A San Diego State student named Ted Giannoulas dressed up in a chicken suit, bought a ticket to the Padres game and forever changed the fan experience at sporting events
Ray Kroc had seen enough by the eighth inning of the team’s 1974 home opener.
The new Padres owner already had endured a three-game sweep by the Dodgers (getting outscored 25-2) in Los Angeles to open the season.
The home opener was more of the same. The Padres trailed the Houston Astros 6-0 after two innings and 9-2 in the eighth when Kroc cleared his throat and spoke into the PA microphone about the most “stupid ballplaying” he had seen in his life.
“I have some good news and some bad news,” the McDonald’s magnate said. “The good news is you loyal fans have outstripped Los Angeles. They had 31,000 on opening night. We have nearly 40,000.”
Just then the owner was interrupted when a streaker ran across the field at San Diego Stadium.
“Get him out of here,” Kroc yelled. “Take him to jail.”
And with that, Ted Giannoulas, a San Diego State student walking around the field-level concourse behind home plate, got out of there as well.
Giannoulas was concerned about angering Kroc for his appearance as well.
See, he was dressed in a chicken suit.
“This guy is going to look at me and say, ‘Get that chicken. We’re hamburger people around here,’” Giannoulas thought.
That was the scene on April 9, 1974 — 50 years ago Tuesday — when Giannoulas debuted at San Diego Stadium as the KGB Chicken.
No one had any idea that night, but they were witnesses to a transformative moment in sports history.
The play on the field was the only entertainment then at pro sports events, outside of organ music played during breaks in the action.
“There were no mascots in professional sports,” Giannoulas said last week. “Fans still showed up at the games in shirts and ties. They didn’t go in costumes or face paint or wild hair or anything of that.”
Certainly, no one entertained the crowd — often more than those they had paid to see — throughout the game. Game after game. The ballpark became the KGB Chicken’s regular roost.
A year after that first appearance, a stadium usher approached Giannoulas and said, “They want you up in the owner’s box.”
Giannoulas thought he was going to be dressed down for something he did, but Kroc just wanted to meet him and shake his hand.
“He told me,” Giannoulas said, “ ‘It’s amazing. We’re losing and our customers are going home happy every night because of you, young man. Thank you.’
“He wanted to win a pennant and a championship, of course. But goal No. 2 was, ‘Are my customers going home happy? And they were.”
Giannoulas was a game changer.
By 1979, he had become so popular that, after winning a lawsuit against KGB over rights to the character he created, 47,000 people showed up at the stadium to see his “Grand Hatching” as The Famous San Diego Chicken.
In 2005, The Chicken was part of the inaugural induction class for the Mascot Hall of Fame.
Jack Murphy, the San Diego Union sports editor when Giannoulas stepped on the stage, once said: “The Chicken has the soul of a poet. He is an embryonic Charles Chaplin in chicken feathers.”
Giannoulas, who grew up in Ontario, Canada, before his family moved to San Diego when he was a teenager, was influenced more by The Marx Brothers, The Three Stooges and stand-up comedy routines.
The Sporting News placed him among The Top 100 Most Powerful People in Sports of the 20th Century.
An idea hatches
It is a most unlikely origin story.
In 1974, Giannoulas was a journalism major at San Diego State, intent on becoming a sportswriter — go figure — or maybe a broadcaster.
He was sitting in the office of KCR, the campus radio station, chatting with half a dozen others when a man from San Diego radio station KGB walked in looking to hire someone for a promotion.
The one-week assignment paid $2 an hour to give out candy Easter eggs to children at the San Diego Zoo.
There was one catch — the person had to wear a chicken suit.
“Everybody pauses a second, but then everybody volunteers,” Giannoulas said. “He scans the room and he sees me in the back corner and he says, ‘You, the short dude. You’ll fit the chicken suit best of all.’ ”
It wasn’t the first time the 5-foot-3 1/2 Giannoulas was presented with such an opportunity.
“When I was a kid at Hoover (High School), they had an open tryout for the Cardinal mascot,” Giannoulas said. “Nobody wanted to do it. My friends said, ‘Ted, you should do that.’ I turned and said, ‘I’m way too hip to be doing anything like that. You guys really think I’m that stupid? To be a goof like that?’ “
Giannoulas didn’t bawk this time.
He was eager to extend his employment beyond one week when the idea of wearing the chicken suit to a Padres game came to him.
He bought a ticket to the home opener, got suited up in the parking lot and walked up to the entrance gates.
