By Ben Cohen
Years ago, while hammering away at the University of Oregon's
football stadium, construction workers encountered a long-lost egg.
They dug it up, the tall tale goes, and polished it. Out cracked an
ugly duckling.
This creature--they named him Mandrake--hatched in 2002 as a new
Duck mascot. With a muscular build and scowling bill, he was the
intimidating embodiment of a meaner Oregon football team, whose
mascot rides into games on a motorcycle and rips off push-ups for
every point the Ducks score.
But then Mandrake ruffled all the wrong feathers. Students
turned on him. Children were terrified of him. No one even called
him Mandrake. He was "Roboduck" instead.
Roboduck won't be waddling around on Monday when Oregon plays
Ohio State University in college football's national-championship
game in Arlington, Texas. He has been missing in official action
since 2003. Oregon officials have come to the conclusion that
Roboduck has quacked.
"We don't know where Roboduck is," Oregon senior associate
athletic director Craig Pintens said. "We lost touch with him over
the years."
Oregon's current duck is simply the Duck. People also call him
Puddles.
The cuddlier Puddles has doughy eyes, a bit of a belly and a
puckered beak that could kiss you on the cheek. He looks like a
children's cartoon come to life. It turns out he is exactly that: a
goofy caricature of Donald Duck licensed to Oregon through a
handshake deal with Walt Disney himself, according to the school's
official history of the Duck.
Over the last decade, as Nike Inc. hit Oregon's football team
with a sleek rebranding, most of the school's lackluster sports
history was scrubbed. But the Roboduck flop made it clear that
there was one untouchable Oregon tradition.
"You don't mess with the Duck," said former Oregon assistant
coach Nick Aliotti.
As it happens, the Ducks were originally the Webfoots, until the
name Webfoots went extinct. That name was killed off by a local
press that wanted to sneak more words into newspaper headlines,
said Keith Richard, the school's archivist emeritus.
A live duck named Puddles then prowled the sidelines of Oregon's
football and basketball games in the 1920s, according to the
school's history. In the 1940s, after Oregon's athletic director
went to Mr. Disney for permission, a likeness of Donald Duck took
Puddles's place. He was still known as Puddles.
For years, though, people pooh-poohed Puddles. They balked at
Oregon being personified by a bumbling duck, fond of saying phooey,
who came from California, which some Oregonians consider the least
magical place on earth. Meanwhile, its football opponents had
fierce mascots, like the Trojans, Huskies and Cougars. Even the
Brutus Buckeye character at Ohio State stands for luck: The
dark-brown nuts from Ohio's state tree are said to bring good
fortune.
Mallard Drake was the first duck to put the Duck in its cross
hairs. This character that was sketched in a 1970s cartoon in
Oregon's school newspaper was so popular on campus that some
students campaigned for him to become the new mascot. The rest of
the student body voted down the change. "In retrospect, I'm highly
relieved," said Steve Sandstrom, the comic's creator. "For the rest
of my life, I'd be drawing that duck."
Puddles was only safe for so long. Limited by the Disney deal in
how it could market the Duck, Oregon worked on a sidekick character
with Nike, which enlisted former National Basketball Association
mascots to create Mandrake. Like the football team's futuristic
uniforms in psychedelic shades of the school's colors green and
yellow, Roboduck was right in line with a rebrand that Oregon hoped
would appeal to younger fans and football players.
"Donald Duck running through a block 'O' wasn't going to get
that key kid from Southern California to commit," said former
Oregon athletic director Bill Moos.
So the school concocted an elaborate origin story for Mandrake.
It said he was found underneath Autzen Stadium in Eugene. His egg
was rolled out at an Oregon game. He punched his way out, flexed,
pointed at Puddles, hugged him like linebackers tackle and then
flipped across the field. The crowd didn't go wild.
"It was like trying to replace FDR during The Great Depression,"
said Mal Williams, a student at the time, who was the Duck the day
Mandrake made its debut.
There were early signs that Mandrake wasn't long for this world.
Most mascots are comedic relief. Mandrake, however, acted like a
superhero. "No one thinks of Batman as being funny," said Jon Cudo,
one of the early Mandrakes.
Roboduck soon steered clear of Oregon's football games. But he
wasn't dead yet. He started showing up--to boos--at Oregon's
basketball games. His final appearance is believed to be a night in
2003 when Mandrake attempted a slam dunk off a trampoline but
crashed into the rim. Sadiki Fuller, a standup comedian who
performed inside the Mandrake costume, said that may have been his
toughest audience ever. "They hated me," he said.
The Duck kept chugging along in Mandrake's absence, and Oregon's
climb to the top of college football made him more famous than
ever. Mandrake, meanwhile, has been lost to history. Enough time
has passed since his last sighting that many of Oregon's current
players weren't aware of the Roboduck disaster.
"I had no clue," said Oregon wide receiver Johnathan Loyd. "I
don't like it. You don't replace Puddles."
Mandrake is the butt of even Oregon's jokes. The school posted
some unwelcome news one morning last spring on its Twitter account:
"We're pleased to announce the return of Mandrake as our
co-mascot," the tweet read. Later that day--April 1--the school
fessed up: "The Mandrake/Roboduck costume has gone missing. So he
won't be coming back after all."
Mandrake really was missing, though. Oregon's athletic officials
tried to track down the Roboduck suit on his 10th birthday. But
they couldn't find it.
"Please, Roboduck," said Mr. Pintens. "If you are out there,
call home."
It turns out Roboduck isn't far from home. A rabid Ducks fan and
Eugene native who revealed himself on the condition of anonymity
says a friend came into possession of the collector's item and sold
him the Roboduck get-up for $1,500--which was $500 more than the
person paid for an authentic Puddles costume. The new Roboduck has
surfaced on rare occasions, but only for charity events in Oregon,
and not at any Ducks games. "I never, ever would," the person
said.
Write to Ben Cohen at ben.cohen@wsj.com
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