My wife thinks I would make a good Phillie Phanatic.
Personally, I’d like more of a corporate job: Vice President in Charge of Napping, Chief Tomfoolery Officer, Director of Nincompoopery. Something along those lines.
“Hey, you could do that,” said The Blonde Accountant at a recent Phillies game as the Phanatic shot out of the right field corner on his four-wheeler.
He stopped and faced those of us in the right field bleachers, stood on the seat of his four-wheeler, gyrated and danced, shook his behind, lifted up his shirt like it was Mardi Gras, stuck out his tongue (such as it is for the Phanatic) gave us the “ta-da!” sign with both hands and then sat back down and sped off toward the left field corner.
“Whaddaya mean, I could that?” I said.
“That’s your routine. You can shake your booty, lift up your shirt and act like a big goof,” said The Blonde Accountant.
For the record, I do not shake my booty, lift up my shirt and act like a big goof. Well, not all at the same time. If I could, I’d surely put that on my resume.
When I posted my wife’ suggestion on my Facebook page, one of my wiseguy pals wrote back, “Can you fit into the suit?”
Can I fit into the suit? Two people can fit into the Phanatic’s suit. I’m not that big anymore.
Then again, I apparently have a similar routine. I wonder how one goes about applying for a job as the Phanatic?

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillie Phanatic