Sports history is littered with bad ideas, but rarely does a bad idea wear a do-rag and a permanent sneer. If you grew up watching the NBA in the late nineties or early 2000s, you remember him. You probably can't forget him. We’re talking about the 76ers mascot Hip Hop, the muscular, gravity-defying rabbit that somehow became one of the most polarizing figures in Philadelphia sports history. He wasn't just a mascot; he was a specific vibe of an era that the Sixers eventually tried to scrub from existence.
He was a bit much. Honestly, he was a lot much.
For a generation of fans, the 76ers mascot Hip Hop was the face of the Allen Iverson era off the court. While A.I. was breaking ankles and changing the culture of the league, Hip Hop was doing front flips over motorcycles. But there’s a reason he isn’t at the Wells Fargo Center anymore. There’s a reason Franklin the Dog is now the guy. To understand why Hip Hop disappeared, you have to look at the weird intersection of early 2000s marketing, street culture, and a franchise desperately trying to find its soul after the Big Shot era.
The Birth of the Rabbit: Why Hip Hop Even Happened
The Sixers didn't always have a rabbit. For a long time, there was Big Shot. Big Shot was... well, he was a blue thing. He looked like a creature from a low-budget Jim Henson knockoff. He was safe. He was round. He was basically a blue blob that kids could hug without getting a leather-clad elbow to the ribs.
Then came 1996. The Sixers drafted a kid from Georgetown named Allen Iverson.
Suddenly, the franchise had an edge. The NBA was changing. The league was moving away from the "Bad Boys" and the Showtime Lakers into something grittier, something more connected to hip-hop culture. The Sixers front office decided Big Shot didn't fit that brand. They wanted something "extreme." Remember the 90s? Everything had to be extreme. Mountain Dew was extreme. Doritos were extreme. The 76ers mascot Hip Hop was the byproduct of that exact boardroom energy.
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They introduced him in 1998. He was a rabbit, but not a Bugs Bunny type. He was ripped. He wore a backwards cap, a sleeveless jersey, and had an attitude that said he’d sooner challenge you to a dunk contest than hand you a T-shirt. He was designed by Raymond Entertainment Group—the same folks associated with Dave Raymond, the original Phillie Phanatic. But where the Phanatic was whimsical, Hip Hop was intense.
The Slam Dunk Dilemma
If you judge a mascot solely on athletic ability, Hip Hop was actually an elite performer. The guys inside the suit were incredible acrobats. He would fly off trampolines. He would perform dunks that most human beings couldn't dream of. In the early 2000s, he was a fixture of the All-Star Weekend mascot festivities because he could actually do the work.
But Philly is a tough room.
The problem wasn't the dunks. It was the "look." Critics argued he was a collection of stereotypes. He felt like a corporate attempt to "cool up" the team by leaning into a version of urban culture that felt slightly caricatured. Fans started calling him "The Scary Bunny." Parents complained he was too aggressive. While the kids who loved the high-flying stunts were entertained, the older season ticket holders—the ones who remembered the Wilt Chamberlain and Julius Erving days—never really warmed up to him.
It's sort of fascinating how long he lasted, actually. He survived from 1998 all the way until 2011. That's thirteen years of backflips.
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The Great Mascot Purge of 2011
When Josh Harris and the new ownership group took over the team in 2011, they did a sweep. They wanted to revitalize the brand. They looked at the roster, they looked at the front office, and they looked at the 76ers mascot Hip Hop.
He didn't make the cut.
Adam Aron, who was the CEO at the time, was very vocal about the change. He basically acknowledged that Hip Hop was "polarizing." That’s executive-speak for "half our fans hate this guy." The team didn't just fire the mascot; they sent him to a "farm." Literally. The official story was that Hip Hop fell in love, got married, and moved to a rural area to start a family.
It was a clean break.
The Sixers actually went mascot-less for a while. They held a fan vote to pick a replacement. The options were a moose, a dog, and Ben Franklin. People hated the options. Philadelphians are notoriously protective of their symbols, and none of these felt right. The vote was eventually scrapped because the backlash was so loud. It took until 2015 for Franklin the Dog to finally arrive. Franklin is fine. He’s blue. He’s a dog. He’s safe. But he doesn't have the "what on earth am I looking at?" factor that Hip Hop possessed.
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Why We Still Talk About Him
You’ve probably seen the memes. Hip Hop lives on in the corner of the internet where people discuss "cursed images" of the 2000s. There is a certain nostalgia for him now, mostly from people who were seven years old in 2001 and didn't care about the cultural politics—they just thought the rabbit who jumped over a car was cool.
But the 76ers mascot Hip Hop represents a specific moment in NBA history where the league was trying to figure out its identity. It was the post-Jordan vacuum. The league was trying to market to a younger, more "street" audience while trying not to alienate the corporate sponsors. Hip Hop was the literal embodiment of that tension. He was a corporate rabbit trying to look like he was from the block.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Fan
If you're a Sixers fan or a sports memorabilia collector, Hip Hop has actually become a bit of a cult item. Here is how to engage with that history:
- Hunt for Vintage Merch: Because Hip Hop was so divisive, much of his merchandise was tossed out. If you find a "Hip Hop" era Sixers pennant or a plush doll at a thrift store in Delco or South Philly, grab it. They are becoming weirdly valuable on eBay to collectors of "failed" sports branding.
- The Mascot Archives: If you want to see the real athleticism, look up 76ers mascot Hip Hop highlights on YouTube from the 2003 or 2004 seasons. It reminds you that regardless of the costume, the performers were world-class athletes who paved the way for modern dunking mascots like Benny the Bull.
- Respect the Evolution: Understand that Franklin the Dog isn't "boring" by accident. He is the direct response to the "intensity" of Hip Hop. The Sixers learned that in a city like Philadelphia, your mascot shouldn't try to be "cooler" than the fans. He should just be a part of the party.
The era of the "edgy" mascot is mostly over. Teams have realized that a mascot's primary job is to be a brand ambassador for children and a source of levity for adults. Hip Hop tried to be a superstar. In Philly, there’s only room for one or two superstars at a time, and they usually have to be wearing a jersey, not a rabbit suit.
If you're looking to dive deeper into the history of Philadelphia sports branding, your next step should be researching the transition from the "Stars and Stripes" logo to the 1997 "Gold and Black" rebrand. That visual shift explains more about the Hip Hop era than any mascot biography ever could. You can also visit the Philadelphia Sports Hall of Fame's online archives to see how mascots like the Phillie Phanatic set a bar that Hip Hop was simply never going to clear.