Farewell to a Spurs legend (no, not that one)

12:00 AM ET

Rob Wicall, the man behind the famous San Antonio Spurs Coyote costume, has stepped down after nearly two decades of comedy, gymnastics, injuries and various hijinks. He chatted with ESPN.com about his career and the nutty life of an NBA mascot.

You got into this by accident, right? You were one of those stunt water-skiers at SeaWorld in San Antonio in the 1990s, with no direction?

Yeah. I mean, who knew being a mascot was even a career? Even now, my friends are like, “Is what you do even a job?” But I had always been an athlete, and acted in plays. And one day at SeaWorld, a girl I knew — a member of the Spurs dance team — told me they were forming a new interactive squad if I wanted to try out.

Those are the people who shoot T-shirt cannons and stuff, right?

Exactly. So I joined. And I started hopping on trampolines, and dunking with the guy who played Coyote then. He asked me if I would ever do any appearances as the Coyote for him. I was like, “Sure. I have nothing going on.”

One day, I asked someone how much he made. They told me. I was just standing there, like, “What? You can make that kind of money doing that?”

So I put together this horrific VCR tape of me skiing at SeaWorld and doing various skits and stunts. I had to borrow my sister’s camera. I didn’t really have any money. I sent that tape out to eight teams that were looking for mascots, and I heard from the Washington Capitals.

Wicall spent two years in D.C. before becoming disenchanted with mascot life there, then briefly caught on at SeaWorld in Ontario. He returned to San Antonio in 1999 after learning a tenant had trashed his house there.

I had no job, and no money. I called the Spurs and was like, “Hey, I’m back in case you need anyone to help out with the Coyote.” Turns out, they were looking for someone to be his full-time backup and then take over.

So you became the Coyote-in-waiting.

Right. And I was that for three years, doing appearances off the court and going to every game.

How many appearances a year does Coyote do?

Around 450, in addition to the games. When I took over, I did about 200 and my backup did the other 250.

You’ve been asked to do funerals, right?

Oh, yeah. And I always said no. But I did do one wake, just to say I had done it all. I was just thankful it wasn’t open casket.

What does Coyote do at a wake?

The guy was a huge Spurs fan, and his family had this big photo of him in Spurs gear. I just held up this big photo of the deceased, and people took photos of me holding that photo. It was so awkward.

And that was it for death-themed events.

Yes. Someone asked Coyote to be a pallbearer once. I said no. How do you win there? You can’t be funny. You are just a human being, wearing a costume, carrying a dead body. There is nothing funny there, only sadness.

At some point, the league told you to stop messing with the referees, right?

There is so much you can’t do anymore. I had a bit where I dressed as a mailman and would hand out packages to the public address announcer, people in the front row, and the last one would be for a referee. He’d open it, and there’d be an eye chart inside. You can’t do that now.

Were any refs game to play along anyway?

There were some you’d talk to before games, and they’d say, “I don’t give a [expletive], just don’t make me look bad.” Monty McCutchen was the best for me. This season, I did a bit where I came out as Santa giving away gifts, and I had Monty stand there looking sad that he didn’t get one.

I pulled out a box for him; he opened it; and my little 4-year-old son was inside, dressed as an elf. He popped out, kicked Monty in the shin and ran off.

Did Monty know exactly what would go down?

Oh, he knew. He was like, “I don’t care, I trust you.” But I was freaking out because, when I was practicing with my son, he was kicking my shin really hard. I was worried he was going to hurt Monty during a game, so I ran up to him before and warned him my son was going to kick the hell out of him. And he was like, “Dude, I’ll be fine!” And my son kicked the hell out of him.

Your fake green eyes fall off sometimes, or turn sideways — like when that player ran into you and you fell over and popped up with your eyes straight up and down. I assume that’s all planned?

Of course. Back when you could make fun of the refs, after a bad call, I’d just take them off, hold them out to the referee like “Do you need these?”

The clip of the player hitting you, and your eyes falling off, went viral.

No one knows this, but I wear an earpiece so my assistant can talk to me. I was around the baseline anyway, and all of a sudden, he told me a ball and a player were coming my way. And that’s the bit: I fall, take off the eyes, put them back on all sideways and stumble around.

And then they fell completely to the floor, I think? …

continue reading in source espn.go.com