So I was devasted, simply devastated, last season when the Royals Double A affiliate in Springdale, Arkansas, was christened the Naturals, as opposed to the name for which I was pushing.
That's right, instead of the Springdale Thunder Chickens, we've got The Northwest Arkansas Naturals, or the N.W.A.R.K.N.A.T.S., for those who like to abbreviate ridiculously long names with equally ridiculously long acronyms.
In any case, I got over the lack of a Thunder Chicken mascot in the Royals organization. It would have been nice, but I understand, Springdale. You don't want Tyson Chicken to own your ass after the apocalypse. That's fine.
And Naturals. I guess that isn't so bad.
That means the mascot will be the corpse of Robert Redford, exhumed and displayed in a glass case for anyone and everyone to see.
"That's right, Junior. He played 'Jeremiah Johnson' and 'Brubaker.' He almost looks alive, doesn't he?"
That's okay, I guess. It's no Phillie Phanatic, but it will do.
What's that? The Naturals mascot isn't Redford?
Redford isn't even dead?
I'm pretty sure you're mistaken, but okay.
So the Naturals announced their real mascot the other day.
And get a load of this thing:
(The thing on the right).
Yeah, what the hell is that thing?
A schoolchild in Fayetteville won the naming contest, calling it "Strike."
Okay, not that helpful of a hint.
It's obviously hairy.
And angry. So very, very angry.
Look at those pale blue eyes.
But what is it?
And this is wrong, on so very many many levels, but I'm pretty sure there is only one explanation that goes along with a nickname like "Naturals."
Strike is an anthropomorphized pile of ladies' landscaping.
See, you're upset. Even those of you who don't know exactly what I mean.
I'll spell it out for those of you who still don't quite get it, but prepare to be taken aback.
Strike is a walking, talking, pile of pubes. The personification of wild, untamed Wookie bush.
There, I said it in plain English.
Why don't I feel better?
I think I feel maybe worse than I ever have in my life.
But it had to be said.
It's pretty obvious now, if it wasn't before.
I hate to be the one to finally point it out, but here we are.
(The depths of offensiveness I'll dredge to regain my lost readership is spellbinding, isn't it?)
Go Royals! 162-0! You're the Best!