“It created a little consternation,” Giannoulas said. “You don’t see somebody coming up to the turnstiles in 1974 wearing a chicken suit expecting to get in.
“They had to radio people in the front office to ask if I could be allowed in.”
Padres President Buzzie Bavasi had just one question: “Does he have a ticket?”
“Yes,” he was told.
“It created a lot of amusement around the sections,” Giannoulas said, “but I figured I better get a little more attention — I had the KGB call letters on my chest — got up and just started walking around the aisles, waving to fans. I would do a little soft shoe in the aisles when the organ music played.
“People were laughing. Those who brought cameras wanted pictures. It was completely off the wall. As irreverent as you can get.”
The radio station got more publicity that one night than it did the entire week at the zoo. And Giannoulas enjoyed the attention.
He returned the next game. And the next game. And the next.
Chicken shtick
“I started doing bits and shtick in the grandstands a little bit at a time,” Giannoulas said. “As I continued with the games, one homestand after another, it just manifested itself. Again, I was encouraged by how people responded to it.”
The Chicken stayed in the stands for the first few years of his existence until one day in 1977 when he received a phone call from Ballard Smith, then the Padres president.
“We want you to go on the field tonight,” said Smith, who wanted to include The Chicken in a commercial the team was filming. “In the fifth inning, when we’re dragging the field, why don’t you go out there and do something?”
“What? What do you want me to do?” Giannoulas asked.
Smith said, “You’re the comedian. You think of that.”
It was an unprecedented moment. At the time, no one but ballplayers, coaches, umpires and the grounds crew ever were allowed on the field during a game.
When the time came, The Chicken hopped a field-level railing down the left field line and started jogging toward the infield — with no idea what he was going to do.
“I was just going to improvise something.,” Giannoulas said. “It was like jacket night, with 35,000 people there, and kids are screaming, “The Chicken’s on the field!” Everybody was going nuts, like ‘They’re going to kill him. He shouldn’t be out there.’ It was crazy. Uproarious. People were in hysterics.”
“I still don’t know what to do, but I glanced at the third base umpire,” Giannoulas said. “It was the late Art Williams. He’s got his back to the diamond and has the biggest grin on his face. Very sunshiny smile.
“I said to myself, ‘Aha, there’s a friendly face. I’ll go to that guy.’ ”
The Chicken shakes hands with the umpire and inspiration strikes.
“As we’re shaking hands, I say, ‘Don’t mind me, sir, I’m just going to goof off for a second,’ “ Giannoulas said. “Then I act like I’m trying to let go of his handshake as I try to walk away. But I make believe that he doesn’t let go with his grip. I pantomime that he’s tripped me up. I fall to the ground, then get up like he pulled a trick on me.”
The Chicken starts going into hysterics the way Yankees manager Billy Martin did back in the day when he came out to argue a call.
“Art looks over at two of the other umpires and they’re like, ‘Don’t look at us. We’ve got nothing to do with this,’ ” Giannoulas said. “I’m still ranting and raving, jumping up and down, ... but I don’t know how to end it.
“Then it comes to me. I’ve had enough. Then I do the raised leg salute, like a dog would go on a fire hydrant.”
Giannoulas said he will never forget the roar of the crowd that night.
“The shrill, the noise, the eruption,” he said. “Oh, my gosh.”
Giannoulas bolted from the field, hopped back over the railing and his assistant joined him as they ran up through the stands, through the concourse out a turnstile and into the parking lot.
“We started jumping around like kids, ecstatic,” Giannoulas said. “We had never heard laughter like that in our lives.”
Smith called him again the following day.
“Ted, what you did out there, you would not believe the feedback we’re getting all day today,” he said. “It was amazing.
“We just had one little problem — our camera jammed. Can you do it again tonight?”
Follow the leader
Giannoulas didn’t always have to rely on his own inspiration for material.
One of The Chicken’s best bits includes leading a conga line of chicklets (children dressed as little chickens) who each lifted a leg as they pass by the home plate umpire.
The idea came from former Padres executive Andy Strasberg, who was driving in Santee one day when a family of ducks stop traffic as they crossed a busy street.
“There was a traffic jam in the streets, but nobody was mad,” Giannoulas said. “Everyone was out of their cars looking.
“Andy said, ‘Ted, I just saw something people just love. You’ve got to think of doing this, dressing kids up in baby chicken suits. What I just saw on the street was amazing.’
“I did that, and he was right. The fans loved it.”
