Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, August 22, 1995 TAG: 9508220076
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARK MORRISON STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Then, inside his oversized shell, he pondered his own future.
He thought about the San Diego Chicken and the Philly Fanatic.
He thought about his big, goofy grin on a baseball card.
On a baseball card, of all things. Wow!
As the helicopter descended, the wind from the rotors whipped at the outfield grass, while the ballpark's announcer whipped the sellout crowd into a frenzy. ``Ladies and gentlemen, the Salem Avalanche are proud to present ...''
From this moment on, Alan Vierling knew he would no longer be just plain Alan Vierling.
There was a twinkle in his eye. Or rather, a dot of glitter.
The theme song from the movie ``The Natural'' swelled over the loudspeakers.
The crowd roared.
``... the Carolina League's newest mascot - THE BASEBALL NUT!!!!!''
Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.
Alan Vierling first read about The Baseball Nut in the newspaper when the Salem Avalanche announced the winner of its design-the-new-mascot contest and unveiled a sketch of the winning walnut-shaped prototype.
He thought: ``That would be fun.''
He told his wife, Beth, who replied: ``Is there nothing you won't try?''
Beth knew her husband, a man of 32 who used to become Cardiac Man when he worked the midnight shift on the cardiac unit at Roanoke Memorial Hospital. Cardiac Man stalked the corridors wearing EKG strips wrapped around his head and a pair of shock pads holstered to his belt. His motto was: ``He's only a heartbeat away.''
So, about the Nut, Beth knew her husband was serious.
``You'll get the job, Alan,'' she said. ``You know you will.''
The next day, Vierling called the Salem Avalanche office and met with the club's assistant general manager, Dennis Robarge.
He told Robarge: ``I'm your new
mascot. I am the Nut.''
Robarge was more than a little taken aback by Vierling's conviction. Here was a guy, not like the high school and college kids of Salem mascots past, with a legitimate career as a nursing shift supervisor, now at Lewis-Gale Hospital. He made good money, between $18 and $25 an hour. He was married to a lawyer, no less, and he wanted a second job as the Nut. He didn't even ask how much the job paid.
``He was so overwhelmingly fired-up,'' Robarge said. ``It was almost like this was an alter-ego from way back.''
The original version of Vierling as the Nut didn't work out, however. But it wasn't Vierling's fault. It was the Nut's.
The original Nut costume, it seems, came back from the mascot manufacturer looking a little too menacing. ``Like a peanut pedophile,'' Vierling said.
So, a new Nut was commissioned.
In the meantime, Vierling did some research. He called up the Avalanche's major-league parent franchise, the Colorado Rockies, to talk shop with the Rockies mascot, Dave Shotts, better known as Dinger the Dinosaur. Vierling had heard that Shotts started as a mascot in the minor leagues.
Shotts offered up some words of wisdom.
Whatever you do, he advised, don't make the umpires mad. And, he said to remember that baseball is a family outing. So, keep it clean.
Like probably every American boy, Vierling once dreamed about the big leagues. ``You know, bottom of the ninth, two outs, the whole thing,'' he said.
But his baseball career ended after his freshman year in high school when his coach told him he was too small for the team. Vierling stands (without the Nut) at 5'5'' tall. And any lingering fantasies about a career in professional sports only faded more as he grew older and added two daughters to his life - and an unwanted 10 pounds or so.
Now, that has changed.
Now, his thoughts turn again and again to the Philly Fanatic, the Philadelphia mascot who has a long-standing feud with Los Angeles Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda.
``Tommy Lasorda hates the Philly Fanatic,'' Vierling said with a fire in his eyes. ``I think that would be great, to have an opposing manager incensed by your presence.''
Vierling talks about the Nut in third person.
When he first saw the revamped version of the costume, he confessed he was a little puzzled. But it was still love at first sight. ``I looked at him and I thought he's really, really cute ... but he's definitely not a nut.''
Maybe a rock. That would at least be in line with the Avalanche theme.
More precisely, though, what the new Nut looks like more than anything else is a California Raisin. In fact, you could say this is one nut with a serious identity crisis.
Just listen sometime when the Nut walks around the new ballpark.
``Peanut! Hey, peanut!'' the kids call from the stands.
``Look, it's the California Raisin!''
Nobody calls him by what he is - a walnut.
At a recent game, one fan stopped him and asked: ``Can you settle a bet for me?'' Vierling said this has happened often since the Nut made his debut. ``Just what are you supposed to be?''
His best guess was a dirty snowball.
Vierling didn't answer because the Nut, although he has a mouth, doesn't speak. Instead, Vierling handed the fan a peanut and tried to explain through a game of charades. He pointed to the peanut and then he pointed to a wall. Back-and-forth.
Wall. Nut. Wall. Nut. Wall. Nut.
Finally, the fan understood. But he wasn't satisfied.
``What does that have to do with a baseball team?''
Good question.
The official explanation goes something like this: The Baseball Nut is nuts about baseball, he's crazy about sports. He's totally out there.
``Right now, it's a huge leap of faith from walnut to baseball,'' Vierling admitted. But over time, he hopes people will become more familiar with the Nut, they will get to know him better, come to understand him, and accept him for what he is.
Already, kids follow him around.
They want his autograph. They want their pictures taken with him. They want hugs or to pull at his nose or his tongue or to punch at his shell.
The Nut does have a certain lovable charm. ``He's stupid happy,'' is how Vierling described him. ``He's like, I don't know why I'm happy, but I am. I mean, if ignorance is bliss, then he's the most blissful guy there is. He's in his own world.''
It's a bliss that's contagious, too.
For Vierling, the Nut offers a stark contrast to his otherwise professional face as a nursing supervisor, where life isn't all fun and games. It's life and death.
``When I'm inside that thing, I am the nut,'' he said.
And he's a nut who loves to dance. Between innings, if there is music playing, chances are the Nut can be found somewhere in the stands shaking his shell.
During the seventh inning stretch, one of his routines is to lead a group of female stadium workers through the can-can at home plate while the crowd sings, ``Take Me Out to the Ballgame.''
At other times, he can be found bringing the umpires water or delivering them pizza - on the field. Or buffing a bald guy's head. Or officiating over the between-innings crab crawl races and dizzy bat contests.
Vierling would like to do even more with the Nut. He said the Nut needs a big entrance, since he can't fly into the stadium by helicopter for every game. And he needs more routines, more gimmicks.
Like hitting a tennis ball against the center field wall, or pulling a giant switch to turn on the stadium lights, or coming out to perform CPR on the bats whenever Salem is struggling at the plate, or holding up a sign next to the opposing pitcher that reads:
``He throws like my sister Hazel.''
``I would like for him to get the occasional laugh,'' Vierling said.
Meanwhile, Vierling's favorite moments as the Nut so far came at a recent home stand against the Durham Bulls.
In one instance, during a visit to Durham's dugout, one of the players asked if he could try out the costume just to see what it was like. ``To me, that just showed what a childlike affect the Nut has on people,'' Vierling said. (The Durham player didn't, however, try on the woman's purple Spandex leotards that go with the costume.)
Then, at that same game, Vierling said one little girl kept following him around, finding little pieces of paper along the ground to give him to autograph. She must have come up to him a dozen or more times, he said.
``I signed every one of them, every one.''
Yes, maybe this is just the beginning.
``I have this vision,'' he said, ``of someday looking out and seeing 52,000 screaming fans, all of them screaming because they like the Nut.''
by CNB