When I tell people I grew up in Wellington, I’m often reminded our high school mascot was the Skyrockets.
Then I’ll be asked why. My best answer is Wellington did not play a direct role in the evolution of rocket
science but maybe you’ll think we did and you won’t mess with us.

Likewise, if you’re down in Kress, you might play it cool because grass-fed and swole kangaroos could really be a thing.

Most area schools have had their mascots so long that the meaning behind them, if there was any at all, is often lost to time. The burning question that remains is: Can my mascot whoop your mascot, if it comes down to it? 

The word “mascot” is a fairly recent addition to the lexicon. Most sources point to an 1880 comic operetta called “La Mascotte” about a farm girl who brought good luck to those around her. The word itself has its origins in the Provence region of France, where a Romance language called Occitan is still spoken. “Mascotto” in Occitan is a word for witch.

So it’s possible we’re dabbling in sorcery just a little bit when we pay homage to our team mascots, which is only problematic in Dumas, where the mascot is a demon. Hopefully the devil just has naming rights and nothing more. It’s possible a wildcatter hoping for a quick strike made that deal way back when and the devil has forgotten about it anyway. I’ve looked and can’t find any documentation.

What I can find is a lot of information on Amarillo High School because its alums talk a lot about their school. In the early 1920s, the AHS football team called themselves the “Savages.” Then one day at baseball practice in the spring of 1922, Coach A.S. Douglass was impressed by the raw power of a sudden dust storm that swept the field (spring sports in the Panhandle have been insufferable for decades). According to official Amarillo High alumni records, Coach Douglass rubbed the grit from his eyes and renamed his team the Golden Sandstorm, soon to be shortened by sportswriters to “Sandies.”

Wellington’s blood rival, Memphis, was also inspired by swirling dust and chose a Cyclone as its mascot. Windy mascots like these required a bit of imagination to paint on run-through signs every Friday, but cheerleaders learned to depict a funnel-shaped cloud with a mad face on it, often sprouting stubby arms complete with clenched fists, and it worked.

Here’s one nobody came up with, though: The Blue Northers. The next high school that gets built in the area can have that one and can thank me for it . It might be hard to illustrate—maybe just a horizontal puffy blue line with a scowl.

In all likelihood, though, if someone chooses a new mascot it will probably be something with fur on it. The vast majority of Panhandle mascots are some kind of deranged-looking varmint that bites, stings, scratches or uses hooves and/or bony skull protrusions in some offensive way. You’ve got the felines covered with the Panhandle Panthers, the Wildcats of River Road and Canadian, and the Bobcats out in Dimmitt, Childress and Sunray. McLean has the Tigers, and Spearman came up with the Lynx (or is it Lynxes?). The subfamily Caninae turns up in Dalhart with the Golden Wolves (which on their helmets are painted purple) and then there’s the plain ol’ Wolves of West Plains High. Our Cervidae brethren are well represented by the Stratford Elks and the Bucks in White Deer (they really had no choice with that one).

Let’s not forget about the pets and livestock gone wrong such as the Borger Bulldogs and Gruver Greyhounds. Vega and Caprock have the Longhorns, Hereford the Whitefaces and Farwell the Steers, though I’d be more threatened by a bull. Claude and Wheeler chose Mustangs, which “runnoft” when nobody was looking, and Clarendon’s Broncos might runnoft with you still on their back. Then there are the large-taloned avian variety such as the Falcons in Bushland, the Owls in Silverton and Hedley and the Eagles in Canyon and Sanford-Fritch. And let’s not ever forget the famed Phillips Blackhawks.

Tulia is a bit of an outlier, repping the phylum Arthropoda with its hornet, which can cause more damage just trying to get away from it.

Rounding out the Panhandle mascot categories are short-fused hominids with stressful jobs such as that Harvester in Pampa, who swings a mean sickle. He’s probably brawled with those associated with the ranching industry such as the Roughriders at Boys Ranch and the white-hat-wearing Tascosa Rebel guy who looks a little like Sam Elliott. The Perryton Ranger fights on horseback but appears to be capable of lariat tricks as well. Happy is represented by a moody bronc-riding cowboy.

Some are a bit more fanciful. Landlocked Lefors chose a Caribbean pirate for their mascot. And when Palo Duro High School opened in the 1950s, they chose a Spanish nobleman with a pencil mustache who can slice you nine ways to Sunday with his shiny rapier.

Finally, we’ve got a few mascots that represent people groups such as the Friona Chiefs, Miami Warriors, Booker Kiowas and West Texas High Comanches. Shamrock went with an agitated Irish fellow because, like White Deer, nothing else would’ve made sense. His name is Lucky, by the way.

Man or beast, all these characters are compulsively driven to be the best. Maybe a little OCD but very likable. Ultimately, though, success this fall will have a lot more to do with how many big ol’ boys we’ ve got on the line and how loudly our crowd roars. But if the home team loses, odds are our mascot will forever be a winner. And Panhandle Friday nights will always shine a bit brighter in our memories because our mascots were there with us when we needed them the most.