With March Madness bracket sheets cluttering up the work place, we decided to put a Texas HS Football spin on the college basketball hype. Through a couple minutes of research, we put together a Sweet 16 of the best mascots in the Lone Star State, celebrating their originality, humor and creativity by pitting them head-to-head against each other. We ignored the Tigers, Cougars and Eagles — there are 200 of these animal mascots combined in the state — and instead focused on those that graduates will certainly remember until they croak.
Each week, Texas HS Football fan gets to vote which mascot makes it to the next round. At the very end, we will award a prize to the victor who stands on the fabric heads of their vanquished foes. Without further ado, here are our matchups for Mascot March Madness Round One:
New Braunfels Unicorns vs. Coleman Bluecats
New Braunfels intimidate their opponents by carting out a giant Trojan Unicorn onto the field. Points deducted for not hiding their players inside the wooden beast, cluttered beneath the jagged horn that composes the most difficult wands to turn evil in Harry Potter.
A Bluecat is a band you could find at an EDM concert. Apparently, the name has a different meaning in Coleman, where the story is embedded in the local culture. During the 1920s, a player showed up with a blue jersey with a cat head on it. Not sure if it was a crudely drawn image of a cat, or an actual cat head, in which the name Bloodycathead would be more appropriate, aka, a Sludge Metal band.
Farmersville Fighting Farmers vs. Mason Punchers
Fighting farmers is the rebellion staged at the end of Braveheart. There’s so much repetition in this title, it’s impossible not to consider Farmersville Fighting Farmers amongst the best mascots in the state of Texas – a true ode to the agriculture of the Lone Star State.
The name Punchers gets right to the point in a very violent and abrupt way. People in Mason apparently like to clobber their opponents. Nothing like a good blow to the face to instill intimidation in the opponent. When asking students what school they’re from, the inevitable “I’m a puncher” will lead out-of-towners to think that these aggressive students need some anger management courses.
Hamlin Pied Pipers vs. Randolph Ro-Hawks
The pied piper was a pest control guy that lured rats around with the seduction of a magical flute. It’s a pretty odd name for a high school mascot, until you see Hamlin’s take on the character. The dude looks like a roided out Robin Hood.
The name Ro-Hawks is exactly what it sounds like. After consulting Urban dictionary, I confirmed that a Ro-Hawk is simply a hawk riding a rocket, which means some student got extremely lucky during a “name our mascot” contest, and opted for Ro-Hawk over his other choice, “Liger”.
Hutto Hippos vs. The Woodlands Highlanders
If you have ever seen the movie Congo, you know Hippos are bloodthirsty creatures of the Nile, attacking humans without any provocation like a rumbling lard of inevitable death. The creature yawns when threatened, a sign of boredom showing that they are afraid of exactly jack squat. The Hutto campus is overrun by hundreds of hippo statues, which would scare the heck out of me walking around the school, keeping my disobedient self in class… or else consumption by hippo.
The Highlanders is another example of the Texas high school administration being the biggest film nerds amongst the 50 states. Everything is bigger in the Lone Star State and so is the fandom of cinema. Highlander was an insane fantasy flick in the 80s starring James Bond and Raiden from Mortal Kombat. The real definition of the mascot has something to do with heritage, but I prefer an immortal Scottish man wrecking havoc in the streets of New York wielding a deadly blade.
Winters Blizzards vs. Amarillo Golden Sandies
The Happening is arguably the worst M. Night Shyamalan movie – a filmography littered with clunkers. The premise: Mark Wahlberg runs away from the wind. Inspired by this horrible analogy on climate change, Winters High School Blizzards has a mascot that is weather blowing away the competition. The face is a constant “O” of surprise, pondering why it’s always so hot in a state that has one humid season.
Speaking of fearing the weather, Sandies is an abbreviation for Sandstorm, which is a banging track by Darude instructors used to blast during my Kempo Karate routines when I was a little kid. Not sure if they play the classic DDR tune whenever Amarillo storms out of the gate, but they should. I hear that sucker jamming from a giant PA and my body is pumped up.
Texas City Stingarees vs. Mesquite Skeeters
The mascot looks like a cowboy mixed with a stingray. A stingaree is the southern accent version of the animal. During a vacation in Corpus Christi, I stepped on a baby and the barb sting was one of the most painful experiences of my life. Steve Irwin got stung by one in the chest and would probably say the same thing if it hadn’t killed him.
Skeeters is another one of those words butchered by Southern slang. This one seems more appropriate for the backwoods of Georgia, spoken by Ned Beatty as he squeals like a pig. Props for Mesquite accepting their heritage in every possible way with this title. Fun fictional fact: Bug Spray sales skyrocket every Friday night when the Skeeters take the field.
Cuero Gobblers vs. Roscoe Plowboys
Every time I see this mascot name, I arch an eyebrow and hastily Google what the heck a Gobbler is. Cuero Turkeys doesn’t so much as inspire fear in the opponents as bales of uncontrollable laughter.
Plowboys was another name I had to look up the definition with a search engine. It describes a true southern gentleman raised on a farm. It’s essentially a boy pushing a plow – another moniker for this unusual epidemic of farmers turned high school football spreading through Texas like corn husks sprouting in season.
Central Catholic Buttons vs. Brazosport Exporters
Buttons are a crucial part of most wardrobes. Without them, business yuppies would look like the cover of every harlequin novel, minus the chiseled bodies because they spend most of their time in an office rather than the weight room. Buttons are supposed to be the protrusions on the rattles of rattlesnakes, signaling that the amphibian is about to launch at a target with venomous death. This is ironic considering Central Catholic is a Christian institution and the snake is the anthesis of the religion. I prefer buttons bringing everybody together – a unification buttoning all athletes together like a tightly buttoned-up shirt on a tubby business man.
The Exporters are named as such because Brazosport (a perfect mascot name as is) is a shipping city. Therefore, the name derives from ships, cranes, trains and border patrol agents that are all listed under the mascot’s job title.
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