A Clutch Win

Several years ago I received a request from a loyal season ticket holder to make an appearance at a children's hospital for her son. I had visited several hospitals before for people of all ages, but usually to see many individuals and not just one patient. This would generally consist of going room to room and visiting briefly with patients, signing autographs, taking pictures, and trying to spread a little joy through humor and a direct connection to Houston Rockets basketball. I would usually see up to twenty patients, visiting with each for only a few minutes.

This particular Rockets fan wanted me to spend an hour with her six-year-old son who happened to be in a full-body cast up to his neck and was obviously immobilized. I didn't want to ask too many questions about the boy's condition, but I got the feeling that there was something more critical going on than just a few broken bones and that recovery might be somewhat in question. I was apprehensive to say the least. Given the potential circumstances, I really wanted to do a good job, but I still had no idea how I was going to carry a full hour in a little hospital room with an audience of two. At that point in my career I was usually a "part of things" or the "side show." I was not used to being the featured entertainment in crowds of any size. I was scared I'd let this child as well as his mother down. She obviously needed a boost and to see her son happy, even if just for a little while.

I showed up at the hospital, found my way to the child's floor and, after finding a private, unoccupied room, made my transformation into Clutch in secret. As I was approaching the room, I clearly remember thinking, "There is no way I'm going to be able to make an hour in this room fun and entertaining for a child in a full body cast. I'm in a big bulky costume in which I don't speak and have limited vision." It can be hard to navigate small spaces, especially ones with sensitive medical equipment.

As I entered the door I could see the mother in the corner of the room near the foot of the bed, but not the child yet. I could see the look of hopefulness that this would bring joy to her son, mixed with desperation.

As soon as I stepped far enough into the room to see the boy's face, I was met with a loud joyous eruption of, "CLUTCHHHHHHHHHHH!" In an instant, his expression went from calm and placid to a look of sheer ecstatic disbelief. His eyes were bulging. He was grinning ear to ear. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. I mean he went nuts. I'm not going to be able to do justice in words with just how over-the-top-happy he became. He immediately started a conversation with Clutch as if they were life long friends and Clutch was "real."

"Clutch, I can't believe you are here. What are you doing here? Are you here to see me? Don't you have a Rockets game? Shouldn't you be at the arena? Holy Moly! This is awesome. Mom, Clutch is here! Clutch is here!"
He started to cry tears of joy and amazement. His mother started to cry. I started to cry. I was in a costume. No one knew it, but I was crying too because of how excited and happy this boy was. That is the only time after more than 3,000 events I have ever cried in costume and that includes some amazing wins, disappointing losses, jersey retirements, and a ton of events for charities and kids.

The next hour was the quickest hour of my life. I didn't have to do any entertaining. He entertained me. Even though he couldn't move, he captivated me with one Clutch or Rockets story after the other. He regaled me with all of his favorite Clutch antics and skits. He would ask me a question as to whether I remembered something I did and then tell me all about it. "Remember the time you shook your butt at the other team's huddle? Remember the time you acted like you were sleeping when they announced the other team? Remember the time you shot Silly String on that Jazz fan? Remember the time you ate that guy's popcorn?" The stories just kept coming. Each one was told a little bit more excitedly than the one before. I think that youthful exuberance might be one of the most powerful forces on the planet.

Usually mascots act big and over-exaggerate motions. That night it wasn't necessary. Just little tweaks of my head and small hand gestures were enough to communicate effectively with him. He understood almost everything I was miming as if we were having a regular conversation. I can remember that I actually started to really feel like "Clutch" and not just a guy in a costume portraying him. It was one of the few times that I didn't even realize how hot and sweaty I was and completely lost track of time. He asked me to sign his cast, his Clutch photos, his basketball, his foam finger, his shirt, and just about everything else he could get his hands on.

When it was time to leave I couldn't believe a whole hour had passed. His mother had to pull me away and tell him he needed to rest and that Clutch had to go back to his cave at the arena. After saying my goodbyes to him and receiving his thanks and well wishes for the team, his mother spoke to me just outside the door to his room. I felt naked as a mascot because she was speaking right through the guise of the costume and directly to me in the suit. Though choking back tears, she thanked me and told me that I would never know just how much this meant to her. I will carry that night and feeling that it gave me forever.

I walked out of the hospital that evening feeling like I was flying and loving this job for what I treasure most about it: bringing joy to others! The NBA has a slogan, "I love this game!" Well, "I love this job!"