In the bigger picture, I’ve somehow spent an irregular amount of time in baseball stadiums given my indifference for the sport. When I was a child, I saw local teams play on a monthly basis. It was the 90s, so I’m sure that I was aware of Mark McGwire. Otherwise, I remember more than a few occasions being found at the homes of The Los Angeles Dodgers or The Anaheim Angels.* These were done on summer field trips, or just because I got invited. This is strange given that I clearly have more of an affection for basketball. Then again, I haven’t been to a game on any level in several years.
*Yes, there was a time when they only owned ONE Southern California county and were not threatening to move the team to Long Beach.
Which is to say that I understand the appeal of a baseball game. While I don’t think it translates to TV all that well, being there in person results in something addictive. You feed off of the crowd, sticking out your hand hoping to catch that foul ball. There is so much showmanship that I can understand as being a great pastime. Everyone can swing a bat and imagine the ball flying into the parking lot. It’s an image that never loses its thrill, and I can only imagine that you also hear Randy Newman’s score for The Natural (1984) when you hit things just right.
Though there is one thing to be proud of as far as MLB goes in Southern California. It isn’t just that we have a few good teams that I hear did well in the championships last season. It’s that we have arguably one of the greatest mascots in modern history. If you ever went to an Angels game and didn’t see him projecting from the screen by the outfield as the organ plays, then you weren’t getting the full experience. He had to be there. It’s the only way that the team wins anything anymore…
I’m talking about The Rally Monkey.
While I fell out of baseball a long time ago, The Rally Monkey exists as this strange piece of Americana. I feel like everyone has a story about that beloved little capuchin. Some would go so far as to say he was the reason that The Angels won The World Series in 2002. Okay, that’s not entirely true. There needed to be a losing mascot for The Rally Monkey to take on, but he was a symbolic figure that we could all get behind.
It starts with a gentle roar. With the team ready to hit a major run, there is the slow rumbling of feet on the floorboards. The screen tells us to get louder so that we can get The Rally Monkey to come out. We build. We make it deafening. As the sound grows, we can feel it in our bones. We are about to be allowed the privilege of seeing an icon. When sound grows so dense that it becomes audible smog, he finally shows up, preparing to jump up and down. He’s there with us. He’s among the commoners, eager to watch The Angels score that run.
Who knew you could put so much effort into making a hitter swing harder, go farther than ever before?
That is one of the few times that I understood the cult behavior of sports. As an introvert, a lot of the rituals feel ridiculous to me. I don’t get wearing cheese-heads or doing some elaborate parking lot ritual (and before you ask, yes I am only kind of fun at parties). I get it as ways for fans to bond, but it always felt too ridiculous for me to try, believing that I’d just get delusional and think my team is better than your team and torch city hall. I get how gateway drugs work, people.
But The Rally Monkey always made sense to me. It was withholding pleasure from fans. By the time he comes out, you’re eager to see The Angles win and nothing is going to stand in your way. This capuchin is a beacon of hope in the middle of a game, giving us something to look forward to. Even if he can’t slide home without a dickish “You’re out!” we will always have The Rally Monkey, jumping up and down. It’s our own personal gift, and it’s important that every fan uses it correctly.
What’s incredible to note is that The Rally Monkey started as a joke. In all seriousness, it came during one game in 2000 when The Angels were down. The people in charge of the screens decided to amuse themselves by playing footage of the monkey from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (1993). This went over like gangbusters. When they got feedback that it made everyone laugh and cheer, they repeated the footage and started one of The Angels’ most defining features. Why they would own the adjective “Rally” if it wasn’t for that jerk Rally Squirrel from The St. Louis Cardinals.
Because of that evening, they began the hiring process for a capuchin monkey named Katie. She had a pretty good resume, having appeared as Marcel on the hit TV series Friends. Her job was simple. When the crowd cheered, she would jump around to, what else, but House of Pain’s 90s anthem “Jump Around.” It was a whole thing, and you best believe that this novelty withstood the test of time. It was an animal mascot that came in handy for all home game occasions. I’m sure Katie would do your bar mitzvah at the pitcher’s mound if you paid a handsome fee.
As mentioned, Katie’s glory day came in 2002 when The Angels proved to the world of American baseball that they were worth it. They were capable of being the best team. She got more work, constantly jumping up and down. She was a phenomenon, outlasting the celebrity status of every single player from that season. She appeared in the comic strip Get Fuzzy and even ESPN commercials. She was a star and one of the driving reasons to watch baseball.
Among the ways that they expanded Katie’s role in the team was by having her appear in satirical versions of famous movies. Think of Billy Crystal at The Academy Awards. She would appear in movies like Jurassic Park (1993), Field of Dreams (1989), Risky Business (1983), and Animal House (1978), comically popping up in ways meant to entertain fans. She would hold signs, encouraging people to scream louder. She did everything she could for the team, and she was awarded nicely.
I don’t know that I can think of someone as ubiquitous with a baseball team quite like The Rally Monkey. Nobody really comes close. Sure in football you get mascots running around the field and agitating those in the front rows, but not in baseball. It mostly exists for the sheer thrill of the sport, and that may be what makes Katie such a revolutionary. Everyone loves monkeys, and here she was being presented on a global stage.
She also had a ridiculous focus in the merch department. If you can think of it, there was likely something there with her face on it. The Rally Monkey was a figure who could be slapped onto t-shirts and toys, making you feel her comfort quite literally as you cheered from the cheap seats. I personally own a bobble-head from one of my visits that finds her holding a sign that says “It’s rally time!” From the way that you smack it, you can find The Rally Monkey agreeing with you as you do your tax returns. Yes, it is time to rally. It is time to crunch those numbers and get that rebate.
I’ll confess that with my limited interest in contemporary baseball, I can’t speak to the last time that Katie was seen at Angel Stadium. Considering that it’s been 20 years, I’m sure that she’s been put out to pasture, telling stories to her baby capuchins who wonder what great, adventurous life Mama Rally lived. As they look out the window, she takes a deep sigh and looks nostalgically out at a field. She can hear those cheers, whittling away with the wind. It comforts her, knowing that someone out there is still rallying for her.
I’ll admit that this may all seem ridiculous. How could I spin a yarn so elaborate yet so inconsequential about a monkey who did nothing but jump up and down? That is one of life’s greatest mysteries. It’s also evident that this is all just something silly that we use to bond ourselves over. Then again, being a guy who’s grown up around people clearly more into sports than I am, The Rally Monkey felt like something that we both could get behind. She was no different than a sexy Lakers cheerleader. She made us feel the same way… about the team. We were fed a straight line of hope and we took it willingly.
Considering that MLB is at risk of shutting back down due to almost every team having at least a few cases of COVID-19, it felt like a good time to laugh and remember the good times. I’m sure there’s other stuff that’s worth remembering (for instance, “the wave”), but knowing my love of novelty I will always think of The Angels in one specific way. It wasn’t that their name now references Los Angeles AND Orange County, or that it was about to confusingly add a third contradictory name to its title. It’s in how baseball found a way to include a monkey in their shenanigans without things going south. This wasn’t a 70s Clint Eastwood movie. This was something greater, more uplifting. This was a sign that we may win. All we had to do was scream a little louder, Rally Monkey dolls in hand.
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