This Olympic Mascot Business Can Even Get Tony the Tiger Down

News item: The Kellogg Co. of Battle Creek, Mich., is claiming that Hodori, the tiger mascot for the 1988 Olympic Games in Seoul, bears too strong a resemblance to Tony the Tiger.

Tony the Tiger and I are old friends. We met one day years ago in Tom Lasorda’s office, got to chatting and discovered we had something in common--we’re both big Barry White fans.

Anyway, we’re pretty tight, and when I read the news about the problem with the Olympics mascot, I phoned Tony and asked him to meet me at a bar near my office. He showed up wearing dark sunglasses, but the waitress recognized him anyway and asked for his autograph.

“So how you doing, Tony?” I asked.

“GR-R-R-REAT!” he roared.

Tony has a reputation as the Ernie Banks of commercial mascots. When they ask him to shoot a commercial, Tony always says, “It’s a gr-r-r-reat day, let’s shoot two.”

But he didn’t look so great this day.

“You look drawn,” I said, and we both chuckled at my terrible pun.

“To tell you the truth, Sport, I’m a little down about this Olympic mascot business,” Tony said. “I was hoping to land that Seoul gig myself, then the Koreans go and give the job to some unknown, who can’t act, has no experience, no charisma. All this Hodori character has going for him is that he looks a lot like yours truly. Which is why Kellogg is mad.”

“How did you get aced out?” I asked.

“I can only guess,” he said. “I had the guys over for our regular Thursday night poker game--you know, Smokey the Bear, Bucky Beaver, Poppin’ Fresh, Reddi Kilowat. . . . Anyway, Bob Big Boy told me he’d heard a rumor that the Korean Olympic people thought I was too old.”

“Listen, you’re no kid, kid,” I kidded. “You broke in with Frosted Flakes what year?”

“My rookie year with Kellogg was ‘52, one year after Willie Mays made it to the bigs. But I think you’d have to admit I’ve aged better than Willie.”

“Sure, but everyone gets old, Tony. You don’t want to hang on too long and embarrass yourself. Look at John Riggins. His coach tells him he’s too slow and Riggins gets mad. He challenges anyone who wants to try for his job to race him a 60-yard sprint.”

Tony took a long sip from his cereal bowl and adjusted his shades.

“This would’ve been a big break for me. All my career I’ve played the good-natured, comedy roles. This was my chance to show people that old Tony isn’t one-dimensional, that comedy mascots have dignity and sensitivity, too.

“And don’t laugh. I saw the San Diego Chicken in summer stock, performing Hamlet. Gr-r-r-reat! There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.”

“He really choked everyone up, eh?”

“No, he squirted everyone with a seltzer bottle. But mostly he played it straight, and it was beautiful. Inspiring. That’s when I decided I needed to branch out, and this Seoul Olympics job was perfect.

“I talked to Sam the Olympic eagle about what it’s like being an Olympic mascot. Sam says it’s like stealing money. You do some studio work, posing for the pins and all, make a few personal appearances, slap some corporate backs.

“It was great for Sam’s career. Whoever heard of him before the Olympics? He was doing bit parts in Saturday cartoons, stunt work for Heckyl and Jeckyl.

“Now he’s retired, living in Maui, working once in a while, modeling for stamps and coins. Being the Olympic mascot was a real feather in his cap. Which he needs, by the way. He hates it when we call him Curly.”

Tony’s voice tends to carry, and by now the other customers were listening in. People a block away were listening in. Tony continued.

“I would’ve been perfect for the Olympics,” he said. “I’ve got an athletic background. My gr-r-r-reat grandfather is the Detroit Tigers’ logo. The pink panther, a sensational athlete, is a distant cousin.

“I’m no slouch on the fields of valor myself, my friend. You’ve seen my commercials--Tony pole vaulting, Tony playing baseball and football . . . “

“But Tony, you always screw up,” I interjected.

“That’s the way the scripts are written, amigo. You should see the out-takes. The pole vault scene, we went way over budget because I kept clearing the bar. In athletic circles, people refer to me as the striped Jim Thorpe.”

“Ah, yes, I had big plans. I was going to expand the role of Olympic mascot. Do a lot more public speaking. Of course, one word would be a lot more public speaking than any of the other mascots have done.”

Tony sighed, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Yeah, podner, I coulda been somebody.”

“Let’s not get overly dramatic here,” I said. “You’re already famous, and rich. You’re the industry’s top salesman. You have 12 automobiles and a yacht. You’ve done OK.”

Two businessmen in pin-striped suits stopped at the table and asked for Tony’s autograph. For their kids. He dug into his briefcase and handed each of them a pre-signed 8 x 10 glossy.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a big shot,” Tony said, wearily. “But I’m not getting any younger, and I really want to get into athletics, big time sports, while I’m still in my prime. Say, old pal, you’ve got connections. Have you heard of any openings? Can you get me a tryout somewhere?”

I thought for a minute.

“Can you run the 60 in football cleats?” I asked.