Mount Pleasant Magazine Sept/Oct 2014

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off the field. But, over time, his
persistence paid off, and these days
he can be found fueling the flames of
enthusiasm for 80,000+ Gamecock
fans at Williams-Brice Stadium.
The current Cocky – we’ll call
him Fred for the sake of this story
because both USC and Clemson
prefer to keep the names of their
mascots confidential – was born into
a lineage of Gamecock alumni. As a
kid, he remembers watching every
USC football game in the same local
Gamecock bar. When Fred was a
senior in high school, his godfather, a
former member of the South Caro-
lina marching band, passed away. To
honor him, Fred vowed to follow in
his footsteps at USC.
Fred was destined for the Cocky
suit. On the first day of freshman ori-
entation, he approached Cocky, who
was cheering along the incoming class
of USC students. “Hey, I want your
job,” Fred told the uninterested rooster.
But over time, Fred would prove
his worth. Cocky had his eye on the
zealous freshman, who would skip
classes to attend USC women’s vol-
leyball games and equestrian meets.
“If any USC sporting event was
quiet and dead, I would make them
loud and alive,” said Fred of his fresh-
man year.
One day, wearing full body paint,
Fred was approached at a USC wom-
en’s soccer game and asked if he’d like
to try out to become the next Cocky.
He made the roster and learned the
ways of Cocky, including the mantra
to never be afraid of anything while he
was wearing his fighting rooster suit.
“I’ve found that it’s always better
to ask for forgiveness than to ask for
permission,” he explained.
For Fred, nothing in this world
compares to a fall football Saturday
in Columbia, South Carolina. Hours
before the game, he can be found
dancing in his 35-pound Cocky
suit, with that relentless Midlands
sun beating down on his feathers.
Fred feeds off the Gamecock fight
song that blasts from the trumpets
and drums of the marching band,
which follows him through the sea of
Gamecock fans and into Williams-
Brice Stadium on game day.
With kickoff just seconds away,
Fred stands quietly in his box, which
is covered by a black sheet. Cocky’s
Magic Box Entrance is Fred’s fa-
vorite Gamecock tradition. The
noise among the crowd of 83,000
is reduced to a whisper, Fred’s heart
begins to race and the curtains drop.
A 6-foot-tall fighting rooster emerg-
es, fireworks shoot from his box and
Williams-Brice Stadium goes abso-
lutely insane.
“The intensity is amazing. I can’t
explain how poetic it all is,” Fred said.
“In those moments, I disappear and
it’s no longer me. It’s Cocky.”
One hundred thirty two miles away
at Memorial Stadium, “Death Valley”
to Clemson’s rabid fans, sits a Tiger
who is starting to get very hungry after
Fred, or whatever his real name is, was destined to wear the Cocky suit.