By Manha Masood
After 50 years of igniting school spirit and enduring endless high-fives, the Williamsville East Phoenix has officially resigned from its post, citing exhaustion, underappreciation, and years of overwork. In a candid statement released early this morning, the Phoenix, who has embodied the heart and soul of the school for half a century, announced its decision to retire.
“I’m done,” said the Phoenix, rubbing its fiery wings and looking visibly worn out. “Fifty years of dancing, cheering, and waving my wings for teenagers who barely know my name—it’s time to step down.”
The Phoenix, a symbol of rebirth and resilience, has been a constant presence at every pep rally, football game, and school event for five decades. However, despite its long tenure, the Phoenix has quietly battled the stress of unrelenting hours and a lack of recognition. “It’s been a tough gig,” said the Phoenix. “I’ve been showing up to every game, assembly and event. And do I get a thank you? No. I get a ‘Yo, Phoenix, can you do the chicken dance again?’”
While the Phoenix used to be filled with fiery enthusiasm, the years of grueling work have taken their toll. “I used to be so full of energy. I’d fly through the bleachers, rally the crowd, and leave the field with the students chanting my name. But these days, I’m lucky if I can flap my wings without pulling a muscle. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep your energy up when you’re dealing with the same ‘Go Flames!’ chant seven million times a week?”
The Phoenix’s biggest complaint? Its total lack of recognition. “I’ve been doing this for 50 years. Fifty! And what do I get? An occasional free soda from the concession stand if I’m lucky. I’ve been through it all—the parades, the sports games, the endless dances where no one even knows my real name. It’s like I don’t even exist outside of game day. Honestly, you’d think after all these years, someone might remember to call me ‘George’ or ‘Frank’ or anything—but nope. I’m just ‘the Phoenix,’ or sometimes ‘the big red bird.’ You’d think I was an actual mythical creature or something.”
Despite these frustrations, the Phoenix has shown up year after year without complaint. The problem, however, lies in the never-ending work schedule. “I don’t get days off. Ever,” said the Phoenix, massaging its sore wings. “Pep rallies in the fall, basketball games in the winter, track meets in the spring. Don’t even get me started on the summer events. I was at the graduation ceremony this year, wearing this thing in 90-degree heat. Not even a thank-you card. Not even a cold drink. You want me to wave at people for three hours in this ridiculous getup? I’m done.”
And then there’s the constant barrage of performance requests. “Every game, it’s the same thing. Can you do the chicken dance? Can you do the worm? Can you act like a flaming bird for the kids who are too tired to care?” the Phoenix sighed. “I can’t remember the last time someone asked me if I was okay or if I wanted to take a break. They just want me to jump around, make weird bird noises, and wave my wings like I’m some kind of entertainment machine. It’s exhausting.”
Despite all the burnout, the Phoenix continued to show up, even if it meant enduring questionable requests and embarrassing moments. “One time, I had to wave a giant foam finger in the air for 15 minutes while standing in the middle of a downpour. And let’s not forget the time I tripped over the bleachers and somehow ended up doing a somersault while everyone cheered. But, hey, no one even checked if I was okay. I just got back up and waved like it was nothing.”
And so, after 50 years of igniting the flames of school spirit, the Phoenix is finally calling it quits. “I’m ready to retire,” the Phoenix declared, wings sagging. “Maybe I’ll head to a beach. No more dancing, no more chants. Just me, a hammock, and a cold drink. Honestly, I’ve earned it.”
Williamsville East’s community is still coming to terms with the news. Students are already planning a farewell ceremony to honor the Phoenix’s dedication. “The Phoenix was always there, no matter what,” said a senior. “It was always part of every game, every pep rally. But I guess we didn’t realize how much it meant until now. It was more than just a mascot. It was part of the spirit of the school.”
No one will ever forget the Phoenix’s commitment, even if no one knew its name. After all, it’s been an unforgettable 50 years—one chicken dance and awkward dance move at a time.