Melons a bust, mascot malfunctions

— Some 12 to 15 years ago, as Arkansas Travelers General Manager Bill Valentine was preparing for a midsummer Ray Winder Field doubleheader, a farmer (who happened to be one of Valentine’s acquaintances) drove up with a truck loaded with watermelons.

Valentine bought the melons, figuring they would enhance the scene.

During the first inning of the first game that evening, Valentine entered the press box as a truck carried the watermelons to center field.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Valentine addressed the crowd, “We call your attention to the truckload of melons now in center field. ...”

There were a few more words, but no one heard them because of the crowd’s reaction. That was a shame; the words were important.What the audience should have heard was, “Children 14 and under are welcome to go get a watermelon after the conclusion of the second game.”

No matter. Kids from 5 or 6 to perhaps 15 or 16 were already in motion, scrambling to the field. The man who drove the truck into center field left the vehicle and hurried on foot toward left field. At least 300 kids of all ages stripped the melon truck. The funny thing was, looking out from the stands, the smallest children tried to carry the largest melons and usually dropped and busted them.

One large melon was busted within inches of the first-base bag near R.C. Otey, then the groundskeeper and park superintendent. Otey stared at the first-base mess for a long time.

Valentine tried another watermelon promotion a year or two later. This time the melons were placed in front of the fences long before either the players or paying customers entered the park. Kids were invited to go after the melons when the baseball activity finished.

Some of the melons had been busted by silly ballplayers throwing baseballs at them, but that was a lot better than a field of accidentally busted melons. Valentine decided, for a variety of reasons, it wasn’t worth the effort to try again.

Not long after the watermelon disappointments, some eager apprentice on the Travs’ staff created a “mascot” along the lines of a Superman or Captain Marvel. That opened the way for “Super Trav.”

I can’t recall Super Trav’s real name. Maybe he lasted two or three games, or maybe a week’s home stand. I think somebody on the ball club’s staff found him as a UALR student. He was a slender kid wearing a cape, and he seemed a nice kid. But no one had any illusions he could be with us very long. The nuances of baseball eluded him.

He was instructed to make himself scarce while an inning was in progress, to stay unobtrusive in the bullpen area.

During the two or three minutes while the sides changed, he could come up around home plate and spring one of his routines, except no one noticed he had routines.

He was finished the strange night he came walking out of the left-field bullpen, past third base and directly to the on-deck circle. The visiting team was batting, and the player loosening up on deck was staring intently at deliveries the Travelers’ pitcher was serving to the batter at the plate.

Super Trav pinched the cheek of the astonished player in the on-deck circle, while apparently making some silly remark. I almost fainted. For a second or two, I thought the on-deck hitter might wrap his bat around Super Trav’s head.

Bless his heart, the on-deck occupant cooled down quickly enough for Super Trav to escape with just a hearty cussing and maybe a few threats.

Some time later, the Travelers created a costumed horse creature called “Shelly” (the Shell portion referred to Shell Oil) and that worked much better. The best we could tell, Shelly pinched no cheeks.

Sports, Pages 18 on 02/19/2013

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