Take Me Out to the Ballgame? I awaited the day before the big game in nervous apprehension. Would the Red Sox be able to rebound from a 0-2 series deficit and advance to face the Yankees? They had already won two straight games and evened the series at 2-2. The next game would be the do or die situation. I stylishly dressed in all of my Red Sox apparel (even the lucky red socks) and prepared for an invigorating game. Mike from the third floor came down to the first floor lounge to watch the big game. Being from Cleveland, Mike was sporting all of his Indians apparel. For the next the 3 hours Mike would be my most bitter enemy. Mike was the antichrist. We would swear at each other, hurl projectiles at each other, and possibly even have an outright brouhaha if things got out of control. In the bottom of the second inning, the Indians got 2 hits, which spawned an outrageous reaction from mike. He sprung from his seat, arms failing about, and began to do a mock Indian dance in front of me. "Sit your silly ass down," I probably yelled. Then he began to do the tomahawk chop to his fabulously clichd rendition of an Indian chant, "Ohhhh oh oh oh Ohhhh oh oh oh." I looked up at Mike's hat. The Cleveland Indian logo goofily stared down at me.The mascot of the Cleveland perpetuates a stereotypical image of Native Americans as a savage being tamed by settlers. Baseball, an American institution, is guilty of disgusting racism. This blatantly racist symbol must strike an angry chord with contemporary Native Americans, whose past overflows with examples of cultural abuse. On the hat of each player, an Indian with swollen red face and stupid slaphappy grin appears in an expression of gloating jubilation. All his facial features are exaggerated, and an erect feather stands above his head like an alfalfa bean sprout. If it was up to me, I'd say scalp the commissioner of baseball for allowing such an atrocious symbol of cultural racism to blossom and ...
