That’s why, when it came time to replace his faded, worn and tattered 1982 Cleveland Indians hat featuring a block letter C, he bought the one with the big, red, grinning Chief Wahoo on the front.
Austin insists the crude cartoon character with the affable smile and the large proboscis isn’t stereotypical of Native Americans in any way.
“He’s like the little drunken elf who fights for the Notre Dame Leprechauns. Or Chief Knockahoma! He’s sweet! Go Tribe!!”
Austin’s more enlightened friends urged him to buy the new ‘script I’ hat as a replacement, saying that Chief Wahoo has since become a symbol of racism and oppression.
But he would have none of it.
“I love the Injuns! And I love Chief Wahooooo!”
Even though Austin proclaims to hate the Atlanta Braves, he was more than eager to show off his mad “Tomahawk chop” skills. He also offered to patrol the Arizona/Mexico border with only his bare fists, “to protect them jobs them Mexicanos been stealin’ down there.”
The beer-addled Austin then fell over, bashing his face and breaking his nose on the front steps of his apartment complex, proving that he was the only red-faced, large-nosed drunk around.
Go indigenous peoples!
