The Golden Longhorn

The announcer’s voice boomed over the public address system. 82,956 people rose to their feet, pounding their hands together, creating an electrifying buzz throughout Darrell K. Royal - Texas Memorial Stadium.

Even opposing fans from North Texas stood and applauded, but I remained seated.

It was the fall of 2004, and the Mean Green were in Austin taking on the Longhorns, but the game had yet to begin. The thousands standing in celebration were cheering for a cow. But not just any cow: they were paying homage to Bevo.

It was the retirement ceremony for Bevo XIII. And for what seemed like five minutes, the announcer read off his accomplishments, a list that included a large number of victories: a Big XII championship, several bowl game wins, a few All-Americans, and a Heisman Trophy. And although Bevo XIII never carried a football, completed a pass, or recorded a sack, the list was read as if he had.

While more than 82,000 fans stood and applauded, I contemplated Bevo XIII’s future. Would it consist of grazing a pasture on a Texas ranch? Perhaps he would end up on the menu at Fudruckers?

The applause continued as I pictured Bevo on the sideline chewing artificial field turf and laying a pile of dung. He stared ahead, motionless. His short, golden fur gleamed in the sunlight, and in a peculiar way, he slightly resembled my recollection of the Golden Calf.

Eventually the Longhorns destroyed the Mean Green 65-0, but the ceremony for Bevo XIII stood out the most.

Brimming with curiosity, I contacted Jim Nicar of the Texas Exes three years later to learn of Bevo XIII’s fate.

“Bevo XIII retired at the start of the 2004 season, and the night before the opening home game we threw him a ‘Bevo Retirement Party’ at the Alumni Center,” Nicar said via e-mail. “About 1,500 people attended, and the Longhorn Band stopped by for a brief concert. We presented Bevo with a very large gold watch (that would strap around his midsection), his first bale of ‘retirement hay,’ and a lifetime pass to the stadium in case he ever wanted to return to watch a UT game.”

Rickey Brennes of the Silver Spurs, the organization that handles current Bevos, said Bevo XIII was the University of Texas mascot for sixteen years, from 1988-2003.

My inner child wanted to know if Bevo XIII ever used the restroom in an awkward location.

“Bevo XIII once ‘left his mark’ on the Nebraska Cornhuskers’ logo in the end zone during the 1999 Big XII championship game,” Brennes said. “For safety precautions, the Silver Spurs were asked to escort Bevo off the field with a few minutes left in the game. The Cornhuskers called timeout with the ball on the six-yard line. During the timeout, the Silver Spurs were walking Bevo XIII off the field when he decided to ‘take a dump’ on the word NEBRASKA, painted in the end zone. The Cornhuskers then proceeded to run plays away from where the ‘incident’ occurred and never scored.”

“How much does it cost to transport Bevo to a bowl game?” I asked.

“A trip to the Rose Bowl would cost around $3,000 for Bevo.”

“Did Bevo ever try to eat grass or artificial field turf?”

“The grass on football fields is mostly cut too short for Bevo to have an interest in it,” Brennes said. “He has decided to stretch out on the field, in the end zone before.”

“What happened to Bevo XIII?” I asked Nicar, still thinking of the double cheeseburger at Fudruckers.

“Once retired,” he said, “Bevo spent the rest of his days at the Sunset Ranch (I think that’s the name) west of Austin. It just happens to be the same ranch where his successor, Bevo XIV, also resides. Bevo XIII passed away just last spring.”

So in the end, Bevo’s feces provided better defense of the end zone than the Longhorns’ secondary. Bevo XIII never ended up in a slaughterhouse or on a menu. And animal rights activists can breath a sigh of relief, as his humongous horns were never fastened to some West Texas redneck’s pickup truck.

Bevo XIII lived an extraordinary life, leading Texas to all those victories and bowl games, attending President George W. Bush’s inauguration, and receiving an obituary on ESPN.com. He roamed the sidelines longer than any Bevo in UT history and was a great asset to the university.

And knowing all this today, I still would not have joined the capacity crowd in giving a standing ovation to a cow. I just couldn’t. My remaining seated is a matter of principle. The battle within my conscience proves that since I rarely stand for a baseball player who hits a home run, a theatre actress who successfully recites her lines, or a politician who delivers a speech, I could never stand for an animal.

Besides, why is a mascot, athlete, actress or politician more worthy of my standing ovations than the doctor who prescribes my medicine, the pilot who recently flew me from Denver to Dallas, or the friend who is a missionary in Trinidad? I have never stood in applause for them.

I guess you could call me a standing ovation snob, only choosing to rise when I truly feel that my praise is deserved. And despite what more than 82,000 others believed, Bevo XIII did not deserve my praise.