Former Padres manager Roger Craig provided the idea for another famous bit in 1978 after Craig was ejected from a game.
“I’m in the clubhouse with my head off, toweling off, getting a quick drink of water before I get back out there,” Giannoulas said. “In storms Roger Craig. He’s kicking over a chair and he turns to me and says, ‘Did you see that out there, Teddy? I’ve never been thrown out of a game in my career. Not in the minor leagues, not in the major leagues, not in Little League.’
“He’s huffing and puffing, letting off steam,” Giannoulas said. “Then I see him bulldoze his way into the trainers room. He goes to the wall, rips down the eye chart and brings it right back out to me.
“He says, ‘Teddy, will you do me a favor? Will you take this out to (Dave) Pallone and stick it in his face?”
“I thought that was funny as hell, and told him, ‘Let me see what I can do.’”
Giannoulas took the eye chart from Craig as a courtesy, but didn’t dare take it out that night with tempers flaring.
“But I did it the next night,” Giannoulas laughed.
And hundreds of nights thereafter.
“I went out to first base where Roger got thrown out and did it with that umpire,” Giannoulas said. “That umpire had a big laugh with it. So did Roger. So did the players in the Padres dugout. And, most importantly, so did the fans.”
Craig gave Giannoulas a nod of approval.
“That was a permanent fixture for me, inspired by the manager himself,” Giannoulas said.
Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda was not nearly as pleased with another bit, one that ended with The Chicken stomping on the opposing team’s hat.
“I just mauled the Dodger hat,” Giannoulas said. “Dusty Baker was trotting out to left field as I was finishing up the routine and said, ‘Teddy, I don’t think Tommy liked that one.’ ”
Giannoulas found out just how much after the game when he came face-to-beak with Lasorda in the bowels of the stadium.
“Lasorda had a mound of lasagna on a plate,” Giannoulas noted.
The manager’s mouth was full of pasta, but that didn’t stop him from directing a steady stream of obscenities at The Chicken.
“His cheeks are full of lasagna and he’s dribbling marinara sauce,” Giannoulas said. “He says, ‘You want to step on a Dodger hat you (blankity-blank)? Why don’t you come in my office right now and step on my hat you (blankity-blank)? I’ll kick your (behind). I’ll kill you.’
“He’s backing me up to the wall. I’m cornered. ... and the marinara spittle is coming onto my beak. It looked like measles.”
Giannoulas could see a vein bulging from Lasorda’s neck, but was more concerned about the manager choking on his food than having a heart attack.
“I was praying, ‘Don’t let him choke,” Giannoulas said. “All I could think is the headline: ‘Chicken chokes Lasorda.’ ”
The next chapter
In his heyday, The Chicken made 250-275 appearances a year.
By his count, Giannoulas has performed nearly 10,000 times — and never missed a show — in more than 900 venues. He has appeared in all 50 states and nine countries spread across four continents.
He has made 25,000 to 30,000 appearances, when parades, trade shows, banquets, conventions, and TV and radio dates are included.
By his estimate, Giannoulas has entertained more than 70 million people in person.
In 2019, the Padres sold out Petco Park for Chicken Bobblehead night, reaffirming his ongoing popularity with the people.
The Chicken was cooped up during the pandemic, and Giannoulas, who turns 71 this summer, is semi-retired now.
He has been slowed by the wear and tear that comes with five decades of performing, though a hip replacement last year has him feeling better than he has in some time.
Giannoulas maintained for years that no one else would wear the chicken suit when his days were done. He reasoned that no one else could do what he did. He’s right, of course.
Then again, no one could play Hamlet like Olivier, but that hasn’t stopped others from continuing to stage Shakespeare’s beloved tragedy.
Giannoulas is open now to the idea of The Chicken living on. What softened his stance?
“Feedback from fans,” he said. “They said, ‘The Chicken must continue in some aspect. It’s got to continue.’”
What’s the final chapter for The Chicken?
“What’s the Rolling Stones’ final chapter?” Giannoulas asks. “You know? They’re not giving up. How thrilling and enthralling it must be for them to see masses of people of all ages still jumping up and down.
“The way I look at it, quite honestly, is everybody has their day, then they have to leave the stage, and it’s next up.”
Who’s got next?
Asked for possibilities, Giannoulas said: “If a media organization got interested or sports team was to be interested, they could take it to an enormous level.
“I could see it getting much bigger in the right hands, and I don’t have that wherewithal. For the next step, I really don’t know.”
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