In two different countries, some 1,700 miles apart, two costumed men walked to the center of two basketball courts, turned their backs to their respective hoops and let a signature family shot fly.

One of those backward, halfcourt shots on Dec. 12, hurled by Nuggets mascot Rocky, splashed through the net at the Pepsi Center in Denver. The other one, launched by Pistons mascot Hooper, soared through Mexico City Arena before dropping into the basket.

For fans in attendance, the shots were entertainment, fleeting moments of admiration for an impressive feat. But to the two men who made them, a father and son who ply their craft hidden in costume, they represented something deeper, a shared connection 30 years in the making that only they have experienced.

“To have this line up like this is pretty wild,” said the man who performs as Rocky. “The moons had to align.”

That’s because the men who perform as Rocky and Hooper are believed to be the first father-and-son mascot duo in NBA history. Their story is largely unknown to the public because of the strict code of secrecy the mascot world demands. But with assurances their identities would be sealed, both men agreed to speak with The Athletic and share how their unique, anonymous trade became a family business. (We will call the father “Tom” and the son “Jack” to help with reading ease.)

“We chuckle about it every time we meet up,” Jack says. “It’s really cool to look at each other, and I know where he’s been and what he’s been through.”

Tom and Jack shared a work stage at last week’s All-Star Game in Chicago. The father had taken his son to major events like this before, long before Jack had decided to follow in Tom’s footsteps. They had even performed together at the French league all-star event in Paris, but last weekend was the first time they had performed as peers at an NBA All-Star Game, one of the pinnacles of the profession.

Success for mascots is measured in the joy they bring to others, but the weekend at the United Center also served as an opportunity for Tom and Jack to reflect on their own gratitude.

“To look over and see your son on the same court with you performing and just killing it, it’s such a proud moment,” Tom said. “It’s hard to describe, but it’s emotions of being proud and happy for him and just wondering what the future is going to be like for him in this world.”

Before he started performing as Rocky, Tom was The Wolf, the mascot at Basic High School in Henderson, Nev.

It was love at first pep rally.

“After seeing the San Diego Chicken, I said, ‘That guy has the job!’” he said. “I did have a background in mime, actually. … That’s how I got familiar with telling a story without talking. So I became my high school mascot, got a scholarship at a junior college and was the mascot there and was then the mascot at Utah State.”

The summer before his final semester at Utah State, Tom moved to Denver for a summer internship at the Rocky Mountain News. He spent his free time hounding the Nuggets, inquiring about their plans to introduce a mascot. Former Nuggets executive Carl Scheer, who passed away in December, invited the eager kid to McNichols Arena to make his case.

“They ended up having tryouts and I made it,” Tom said. “I went back to school that fall, wrapped things up there and then headed out to Denver.”

On Dec. 15, 1990, Rocky came alive as one of the NBA’s original mascots. And less than two years later, the shot that has thrilled generations of Nuggets fans was born.

“It came with (former Nuggets president) Tim Leiweke,” Tom said. “I had done halfcourt shots before, but always forward. Tim Leiweke was out on the court one day and goes, ‘Hey, man. Why don’t you do it backward?’ I’m like, ‘You’re on.’ So it was a challenge at first. Then it just caught on from there. Now it has kind of taken on a life of its own.”

It took years for Jack to realize that his father, the man who would tuck him into bed and feed him dinner, was also a yellow mountain lion with eyes that never blinked. One moment, Jack would see Tom. A moment later, he’d see Rocky.

It never registered in Jack’s young mind that the only time Rocky was around, Tom wasn’t.

“Growing up, it was hard to piece the two together,” Jack said. “It was like, ‘Here’s my dad, and then here’s Rocky.’ I saw my dad, and then my dad went away, and then Rocky showed up.”

Jack’s father and mother separated when he was in kindergarten. Thus, Jack and his two younger brothers often spent many days at events around Denver and nights in the stands at the Pepsi Center while Dad earned his paycheck.

By then, Jack was able to separate his father from Tom’s alter ego, a sacred secret only he and his siblings were privy to. Children in the arena would jump out of their seats to touch Rocky’s velvet hands, shouting with all their might just to be acknowledged. Jack and his brothers, though, didn’t have to work as hard for attention.

“Whenever he would come up and visit us in the crowd, he wasn’t Rocky anymore. He was Dad,” Jack said. “We’d be screaming ‘Dad!’ in the crowd, and people would look at us like, ‘What? They really think he’s their dad?’”


Jack and Tom at Rocky’s birthday party last season in Denver.
One would imagine that a kid whose dad gets to be a mountain lion for a living would be forever enthralled by the reality of it all. However, that wasn’t always the case.

In elementary school, Jack knew he’d have to fight for attention with other children to spend time with his dad. There were long nights. Homework got done in a locker room inside the Pepsi Center while his dad was shooting T-shirts out of a gun. Jack and his brothers had to make their own fun.

“We had policemen stationed outside our locker-room door, and every now and then they’d poke their head in and say, ‘Jack, can you stop banging the soccer ball on the wall? The other team is on the other side of the wall complaining,’” Tom said.

