Farewell, Tomahawk Chop!

The Daily Caller reports on the latest victory for political correctness: “Braves Axe ‘Tomahawk Chop’ During Game Five After Complaint From Cardinal With Cherokee Heritage.”

The Atlanta Braves made a major concession Wednesday before beginning game five of the National League Division Series against the St. Louis Cardinals — they agreed to abandon their normal “Tomahawk Chop” rallying cry.

Cardinals rookie pitcher Ryan Helsley, who is of Cherokee descent, had criticized the chant, calling it “a disappointment.”

In addition to abandoning the chant, at least as long as Helsley was in the game, the Braves also agreed to refrain from playing the music that normally accompanied the chant.

Axing the tomahawk didn’t do the Braves much good tonight, as they lost to the St. Louis Cardinals 13-1.

I don’t care much about this and have never been a fan of the Atlanta Braves, although I liked the ’50s Milwaukee version, featuring Hank Aaron, Eddie Mathews, Johnny Logan, Bill Bruton, etc. But I do have one fond memory of the Chop.

In the early 1980s, when the Minnesota Twins were pretty bad, I fronted for a consortium of people who divided two season Twins tickets. They weren’t much in demand at that point, and we got great seats–fourth row, on a line between second base and first base. We kept those seats for a number of years, and still had them in 1991, when the Twins won the American League pennant and faced the Atlanta Braves in the World Series.

I attended Game 1 at the Metrodome. Who was sitting in the seats immediately in front of us, and one seat to the left? Ted Turner, who owned the Braves, and his then-wife, Jane Fonda. That night, Jane left Hanoi far behind and was in full Barbarella mode. She did the Tomahawk Chop nonstop for nine innings. I have to say I enjoyed it. She was a much better cheerleader than Communist activist.

Fonda’s Tomahawk Chopping was in vain, as the Twins won the Series opener. A day or two later I left on a business trip to Europe. I wound up in Munich, where, on the night of Game 6 of the 1991 World Series, I had the only paranormal experience of my life. But that is a story for another day.

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