The Easter Story

The Easter story

Not THAT Easter story. But an Easter story nonetheless.

It was early April in 2001 and I was very much enjoying my time working in the front office of the Minnesota Twins Baseball Club. We in the operations department were on the fence about whether or not we should have an appearance by the Easter Bunny at the game the upcoming Sunday.

As I recall it, we didn't come to a decision at the weekly meeting that Monday, but come Thursday afternoon we had decided to go ahead with the plan. Given the fact that we were less than 72 hours away from the event, we needed two main ingredients:  A costume and a patsy. Er....I mean, costume wearer. There wasn't a whole lot of discussion about who would be in the "starring role". Having worn an actual original Chewbacca costume the previous August on a day when it when the temperature outside was over 100 degrees, my fate was already predetermined. (That's a whole DIFFERENT post right there. See my blog entitled "Wookie of the Year). So one of my co-workers and I took the short trip from the Metrodome, down Chicago Avenue to a costume shop and inquired about what costumes they might have left for rental at this late date. Bunny costumes are in short supply on the Thursday before Easter. I checked the aisles of the costume shop. The pickens were mighty slim, to say the least. I finally found a bunny costume that would fit and went my merry way back to my offices at the Metrodome.

Some 72 hours later it was Easter Sunday morning and I was in my office "getting my rabbit on".  The shoe covers are best when used with white shoes sized 10 (size 43 for those of you across the pond) or smaller. I, unfortunately, wear a size 12 (45 for you Brits). So it became necessary to secure the shoe covers with safety pins.  The costume, as you may be able to see from the photos posted on my facebook page today, is kinda........"form-fitting."

Complete with a pink tail the size of a softball, I readied myself for the adventure ahead of me. Just prior to putting on the head I took a look at it.  The bunny's got kind of a maniacal look on his face, like something out of a Wes Craven film. I asked for assistance from the Mountain Dew Funatics, known for assisting T.C. Bear in the distribution of t-shirts and goodwill during home games. I secured the head to my body and noticed that there was a small switch on the top of the head. This turned out to be a toggle switch which operated a mini fan in the top of the bunny's head.  I could hear it pretty clearly in the quiet of the locker room. "Can you guys hear that buzzing noise?", I asked my assistants. Their reaction was, "What noise?" This told me that my worry about the hum of the small-scale rotors was for naught.

I took a deep breath and headed down the ramp where the Vikings usually enter stadium and onto the field. We were expecting about 20,000 fans that day, which would've been a good showing considering our recent winning percentage and the fact that we hadn't qualified for the postseason since we'd won a world championship in 1991. 

I went down the left field line and met up with the one and only T.C. Bear. I followed him toward the stands where we signed many autographs. As I walked toward the home plate area I passed the Twins dugout. Now, somehow the word had leaked as to who was occupying the crazed-looking rabbit suit. I heard a player who will remain nameless (Jacque Jones) call out to me with the phrase, "Nice tail, Rod!"  For a moment, I figured that I already looked like a friend of Pennywise the Clown as it was, so stepping over to the dugout and choking-out our starting left fielder might be of a surprise to no one. But I thought that the viewing of such a traumatic experience for some of our younger fans would be long-lasting and cause many parents to answer questions they weren't prepared to answer from children already jacked-up from the consumption of a plethora of Easter confectionaries.

I knew that I would be throwing out the first pitch in a matter of minutes. But here's what's going through my mind. I'm wearing what can only be described as fuzzy oven mitts on my hands. They have no fingers. So throwing the first pitch could've proved to be a problem. I was already locked into throwing from the pitching rubber, some 60 feet, 6 inches away from home plate. No way I'm tossing from the turf at the front of the mound. i knew this would be the only time I would have this opportunity in my life.

Now, given the fingerless hand covers which I am wearing, I estimate that only one of three things will happen when I throw the Rawlings official Major League Baseball in just a few minutes. I will either grip the ball too tightly and throw it into the ground. I could grip it too lightly and have it slip out of my "paw" on the windup. Or I could get it just right and throw a strike on the corner to my catcher.

I was handed a ball by the pre-game coordinator and followed a 10-year old young man out to the mound who would be throwing a first pitch of his own. After he threw his pitch I hear the p.a. announcer say, "Okay, Easter! Your turn!" So I stepped up and looked in towards home plate, through the mouth of the maniacal rabbit at my catcher................T.C. Bear.

I went into the windup and threw a strike on the corner and here comes T.C.! We meet at the midway point and we hug each other enthusiastically. Over the buzzing in my head and the mild clapping from the crowd the bear yells at me. "You look so ridiculous!"  "Yes, I know!", I replied.

Now that's where the story would end....not so fast, Sparky.

I signed plenty of autographs and took dozens of pictures with people, kids and adults alike.  But I knew that one more major appearance awaited "Easter". The 7th inning stretch.

I met up with T.C. in the top of the 7th and we made our way to the top of section 125, just below the press box, for the singing of "The Baseball National Anthem", Take Me Out To The Ballgame. A song written by a man named Jack Newirth, even though Newirth had never actually seen a baseball game at the time he wrote it.  Also, the song as most people know it, is actually the chorus to a much longer song about a young woman named Katie Casey and a suitor who'd like to take her to see a show. But Katie likes baseball and..... the rest you can look up. But I digress.

T.C. and I begin moving to the song as the organist played for the crowd. We each swayed from side to side, but with only one problem. I can't see the video board and thus I can't see that we are moving in opposite directions on every other downbeat. I discovered this after seeing the video a few days later. A smiling bear and his maniacal-looking rabbit buddy. Both of us showing a mutual lack of rhythm. When my wife Bryn saw the video she thought it to be one of the funniest things she'd ever seen in her entire life. It nearly brought her to tears laughing each time we'd fire it. 2023 marked the first year without her here to view it with me and for that I am sad. It really IS pretty darn funny though.

Now THAT'S an Easter story.  Not THE Easter story, but MY Easter story.


I'm just sayin'.