I came, at least somewhat, for the promised free pizza, and I ate so much of it that I already wasn’t feeling so good.
But I’d always been curious to try on the Wildcat suit, and volunteering at last May’s cap and gown distribution event (which was also weird because it was the first time I’d been inside East on a Wednesday in over a year) gave me the perfect chance. After the seniors made their way through the line to get their cap and gown, they would each pose for a cheesy photo with the Wildcat mascot. I had the chance to be the star of the whole event, and besides, how many other chances would I get to join what I’d assume is a fairly select club of people who’ve worn the suit?
There were some things I hadn’t thought about, though. When the pieces of the costume were brought out to me in a black chest surely at least as old as East itself, I started to smell what I was getting myself into.
I slipped on the main onesie part of the costume first (which is fuzzy in a way that makes you wish you’d worn long sleeves and pants so it wouldn’t be touching your skin directly), then the feet, then the gloves (of which there are two choices, oddly, depending on the length of your fingers) and finally the head (I was told I didn’t need to wear my mask under the head, but I stayed masked because it helped with the smell). I immediately realized it was going to be a long day of awkward neck positions, because you can only see out of the Wildcat’s grinning, mesh mouth.
Then it was time to learn the poses. I alternated randomly between giving a thumbs-up, flexing, and putting up two fingers on one hand and one finger on the other for the class of ‘21.
They let me take a break every once in a while, during which I plopped down in a chair like a boxer between rounds, sweating disgustingly as I briefly removed the Wildcat head to chug a few tiny plastic water bottles in a row.
I amused myself, though, thinking about the anonymity that the Wildcat suit provides. I said hi to some of my baseball teammates, and left other kids to guess aimlessly at my identity, silently waving and gesturing at them like one of the character mascots at Disney World as kids I didn’t really know adamantly insisted that I was in fact their friend so-and-so. Other times I just responded, “I’m a Wildcat, obviously!” to those who asked.
It was a sweaty, stinky afternoon. But, in the end, wearing the Wildcat suit was all that I hoped it would be. It smells like school spirit.
Photo courtesy of Phil Stapleton
