MAGAZINES 
What’s it like to make Chip tick?
By Luke Rettig
When you remove the human handler, Chip the Mascot is a brown, furry suit with an oversize buffalo head attached to a football helmet. But with the right handler inside, the suit represents the University of Colorado at Boulder, and at peak exposure commands the attention of more than 53,000 fans.
For the two to six CU students and staff members who “handle” Chip each year, stepping inside the suit temporarily unlocks an intoxicating new world. Chip lights up every room, breaks any rule without consequence, and instantaneously attracts love from fans of all ages. This rarefied air, typically reserved for rock stars, Hollywood actors and captains of industry, is also breathed by big-time college mascots.
“It’s hard to describe the feeling of getting 50,000 people to do what you want them to do,” says one of Chip’s handlers (they all requested anonymity). “You lose your knees a little bit the first time,” says another. “My first time in the suit, I was terrified. It takes a while to realize that no one knows who you are.”
Through extensive training, Chip’s handlers learn to disappear into the persona of “a lovable and naturally curious buffalo always getting into trouble,” says a handler. This furry anonymity frees the handler to push Chip’s creative boundaries, to improvise with people and props, and to engage any audience in real time without inhibition.
“I learned how to be a mascot my second year,” says a handler. “The first year you’re worried about your performance—am I doing the right things? You’re a little more detached. But in the second year, I was over the nervousness and my emotions took over. I invested myself 100 percent in what was happening on the field, and the crowd could feel it.”
‘running around in a sauna’
Inside the suit, Chip’s handlers exaggerate every physical movement, including stillness. “I’ll watch actors on TV,” says one of the handlers, himself an actor. “You watch their motions and mannerisms and then translate those to movements. In comedy, they’ll move fast and then stop to say something.” For every gesture Chip makes, handlers are trained to imagine a large bubble surrounding their body, and they attempt to pop that bubble with their gesture.
During football season, handlers work out twice a week at 6 a.m. “It’s heavily intensive cardio stuff,” one handler reports, explaining that the job requires running, jumping, push-ups, and nonstop energy at high altitude. “It’s a whole different kind of workout. You’re running around in a sauna for an hour and a half waving your hands in the air.”
There are no cooling systems in the suit, which “makes the first couple games miserable,” says a handler. “You hit a point where you’re so hot you have to slow down and drink some water.” The handlers use hand signals to request water and short breaks.
Despite extreme heat and limited visibility, the handlers have developed a unique talent for reading large crowds. This can be as obvious as not starting a wave when the home team is losing, and as complex as creating a chant that motivates the crowd to cheer on a goal-line stand.
“A great mascot is always in the right place at the right time,” says a handler. “You can tell when a person’s been doing it for a while based on how they interact with dancers and cheerleaders. They know how far they can push it with the security people and firefighters. They’re always doing something, trying to make it funny.”
Psychologically, the suit grants freedom, fame and love. In return, the handler must entertain the fickle masses. Chip takes responsibility for the crowd, making sure they’re loud when the team needs support, and drawing negative attention when the team is underperforming. The suit is a powerful symbol, a handler says, “but after the game, we pack everything up, take it home and wash it.” u
Luke Rettig (lukerettig.com) is a freelance journalist.
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