The following is a true story of me in my senior year of high school. I was 18 at the time.
Let me begin by saying I am not an athletic person by any means. I’m not out of shape, and am in fact quite scrawny, but sports in general have never been all that interesting to me. This is a problem when your school is focused almost entirely on football. It seemed like every week, there was a pep rally for our team every time they so much as won a game. So, of course, my stupid ass decided, “hey, let’s try and use this as an opportunity to get more popular!” Because, for some god forsaken reason, I still cared about popularity my senior year, having been a nerd my entire high school career. However, being part of the sports team came with an issue:
As stated previously, a moderately strong wind would be enough to knock me over.
Now, before we get into the good stuff, here’s a little bit of personal info: what I lack in strength, I more than make up for in speed and intelligence. Had my school even sort of cared about track, I might have stood a chance at not hating my high school years. Instead, my claim to fame was being captain for our Math League and Knowledge Bowl teams. This, at a sports school, was a death sentence. In addition, I’m gay and a furry. Are you beginning to see why I don’t like thinking about high school?
Let’s focus on the furry thing for just a second: I’m not the kind of furry who thinks that I’m an animal trapped in a human body. I don’t have a fursona, or anything like that. Instead, I’m the kind of furry who, if Disney’s Robin Hood was a real person, would try to smash until my dying breaths.
So, with that all out of the way, let’s (finally) get to the good stuff.
I wanted to be affiliated, in some way, with football, because that’s what ruled our school. I talked to their captain about filling the only position I possibly could without facing serious injury within five seconds of the whistle blowing: the mascot. The mascot at our school was a wolf, and the budget that should have gone into band and theater had obviously gone into the costume. It was as state of the art as the school could afford: light up eyes, a fan to keep the person inside from being baked to a crispy golden brown, the works. I addition, they gave the goddamn thing abs, and when it put on the football pants, gave it a cup to make it look bigger. So, while I’m trying to hide my furry boner, the coach is explaining everything that being a mascot will entail. As he put it, there are only five basic rules:
1: Do whatever you can to make the audience laugh.
2: If a child hugs you, don’t be the first to let go.
3: Try to ignore personal needs. If I absolutely need a break, take it, but unless it is an emergency, stay by the field.
4: I’ll be responsible for maintaining the costume for the year.
5: Wear workout clothes underneath, because the suit shows moisture obviously.
Rule 4, as it turned out, would save me from the utter hell that was caused by rule 3.
Since I was the only person interested, I got the mascot position. The first game was on Tuesday, and it was Friday when I was alerted. I was instructed to take home the suit, try it on, and note any adjustments that were needed so it could be changed on Monday. I was l so to wash it before and after every game.
The weekend passed without incident, and I brought in my measurements for any adjustments needed. Tuesday came, and I was ready for my first game as a mascot. Only problem: the coach had told me to drink a metric shit ton of water to keep from dehydrating, passing out on the field and generally just killing the vibe. So, I did as I was told, drinking four liters before the game vendors started.
An extraordinarily dumb idea, brought to you by the captain of he knowledge bowl team.
The first quarter was fine. I had some background as a dancer, so I was able to keep the audience entertained. The problems started during the second quarter, about five minutes in. I suddenly had to piss. It wasn’t able my thing I couldn’t handle, and I figured half-time would be a great time to take care of things.
Five minutes later, and half time was starting to be a little iffy. I didn’t have to go so badly it was affecting my performance, but it was about to. Only two minutes left, though, so I should be fine. That’s when the coach pulled me aside and told me I had to be part of the halftime show, which meant to break.
I tried. I really, really tried, and in my defense, I made it to the fourth quarter before I felt the first leak. It wasn’t much more than a little squirt, but it was enough. Immediately, I jammed my hands (paws?) into my crotch, thanking heaven that nobody was really paying attention to me at the moment. By this point, I’d tried everything, but my piss wanted out. Immediately.
I signaled to the coach that I was heading to the locker room, and ran as fast as my over full bladder would allow. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t fast enough. Mercifully, I got inside the locker room before my bladder exploded.
The coach hadn’t been lying when he said the costume showed moisture. What started as a small dark spot on the crotch blossomed down both legs, piss dripping off the fur and into an impressively large puddle on the ground. I must have pissed myself for nearly a minute and a half, and when it was all finished, it became very, very apparent that I had a lot of cleaning up to do before the team came back.
That was my only real accident in that costume. Every other time was entirely on purpose. 😉