ginormous yellow feet and wears white gloves.
His antics are cute. He pretends to torment fans, covering their heads with his big floppy foam beak. He roams the stadium, shaking hands and dandling babies like a seasoned politician.
Come to think of it, there are plenty of cocky politicians … ahh. Let's not go down that rabbit trail just now.
But have you ever seen the San Diego Chicken? In … uhm, person?
I have. In Chicago.
For purely hysterical loopy humor the likes of which has been oft imitated but never matched, The Chicken is the very heart and soul of fowl having a ball.
The story of Ted Giannoulas, the genius behind The Chicken, is about as amazing as it gets too. You should read his bio here. It'll inspire you.
Accept no substitutes.
TG reminded me of the time when our Stephanie was turning five. Joined by my parents, we took her to Comiskey for an end-of-summer game.
The Chicken was on the menu schedule. What a treat.
A few years earlier, having taken in a Chicago Bulls game which included an appearance by The Chicken, TG was carrying Steph on his shoulders as they left the arena. Without fanfare who should materialize before them?
The Chicken.
TG urged little Stephanie to reach out and touch The Chicken's fur, and she did. The Chicken waited patiently for her to finish before moving on.
During his career (which is in its fourth decade) The Chicken has signed over two million autographs. In fact, he will never turn anyone away who waits in line for his chicken scratch.
Once he signed until 2:20 in the morning. That's when the last fan left.
I give you The Chicken. Accept no substitutes.
p.s. When you visit his web site, don't forget to shop at the Chicken Store. He's got some great buys there ... and shipping is always free!
Had enough chicken? Me neither. Here are more nuggets.