It wasn’t until Jack was a teenager that he realized the perks that came with his father’s profession. When he was 15, Jack and his brothers made up the Nuggets’ first junior NBA dunk team. The three brothers and father would perform in front of the home crowd, jumping off trampolines and doing contorted dunks off the launching pad.

“It was really cool to spend that much time with him at his own job and at home,” Jack said. “We did things together.”

Tom vividly remembers a time when a young Jack sprung himself off the trampoline and did a front flip over Harlem Globetrotters legend Curly Neal.

“It started to click for him,” Tom said.

Aside from being able to entertain, Tom’s job allowed Jack to meet his heroes. Jack distinctly recalls a night when the Lakers were in town, and after the game, he got photos with Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O’Neal.

“That’s when I was like, ‘Wow! People don’t do this. None of my friends are doing this,’” he said. “That’s when I started realizing that this is pretty cool.”

After graduating high school, Jack went on to Dixie State University in Utah. At this point, he didn’t have aspirations of following in his father’s footsteps. Then, an opportunity to land a scholarship as the school’s mascot turned Jack into “Big Dee,” a devilish-looking bull with a James Harden beard.

Sometime during Jack’s freshman year, he attended the Mascot Bowl, a charity event that raises money to take underprivileged children Christmas shopping. Jack had heard about these types of events from his dad. He recalled countless nights in which Tom would come home visibly emotional after visiting children at hospitals.

Those interactions are what made Tom so invested in the business.

“It’s always a reminder of the impact you really have when you see the joy on these kids’ faces and the impact you can have not only at that moment, but in lasting moments,” Tom said. “When you go in and visit these kids and you’re able to raise money for them to go shopping at Christmas and to have surgeries that they need, with those types of things you never get to see the follow-up to their story, but you know they are being positively impacted far beyond what you’re able to do in that moment.”

When Jack experienced at the Mascot Bowl the warmth Big Dee brought to these children, he was hooked. It was then and there that he decided to pursue a career inside a costume.

“I knew of (the effect) from my dad, but I had never experienced it for myself until that day,” Jack said. “That’s when I decided that this is what I want to do.”

Shortly after graduating college, Jack applied to be Moondog, the floppy-eared pup that represents the Cleveland Cavaliers. Jack knew the man who was soon retiring after 15 years because, well, all mascots appear to know each other, and Jack’s dad had been around longer than anyone.


Tom and Jack at Rocky’s birthday three years ago in Denver.
After a brief audition, Jack got the job and moved across the country to Cleveland. A month later, he was back in Denver for Rocky’s birthday, an annual event every mascot has that brings others from across the country for an in-game entertainment extravaganza.

It wasn’t the first time Jack and Tom had performed together, but it was the first time Jack was able to share a stage with his father as a professional in his hometown.

“I know everyone in that organization, so it was really cool to see everyone,” said Jack, who spent two years as Moondog before moving to Detroit and becoming Hooper this season. “Performing with my dad … I had just gotten on the same level as my dad. ‘I’m a professional now!’”

Tom and Jack don’t have a running tally of who is most efficient with the family shot.

“We don’t compete in costume because I never want to create that sort of pressure,” Tom said. “But when we get together, we’ll have little contests out of costume when we’re fooling around the court, put a dollar on it.”

Still, the two men wouldn’t have signed up for a life around professional sports if they didn’t share a competitive streak. Jack is astutely aware that Rocky once nailed the shot in 17 straight games.

Asked if he wanted to break that streak one day, Jack replied: “Uh, yes, I do.”

The professional relationship between this father and son is built on a respect for the craft, and it cuts both ways. Tom talks to Jack on the phone “almost daily,” with conversations hitting on all aspects of the job.

“It’s funny because I thought I would be handing him more,” Tom said. “Like, ‘OK, go do this and do it this way. The timing is this and get this prop.’ I thought I would be handing him more, but what it’s actually turned out to be is giving him advice on his ideas. He has really hit the ground running. He’s come up with ideas where I’ve actually taken them as well. I’ll be like, ‘Hey, man, do you mind if I use that?’ He’ll say, ‘Ah, man, let me do it first.’”

In time, Jack has developed his own unique routine. He has pulled some from his father’s work. He’s borrowed bits and pieces from the acts of other mascots, too. It’s an industry, one with its own annual convention, that encourages that kind of sharing.

But as much as he’s learned along the way, the truth is that Jack was always destined for this work. After all, his first performance came when he was just 2 weeks old.

“I took him out there on the court and we played the song ‘Twist and Shout’ by the Beatles,” Tom said. “You know, ‘Shake it up baby now!’ … It’s come full circle. Kind of like a ‘Lion King’ thing.”

This season is Tom’s 30th and final one performing as Rocky. But the family legacy, one shared in secret, will go on. One of Tom’s other sons is expected to take over the job next season. Tom wishes he could keep doing the job forever, but the next best thing to an infinite life under the hood is watching his children put their own spin on this wild, beloved craft they share.

“It’s the ultimate compliment,” Tom said. “To me it means that you’ve done something right as a father and mentor when your kids want to follow in your footsteps.”