Get to Know Hook ’Em—the Longhorn, the Myth, and the Mascot

 

The first rule of being Hook ’Em is the same as Fight Club: You do not talk about Hook ’Em. Until it’s time to graduate, that is.  

During the College of Liberal Arts (COLA) commencement celebration at the Moody Center this past May, track and field All-American Chris Brinkley Jr., BA ’26, a Human Dimensions of Organizations major, was among the very final group of students in the presentation. And yet, waiting to walk on stage just before Brinkley was Erika Jarzombek, BA ’26, whose Sustainability Studies classmates had been called earlier in the afternoon.

“He was like, ‘What’s going on? Why aren’t you with your major?’” Jarzombek remembers.  

Since the secret was about to be revealed, Jarzombek told him. And then, after Brinkley’s name was called and a smiling Interim COLA Dean (and David Bruton, Jr. Regents Chair in Liberal Arts) David Sosa stepped back to the podium, the cheers and whoops began. Bounding onto the stage was Hook ’Em, followed by Jarzombek, who had been inside that mascot costume for four years and served as the captain of the Hook ’Em squad during her senior year.

Jarzombek was decked out in a frilly white skirt, a #1 burnt-orange football uniform—and, atop her graduation cap, a fabric Longhorn head (fashioned from a golf club cover) and the phrase “I AM HOOK ’EM” in block letters. She’d let the world know via her Instagram at almost the same moment, in a reveal video made with Longhorns football captain Michael Taaffe, BS ’25.  

Among the first comments? “We are currently sitting next to each other at graduation,” @chrisbrinkleyjr posted, with a grin emoji.

 

The “mascot reveal” has become a college sports tradition, especially on social media. But as another former Hook ’Em, Josh Vasquez, BA ’18, notes, going to graduation in character, then yanking off its head, might be a bit much for all those grandparents and children in the audience. During Vasquez’s time, the Hook ’Em stage escort tradition hadn’t started, so Vasquez walked the stage with the fur and jersey underneath his robe.

When the reveal happens, some are more surprised than others. A few of Jarzombek’s friends told her it all made sense, after four years of asking her how she’d never been to a football game. Other friends would notice she was working with the spirit squad at some times, but not others, and wonder where she’d gotten to.  

“We could gaslight people a lot,” Jarzombek says. “You’d come up with stories. ‘I was doing stuff behind the scenes,’ or, ‘I was working on social media.” But not everyone was fooled. A few people even noticed that Hook ’Em’s dance moves resembled those of their friend Erika. Jarzombek has been a dancer since the age of 3 and is also a self-described “Disney adult.” Thanks to that passion and her professional experience as Hook ’Em, she’s now in the Disney College Program. She is currently a character attendant at Disney World in Florida, with work as an actual character presumably to come.  

And while she’s in no rush to move on from entertaining and performing, she figures that her sustainability degree could also come in handy at a company with theme parks, movie studios, and sports broadcasting.

Hook ’Em is just like any other student. He sings “The Eyes of Texas.” He goes to the Austin City Limits Music Festival. He plays the EA SPORTS College Football 26 video game. He tries to get a picture with Glen Powell before a football game. He orders pizza. 

Except he’s also not like other students. At ACL, he winds up on the stage, dancing and dapping with the electronic dance music group Major Lazer amidst pyrotechnics and burnt-orange-clad dancers, with his own air-conditioned trailer. Thanks to the video game’s “Mascot Mode,” his avatar fills every position on the team in CFB26. And after one of Hook ’Em’s handlers took a picture of the mascot (and Jarzombek inside of it) with Glen Powell in Columbus, Ohio, last year, the actor turned around and said, “Hey, Hook ’Em, I’ve got a question for you. How about you come and take a picture with my family?”  

Jarzombek as Hook ’Em was also in a commercial for DoorDash with Taaffe, a game show called “Dash Decisions” testing how well they knew each other. “Good to see you, my friend,” Taaffe said, before incorrectly guessing the mascot’s go-to move (the Griddy). Jarzombek hadn’t yet met Taaffe outside of the costume, but at the next football game a few days later, when Hook ’Em joined the players for “The Eyes of Texas,” she felt a tap on her shoulder. There the captain was, clearly recognizing his buddy, and they finished the song together.  

There are former Hook ’Ems at Disney World (not just Jarzombek), and in the NBA, MLB, and NFL. He’s a star at games—even more so in memes and on social media—and constantly in demand for weddings, parties, conventions, conferences, parades, and more. He’s regularly a top finisher at the Universal Cheerleaders Association’s College Nationals mascot championships. Just as Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in heels, Hook ’Em does (almost) everything the cheer and pom squad does, except in fur and beneath a 10-pound Longhorn head.  

