Phillie Phanatic Phunny, But Moose?

The Philadelphia Phillies had this idea. Dress one of their young public relations people as a cartoon figure. Call him the Phillie Phanatic. Parade him through the stands at home games, shaking hands and kissing babies. Give him an act. Turn him into a fat, furry Marcel Marceau.

Throw a cute, cuddly mascot among the notoriously tough Philadelphia fans? Isn't that like putting a gerbil in the same cage with a boa constrictor? These are the same fans who have booed everyone from Mike Schmidt to Santa Claus.

``Nobody except my parents wanted me to take the job,'' said Dave Raymond, who recently celebrated his 13th anniversary as the Phanatic. ``My friends told me, `The fans will beat you up, drag you around, punch you, throw things at you.' ''

And that was when the Phillies won.

Oh, yes, the Phillies also thought it might be a good idea if the Phanatic mingled with the players. Teased them. Mimicked them. They would understand. Wouldn't they?

``My parents told me I had nothing to lose,'' said Raymond, whose father Tubby is the football coach at the University of Delaware. ``If it failed, I'd be part of a trivia question. If it succeeded and I didn't take it, I'd be kicking myself in the pants for the next 15 years.''

As the embarrassing Mariner Moose continues to fall on his face through the early weeks of the baseball season, I started thinking about the Phanatic.

In a stodgy, traditional baseball city such as Philadelphia, the

fans have found a place for the huge, green Muppet-like Phanatic. They laugh with him, cheer with him and anticipate his arrival. The players joke with him and laugh at his jokes about them. The Phanatic is the best on-field mascot in the game.

Why has the Phanatic succeeded, where the Moose has failed? Seattle would seem the perfect city for a mascot. After all, the Mariners drew 14,192 last week for Roger Clemens and 18,492 last Sunday for the Simpsons.

``Maybe it's because it's a moose,'' Raymond said. ``It's something people can identify with. People have preconceived notions of what a moose is and what he isn't.

``The Phanatic is nothing you can identify with. He's an animated character. There are no preconceived notions about him. He's just something that is loveable, cute and huggable.''

And maybe part of the problem here has been the marketing of the Moose.

``The Phanatic just developed. He wasn't shoved down people's throats,'' Raymond said. ``When the Phanatic first started, there was no buildup. The Phillies never told anybody about it. There was no advertising campaign, or no press conferences. He just showed up in the stands one night. And I had the benefit that in 1977, there weren't many other mascots. People didn't know what to expect.

``I think it can really screw you up if you really promote it and it looks bad. Then, instead of it being a positive, it has a negative effect. If you just put the guy out there and the fans hate it, you can just abandon it. You can't do that if he's heavily promoted. You don't have a fail-safe switch.''

And maybe it has a lot to do with talent. There has been little creativity or humor from the Moose.

The Phanatic is phunny. His impressions always have been clever and accurate. The way Willie Stargell pinwheeled his bat. Pete Rose's crouch. The way Schmidt wiggled before pitches. Players even suggest routines for him that caricature other players.

``I don't really look into it very heavily why I've been successful,'' Raymond said. ``I think there is a nice pace to this act. The idea was for him to invade people's spaces at games without making them feel bad. Kid them without offending them. The big thing is, the Phanatic has a personality.''

Tell that to Dodger Manager Tommy Lasorda. The Phanatic used to bring a fat dummy of Lasorda and knock it around. Former Dodger Steve Sax would encourage him. The Phanatic would take the dummy into the stands and feed it popcorn and pizza. He thought Lasorda liked the act.

But Lasorda apparently lost his sense of humor when he lost weight.

``For two years, I did the same routine with him in the fifth inning. But I did it early last year and he came running out of the dugout and tackled me,'' Raymond, 34, said. ``I thought he was kidding. But he started beating me on the head with the dummy. He practically knocked my costume head off. From that day on, he's been real nasty to me.''

Then there was the time Phanatic mocked former Phillie Lonnie Smith, an outfielder with the St. Louis Cardinals at the time. In Philadelphia, Smith's nickname was ``Skates,'' because he had trouble keeping his feet in the outfield. Naturally, when Smith returned to Philadelphia as a Cardinal, the Phanatic teased him mercilessly.

``I was falling around all over the place making fun of him and, I guess, he didn't like it,'' Raymond said. ``So first he fired a ball at me that just missed my head, then he came running at me and gave me a cross-body block, landing on me and spraining my ankle. Later, he apologized.

``I try not to offend the guys. I watch the box scores. If a guy's carrying an 0 for 30, then I'm guessing he's not going to be too thrilled about me kidding him.''

After one month, Mariner fans haven't been thrilled with the Moose kidding them. These Mariners probably don't need a Moose. They have Ken Griffey Jr. They have Brian Holman's fastball. Erik Hanson's curveball. Mike Schooler's slider. Alvin Davis' line drives.

But if they are determined to keep him, the Mariners should suggest that the Moose give the Phanatic a call. Dave Raymond is willing to help.

Something has to be done. Either the Moose should be improved, or he should be bagged.

Steve Kelley's column usually is published Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday in The Times' Sports section.