Crazy Crab not quite sold on Valkyries' Violet, the Bay Area's newest mascot

San Francisco Chronicle​

20 hours ago

Ducked into a dive bar in Dogpatch on Monday night, after the Golden State Valkyries ' game. Quick stop to wind down from all the excitement.
Guess who I saw? You'll never guess.
Crazy Crab! In the flesh, or whatever.
Quoth the Golden State Valkyries: WNBA team's mascot is a raven named Violet
You remember Crazy Crab, the San Francisco Giants ' mascot in 1984. A one-season wonder, or as one scribe put it, a one-season blunder. He was conceived as an anti-mascot, meant to satirize the mascot craze. Giants' fans were supposed to hate him, and they obliged.
The only open seat at the bar was next to Crazy Crab, so I eased myself in.
Funny I would run into him. I had just come from the unveiling of the newest Bay Area mascot, Violet, a 6-foot-tall raven dressed as a cheerleader. She made her debut at halftime. The crowd, primed by days of hoopla buildup, was enthusiastic.
'It's OK to smoke here?' I asked, breaking the ice.
'You a narc?' Crazy Crab shot back, re-freezing the ice. 'Don't tell me, it's bad for my health. Do I look like Jack LaLanne? I'll tell you what's bad for your health: Eating crab. We're bottom feeders, full of toxins. Especially nicotine.'
'Say,' I said, 'I don't mean to bother you. . .'
'Too late,' he shot back.
I continued: 'But I was a big fan of yours back in '84. I tried to get your autograph after a game as you were driving out of the players' lot. You stole my pen and drove off, laughing.'
'Glory days,' Crazy said, sarcastically. 'You know the Giants hired me to be obnoxious and offensive, right? So I worked my ass off to develop bad habits. Like this (holding up his cigarette). I mastered the art of rude. Barry Bonds studied under me. You're lucky I didn't make fun of your shirt.'
'You did!' I said.
He glanced at my shirt and rolled his eyes, which were on the ends of those two stalk things sticking out of his head. He turned back to the TV above the bar, watching the Valkyries' postgame show, all about their 74-57 win over the Connecticut Sun.
'Did you watch the game?' I inquired.
He sighed and said, 'That's why I'm here. I heard about the new mascot. Had to check her out. Her? It? Pronouns confuse me. Nouns confuse me. I'm a crab, not a rocket linguist.'
'What do you think? This new mascot, is she the real deal?'
Drag on cig. Long pause. Exhale.
'Violet. That's her name, right, the new kid?'
'Yep, Violet.'
'Allow me to be a pain in the ass. It's my jam. The Valkyries 'adopt' this bird, put her in a basketball outfit, and she doesn't know what a basketball is? She can't make a layup? Not a dunk, a layup. Look, I'm a crab, I can make a layup.'
'She can dance a little, and do handsprings,' I said.
Crazy Crab looked at me and shook his head.
'There was a lot of potential here,' he said, sadly. 'Ravens have a deep mystique in Norse mythology, as I'm sure you know. They worked closely on the battlefield with the Valkyries, they were the eyes and ears of the god Odin. In Poe's famous poem, the raven comes from 'the Night's Plutonian shore,' the underworld. This Violet chick comes from cheerleading camp.'
'It's just supposed to be a fun mascot,' I said. 'You know, do goofy stuff, grab popcorn from fans, distract opponents when they're shooting free throws.'
'Oh, I get it,' Crazy said. 'But they threw me off with the big cosmic buildup. Had me expecting power, strength, valor. Not cartwheels.'
Crazy knocked back his beer and signaled to the barkeep for another.
'I'm a tough critic,' he said. 'You can't just waltz into a ballgame and become queen of the ball. If you want to crown her ass, then crown her ass. I'm going to wait and see. You a jazz fan, sport?'
'Yeah, sort of,' I said.
'Jazz musicians have a saying, when they're talking about a new cat on the scene. They ask, 'Sure he can play, but does he have anything to say? ' Does this Violet have anything to say?'
This was getting deeper than I expected. I felt like I was back in my college dorm, the weed kicking in.
'What does any mascot have to say, Crazy Crab? What does Lou Seal have to say?'
'Lou Seal? First of all, his real name is Lewis Schnukelman. Decent fellow. But would the Giants trade him for a guy who can make contact with two strikes and a runner on third? Truth is, the only great mascot was the San Diego Chicken. Nobody could pee on an umpire's leg like that dude. The rest of us labor in his shadow — Lou, Sourdough Sam, the Stanford tree, Stomper — may he rest in peace.'
'Maybe Violet will bloom, so to speak,' I said. 'What advice would you give her if you happened to run into her?'
Crazy Crab blew out a cloud of smoke and snorted.
'Run into her where? At Safeway? I live under a rock. But if she asked me, I'd tell her, just be yourself. Be true to your craft. And ask that Janelle Salaün to show you how to shoot a freaking layup.'
I nodded, and got up to leave.
Crazy Crab grabbed a cocktail napkin and reached into a pocket.
'Hey kid, I've still got your pen. Want that autograph?'