There is, however, one thing Hook ’Em is very much not. And one thing you should never call him.

It’s right there in Hook ’Em’s Instagram handle.  

@thenameishookem.  

Got it?  

Hook ’Em. Not Bevo. Not “Little Bevo,” as the Austin American-Statesman called him in 1979. Not “The Human Bevo,” as this very magazine called him in 1980. Not “Cartoon Mascot Bevo,” a description that I just made up. Hook ’Em.  

Bevo is Bevo. He’ll always be the big brother. He’s the mascot that is most loved by people who actually remember the wishbone offense, or Darrell K Royal playing guitar at Willie Nelson’s house. But for the members of Longhorn Nation who weren’t even old enough to see Vince Young play (that is, almost every current UT student) and are making their memories now, Hook ’Em is as big a star.  

The confusion was more forgivable in the early days of the character. Older Exes may be more likely to tell their kids or grandkids, “That’s Bevo.” When Vasquez played the character 10 years ago, the error was hard to escape.  

“It was annoying,” he says. “Everywhere we went: Bevo, Bevo, Bevo! “We’re never going to diss a fan, but anytime we got a chance, [the verbal and non-costumed members of the squad] tried to correct them.” But even with the character’s current level of popularity—and that Instagram handle—confusion persists.  

“I literally had someone DM me on Instagram the other day and be like, ‘Oh my gosh, you were Bevo,’” Jarzombek says. “‘Actually, so sorry—I was Hook ’Em.’ I think a lot of people tend to think that since Bevo is a live mascot, we’re a representation of him.”  

Current Longhorns lore says that Bevo is the stately older brother, and Hook ’Em, the attention-seeking middle child. (Air Horn, a 9-foot-tall inflatable scamp, is the youngest.) And for a long time, the bovine mascot and the costumed mascot didn’t even meet.  

In the spring of 1975, a UT junior named Steven Sockler, BBA ’76, MBA ’78, Life Member, proposed the idea of a second mascot to the University Spirit Committee, chaired by longtime Longhorns radio announcer Wally Pryor, BFA ’51, Life Member.  

The Spirit Committee signed off, and Pryor also gave Hook ’Em his name. But, as Sockler himself recalled in a 2009 ALCALDE story, “[Pryor said] there was no way this character would see the light of day in Memorial Stadium, where Bevo reigned supreme.”  

Martin Luecke—one of UT’s head cheerleaders from 1982-84 and now the official historian for the Texas Cheer and Pom Alumni Network—doesn’t remember ever seeing Hook ’Em at a football game. “When I was a cheerleader,” says Luecke, BJ ’85, Life Member, “that’s what we were told: We’ve already got a mascot. No second mascot on the field.”

Football would not, of course, remain Bevo’s exclusive turf forever, with Hook ’Em’s role over the years shifting from occasional to regular to essential. And since the introduction of Bevo Blvd. and Hook ’Em’s Herd, when he runs onto the field before the game with a small army of young fans, he’s become even more ubiquitous. Officially, the mascot’s portfolio includes football, men’s and women’s basketball, baseball, softball, and soccer, with travel to all away games for football and all tournament play for other sports.

Hook ’Em also once looked quite different, with several incarnations before the current version became the template. The character has continued to evolve, including more muscles and a removable (magnetic) cowboy hat. Back in those first few decades, the head was said to weigh 20-25 lbs. It’s lighter now, but the costume is still a burden, especially on a 100-degree gameday (when the temperature on the field can reach 130 degrees Fahrenheit or more). A recurring theme whenever you talk to a Hook ’Em or anyone who works with Hook ’Em is hydration.  

Jarzombek always guzzled both electrolytes and water—hydration 24 hours before the game was actually more important than the day of. Her mom (who was allowed to be let in on the secret) sometimes worried that her daughter couldn’t go to the bathroom while enclosed in the costume, but in reality, as with the football or basketball players, one sweats so much that restroom breaks aren’t a concern. UT Cheer and Pom Coach Blair Taylor, BFA ’13, says a lot of people think there must be fans or ventilation in the costume. (There is not.)  

Luecke says that after a Rice basketball game in January 1984, a group of Owls fans who had been taunting Texas for losing the Sugar Bowl to Georgia, encountered the student who was then playing Hook ’Em carrying the character’s head in his arms in the parking lot after the game. According to Luecke, they socked him badly enough to give him a black eye and stole the mascot’s head, which was not recovered until the Longhorns football team came back to Rice the following September.  

Such incidents can still occur today. Vasquez once got punched in the face by a fan at Notre Dame; fortunately, the blow only struck the costume’s head, not Vasquez’s own. And when the Horns lost 50-43 to Cal in 2016 at Berkeley, the Golden Bears players tried to celebrate by going after Hook ’Em.  

