
The chicken suit was not a premeditated decision.
I stumbled upon the costume while staying at friend D.E. Keevah's quaint flat in Washington, D.C. I had come down on a Saturday to see old mates from University, enjoy a few drinks while out on the town, and then spend my Sunday tailgating at FedEx field. The chicken suit - which was yellow and fuzzy, and covered the entire body - was originally used by Keevah's live-in girlfriend for Halloween. When I came across the costume, it was early evening, and we had returned from an afternoon spent drinking beer and playing "cornhole" (basically a game of beanbag toss that involves no sodomy whatsoever). I tried on the suit to find it to be a perfect fit (as a note, Keevah's girlfriend is a tall, slender, and very pretty lass (whereas I am a short, muscular, rugged gent)). It was decided then that I was to wear the chicken suit with an old Champ Bailey Redskins jersey over it.
Prior to the 'skins game, my only tailgating experiences were at New York Jets games at the Medowlands, which tend to be much angrier occasions. There you can find overweight carpenters bursting out of their Wayne Chrebet jerseys, yelling at you to support Pat f*ckin' Tillman with the Pat f*ckin' Tillman fund, before they inevitably collapse into a pool of their own sick.
The experience at FedEx field was vastly different. My reception upon arriving at the tailgate was surprisingly enthused and warmhearted. Immediately people asked to take their photo with me, while asking if I had lost a bet? I explained to them that I was a PETA activist who wanted people to fess up to their carnivorous sins. "Really?" these slack-jawed gawkers would ask. "God no. I'm here to party!" I replied, just before eating a hamburger.
A very drunk Southerner saw my outfit and called me over to his section of the tailgate. "Hey chicken man, want some moonshine?" he asked while holding up a mason jar of clear booze. Keevah, who was with me, asked if it would make us blind? "Ain't done a thing to me, yet," said the Southerner. We each took a sip, thanked the gentleman and walked away. Within seconds we heard a loud crash behind us. We returned to find the Southerner splayed across the concrete with a pained and bewildered look on his face. I asked a woman who was by his side if her friend was all right. She saw me in my chicken suit, immediately jumped up and ran over to me. "Somebody take my photo with this chicken!" she screamed.
Not too far away, a group of cougars noticed me and ran over in a drunken rage. One shoved a shot down my throat. Another tossed a camera to Keevah and demanded that he take a photo. A third placed her hand on my tushie, her probing fingers trying to make their way to my gooch (she did everything but put a dollar in my thong and get me pregnant). This third cougar, fueled by several kamikaze shots and perhaps being a closeted "furry", then scuttled in between my legs and asked that she be ridden like a naughty mule. Trickier to execute than initially thought.

We thanked the cougars for their kind fondling and made our way to FedEx field. We wondered aloud how security would treat a man in a chicken suit. Would they refuse him entry? Would they take him to a back room and "cornhole" him? Surprisingly, the security guard who frisked me was very polite. Tender, even.
We wandered to our seats, stopping for the occasional photo opp and friendly hug from Redskins fans. The game - as you may have seen - was a thrilling match. The Redskins' offense were faltering at first, which garnered a lot of groans from the fans (they have suffered much, these Washington faithfuls). A trick pass from Hunter Smith brought the crowd into a frenzy, causing the chicken man to flap his mock wings and "caw" in victory.
The rest of the game was spent posing for more photo opps, with one woman goosing me as I stood next to her (women like to goose mascots, apparently). The Redskins won the game 27-17, and a friend in our company bribed a security guard driving a golf cart $40 to escort us back to our tailgate. Fans hollered like mad as we drove past them. I slapped hands, blew kisses, and even acknowledged the Broncos fans. It was a marvelously expensive experience for my friend (the briber).
In short, wearing a mascot outfit to a sporting event will make you look like an ass, sure. You will pose for photos, be serenaded with free food and drink, and even get goosed. I highly recommend the experience.
A presto,
EtG
The rest of the game was spent posing for more photo opps, with one woman goosing me as I stood next to her (women like to goose mascots, apparently). The Redskins won the game 27-17, and a friend in our company bribed a security guard driving a golf cart $40 to escort us back to our tailgate. Fans hollered like mad as we drove past them. I slapped hands, blew kisses, and even acknowledged the Broncos fans. It was a marvelously expensive experience for my friend (the briber).
In short, wearing a mascot outfit to a sporting event will make you look like an ass, sure. You will pose for photos, be serenaded with free food and drink, and even get goosed. I highly recommend the experience.
A presto,
EtG










