THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 22, 1995 TAG: 9510220162
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BOB MOLINARO
LENGTH: Long : 116 lines
Slider, the Cleveland Indians' furry, fuchsia-colored mascot, suffered a great fall and blew out a knee just a few days after Seattle's Mariner Moose broke his leg in-line skating behind an all-terrain vehicle. And a week or so before, Wild Wing, the mascot for the Anaheim Mighty Ducks, failed to negotiate a jump over a fiery barrier and set his suit ablaze.
These are perilous times for the larger-than-life performers who look like they're dressed in shag carpeting left over from the disco '70s.
You would think that these Muppets on steroids could get by with only an occasional vacuuming. But a surgeon? A fireman?
It could be worse. Wes Lockard, a k a Burnie, the Miami Heat mascot, needs a good lawyer.
Lockard finds himself smack in the middle of a $1 million lawsuit after a paying customer at an exhibition game in Puerto Rico took exception to the antics of Burnie, the 7-foot-6 lint magnet who has a nose like a green basketball and orange feathers for hair.
``I pull people out of the stands all the time at our place to dance,'' Lockard says. ``I picked the wrong person.''
Many years ago, when he was the WTAR Seagull, Lockard thought he knew what trouble was.
During a basketball game at Scope between the Old Dominion University women's team and the Communist Chinese, the Seagull ran onto the court pulling a rickshaw and throwing rice at the Chinese players.
Lockard, an ODU grad, heard about that. He was asked if the words ``international incident'' meant anything to him.
But that was mere child's play compared with the civil suit filed against the Heat and Lockard in U.S. District Court in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Lockard had already been convicted of aggravated assault and fined $300 for pulling Yvonne Gil-Rebollo from her seat at an exhibition game last season in San Juan. The suit just arrived a week ago.
``We basically thought it was over,'' Lockard says. ``But her husband's a Supreme Court judge in Puerto Rico. Her brother's a U.S. attorney over there.''
According to Lockard, the woman was laughing while Burnie had her arm. So was her husband, and the other members of their party. The Heat, he says, have video to prove it.
The Heat's attorney won't comment on the suit, but Lockard says the team has told him not to change his shtick.
As if he could. This is a guy who, while living in Norfolk, would drive backward through fast-food pickup windows.
``I don't do that anymore,'' he says.
At 39, Lockard is all grown up. Sort of.
``Everyday's a weekend,'' he says. ``That's my motto.''
He admits that most of the misunderstandings he and his wife experience stem from the fact that, ``Everything strikes me as funny.''
Asked if the couple has any children, Lockard answers: ``Nope, but we've got brochures.''
Naturally, Lockard is searching for comic value in the lawsuit.
``I'd like to figure out a way to use it in my opening night skit,'' he says.
Maybe this is the way you've got to be to survive 17 years in a stuffy, claustrophobic suit, where temperatures reach 115 degrees.
If you can't stand the heat . . .
``I never thought it would go this far,'' Lockard says. ``It was fun at WTAR.
``It's gone a step farther, then another step farther.''
Along the way, including a six-year stint as the New Jersey Nets' Duncan the Dragon, Lockard has established himself as a worthy descendant of the Chicken and Philly Phanatic.
Now starting his eighth season as Burnie, Lockard is a full-time Heat employee. His stage extends beyond the basketball court. Company parties, trade shows, grand openings, charity functions and birthday bashes keep Burnie's fire stoked year round.
The Heat is even starting a ``Burnie's Buddies'' reading program for South Florida elementary schools.
``It's the personality inside that people respond to,'' says Lockard, who prefers that his picture not be taken out of character.
``If I were to get sick, they wouldn't put somebody else in the suit.''
Mascot work is more than a good living. Burnie has become Lockard's identity.
Another 10 years inside the suit would suit him fine.
``If I was to meet somebody in their 40s and he was wearing a costume like this, I'd think there was something wrong with the guy,'' he says.
``But there's an art form to it, and there's only a handful of people who do this well.''
By carving out a career with his alter ego, Lockard has managed to keep his head above water . . . except for that time at a Miami pool party.
``It was an adult birthday party,'' he recalls. ``They'd had a few cocktails. Somebody pushed me in the pool in this big woolly suit. It filled up with water, and I started to sink. Luckily, I was near a ladder, and I held on.
``After something like that, you don't do many pool parties.''
And maybe, if you've been burned as Burnie has, you don't do Puerto Rico, either. ILLUSTRATION: Graphic
TRYING TIMES FOR MASCOTS
The Mariners' Moose skated into the leftfield wall, breaking his
leg.
The Indians' Slider fell 8 feet from the rightfield wall, tearing
ligaments in his knee.
The Mighty Ducks' Wild Wing came up short while leaping over a fire
and landed in it, setting his suit on fire.
The Heat's Burnie, right, has been accused of assault after pulling
a fan from her seat last year. He wanted to dance.
Color photo
FILE
Miami Heat mascot Burnie
by CNB