“The football players were shoving me,” Vasquez remembers. “All I could see were shoulder pads at eye level.”  

Coach Taylor managed to intervene. “She was phenomenal,” Vasquez says. “She got in their faces and yelled at them, even though they were 6 foot 7, and she’s, like, 5 foot 6.” 

Despite the tension, that’s actually one of Taylor’s favorite memories with the mascot. “They’d just won probably one of the biggest games of their career, and all they’re worried about is sizing up to Hook ’Em,” she says. “I think it just goes to show what a symbol he is for such a massive University.”  

Of course, one assumes that at some point in the game, the character might have trolled those rival players. “Hook ’Em has a mischievous side to him,” Taylor concedes. “Could be.”  

 

Another movie analogy: Hook ’Em is Spartacus.  

You know the scene. A crowd collectively says, “I am Spartacus,” so the Romans don’t know it’s Kirk Douglas.  

So it is with Hook ’Em. The secrecy behind the character is a fairly recent phenomenon, and it goes together with Hook ’Em’s larger profile and busier schedule. Where there was once a modest “hype team” around Hook ’Em, there’s now more than 100 people on what is its own distinct Spirit Squad roster, along with Cheer and Pom. Whether it is two different sports having big games at the same time or multiple non-UT events, there are always several Hook ’Ems, and even more Hook ’Em handlers and future Hook ’Ems (another secret: just how many costumes there actually are). And when your job is to support and protect the character, you almost have to know what it’s like to be in the costume.  

“It’s a team of students that are playing one character,” Taylor says. Which means they all must train (including fitness tests) and practice to embody that character consistently. 

“I equate it to Batman,” Vasquez says, adding another movie reference. He’s speaking not just of his experience as Hook ’Em, but work that he may or may not have done as an employee of the San Antonio Spurs and Chicago Bulls (his titles with the latter team have included “event management specialist” and “entertainment specialist”). “I get to put on the suit and do what I do, and nobody will ever know,” he says. “And that’s cool with me, because I get to spread smiles and make a lot of people happy.  And then when my time’s done, I hang up the cowl, and somebody else will do it.”  

Taylor has been coaching for 14 years—and was on the squad from 2010-13—and still can’t believe the effect Hook ’Em has on everyone. “We will be walking out from a locker room, and every head is turned. Everyone’s yelling his name. Everyone’s trying to get a picture,” she says. “So it’s never lost on me how big the character is, and what an image it is for the University.”  

That power comes, at least in part, from the secrecy. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The character is not the person in the suit. The character is The University of Texas. The physical embodiment of “Texas Fight.”

An Interview with Hook ’Em  

In March of 1980, not long after you first came on the scene, this magazine referred to you as “The Human Bevo,” for which we would like to formally apologize. But what do you say today, in 2026, to people who still call you Bevo?  

Look—Bevo is my big brother, so I’ll always give him credit where it’s due. He’s an icon and has been since 1916, but we are clearly different Longhorns. He’s the 1,800-pound beast, and I’m the one with abs and a sick uniform. The name is Hook ’Em.  

And how does Bevo feel about that?  

Bevo is the chillest guy you’ll ever meet—lives on a ranch with his buddies and raises a few hundred grand for charity every couple of years, never asks for a thank you. He lets me do all the talking since he knows I’m gonna do it anyway. That’s our relationship: He’s the calm one, and I’m the loud one.  

Do you ever get tired of Matthew McConaughey or Glen Powell asking you for pictures?

Tired of it? Never, those are our guys. Matthew’s been on that sideline forever, and Glen’s a true Austin kid. At this point, I’m waiting for the chance to cameo in a series ... Have their people talk to my people.  

What the heck is a Buckeye anyway?  

Had to look this one up. A Buckeye is a nut from a tree that you cannot eat since it is poisonous. So their whole thing is a snack with a warning label? They’re a good program, but, come on, I gotta get at least one joke in. (Brutus, if you’re reading this, don’t get too nutty. We’re still boys.)  

You look great in that softball uniform. Have you ever stepped into the box against Teagan?  

There’s no doubt about my athleticism, but in this case, I would much rather grab a front row seat than a bat. Teagan Kavan threw 30-plus innings without giving up an earned run on the way to our first national title. If I ever do step into the box, there’s a good chance I step back out.  

Any songs catching your fancy right now that we might look forward to hearing this football season?  

Too many to count—but I can’t spoil the DKR set list! Trust me, when you hear our song selection, all 100,000 of you will be rocking out just like I planned.

Portraits by Matt Wright-Steel

Archival photos courtesy of Texas Athletics (2), Steven Sockler (3), the Texas Exes archive (5)