Last semester one of my Daily colleagues wrote about his attempt to fulfill his hoop dreams by trying out for a walk-on spot on the Iowa State men’s basketball team.

Last month I, too, was given the opportunity to live out my boyhood basketball dreams by playing in a scrimmage on the hallowed, hard court of Hilton Coliseum.

The scrimmage occurred during halftime of the women’s basketball game against Drake. Don’t be surprised if you were at the game and didn’t recognize me — I was wearing a giant plastic head at the time.

You see, I was asked to participate in a mascot basketball game. I work for a local pizza place that has a mascot costume. The mascots from other local business and area sports teams also participated.

If nothing else, I learned one very important lesson from this experience: It is very difficult to play basketball when wearing oversized shoes and fluffy mittens.

I arrived at Hilton Coliseum about two hours before tip-off. My costume was stuffed in a huge hockey bag.

The costume, I was told, cost the company thousands of dollars. The company apparently tried to save money by buying a costume that was barely big enough for a pre-adolescent Pygmy. Stuffing my 6-foot, 190-pound self into that costume was an accomplishment in itself.

Soon after arriving at the arena, I was able to meet the mascots on my team and the opposing team.

It was my first time donning the giant plastic head, but some of those people were professional mascots.

One talked about how he had recently tried out for a job with a professional basketball team. Others told war stories about overzealous kids who had physically assaulted them. And you thought being a mascot was just hugs and dancing to “YMCA.”

As I began to scout the competition, I began to worry. The other team was made up of mascots from athletic teams: Our own beloved Cy; the Drake bulldog; some kind of pilot guy from the Iowa Barnstormers; Cubbie, a giant bear from the Iowa Cubs; and finally, an 8-foot inflatable hockey player.

The 8-foot inflatable hockey player is not something that can be purchased at the Pleasure Palace downtown (I checked).

It is the mascot from the Des Moines Buccaneers hockey team. A normal-sized man gets into a giant rubber costume with an air generator on his back, and inflates the costume around him.

The other team’s mascots were wearing tennis shoes, gym shorts, athletic jerseys and the like. They looked like they were ready for a basketball game.

My team looked ridiculous. My teammates included a rabbit, a giant sandwich and some kind of corn man from the Iowa Corn Growers Association. I looked like a 7-foot muppet. The Dream Team, we were not.

On top of that, we were one player short. Those of you who play basketball at the rec center know that if you show up with four people, you can usually pick up an extra player who is hanging around.

Unfortunately, there were no giant animals or food products hanging around Hilton Coliseum looking for a game, so we had to play with four.

We decided to warm up by tossing the ball around a little. The sandwich, rabbit and corn man handled the ball pretty well, all things considered. I, however, tended to get hit in the head with the ball before I even knew it was coming. I was getting a bad feeling.

The game started with a “jump ball,” and I use that term very loosely. What actually happened was the referee tossed the ball up, and we all ran around in circles trying to find it.

The professional mascots performed their little crowd-pleasing antics, and we all discovered that the Barnstormer guy could flat-out shoot the rock. He was unstoppable.

Since I was incapable of running, seeing or holding on to the ball, I mostly just stood around and watched. Then it happened.

The ball, through some kind of divine providence, ended up in my sweaty, gloved hands.

The adrenaline surged through me like a raging river. It was impossible for me to see the basket with my giant plastic head on, so shooting was not an option.

Then I spotted the rabbit all alone under the hoop. I fired off a pass. It may have looked like a no-look pass. I’m not sure what direction the giant plastic head was facing.

The rabbit hit the open lay-up, and there was much rejoicing.

Assists are not something one usually keeps track of during a pick-up basketball game. But when you are wearing a giant plastic head, you pad your stats any way you can.

We were thrashed by the sports mascots despite my passing abilities, but it was all in good fun. After the game, the mascots milled around posing for pictures and getting hugs from kids.

Unfortunately, no kid wants to hug a big fat guy who smells vaguely of stale pizza, no matter how well he can pass the ball. So, unloved but triumphant, I went home.

There are several things for you to learn from this tale. First, being a mascot is hard, sweaty work, so have a little respect. Second, no one likes you unless you can put points on the board.

Finally, big fat guys who smell vaguely of stale pizza need love, too. So the next time you see one, go ahead and hug him. Just make sure he is actually wearing a costume.

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Steven Martens is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Cedar Rapids.