Chances are you’ve never heard of Mr. Moon.
Which is a shame, because Mr. Moon is a golden god – in the realm of sports mascots, anyway, which is a group as eclectic as the contestants in a Miss America pageant. The difference is that, being a generally higher-I.Q. bunch, the mascots would likely be able to cobble together more coherent proposals for world peace.
The Asheville Tourists, a single-A baseball team in North Carolina, are lucky enough to call Mr. Moon their own. His head looks more or less the way you would expect it to – it’s a giant moon, of course – with a vaguely creepy, sexual predator-type smile, and a blue cap cocked jauntily askew somewhere atop the Sea of Tranquility.
That a team called the Tourists boasts a giant moon-headed freak for a mascot doesn’t make a whole lot of sense; the moon has never been a tourist, and if it ever becomes one, then humanity’s days are probably numbered. In that event, you can be assured of three things: families will embrace each other sorrowfully on their front lawns as they gather to watch the collision; kooky religious groups will drink lots of Kool-Aid while wearing funny
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