The Great Goat Heist: Inside the Navy’s Mascot Snatch

Editor’s Note: Originally published in December 2012, this story by Major Rod, a former Infantry officer with over 20 years of experience in global conflict zones, recounts an unforgettable event during his time as a Tactical Officer (TAC) at West Point. With expertise in both light and mechanized warfare, as well as leadership development, Rodriguez brings a unique perspective to this tale of a high-stakes military prank involving the theft of the Navy’s mascot goat in 1995. Enjoy!

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I was a [Tactical Officer] at West Point in the mid-90s. The Friday before Labor Day weekend ’95, the Commandant called an unannounced and unprecedented all-hands meeting at 0900. At the meeting, he shared with the 36 TACs that ESPN had reported that the Navy goat had been snatched, and we were to scour our companies for any leads.

The Academy’s superintendents had signed an MOA stating mascots were off limits, and a standing order was in place prohibiting the practice. This stemmed from a notorious Army mule snatch in ’91. It was reported that the cadet guards were overpowered, and the mule was snatched and driven a back way to the Naval Academy while state police searched the highway for the mule (what wasn’t reported was that the guards were actually Army MPs, and one had his arm broken, and that SEALs were involved).

The concern was that the escalation in pranking was going to get someone killed. The Commandant stated that Labor Day passes were going to be canceled effective at 1200, and the Corps would be locked down if the goat-nappers didn’t turn themselves in and risked [Uniform Code of Military Justice] if they forced that decision.

Little did I know this escapade was to involve me personally honchoing an “adventure” that would include a 1200-mile trip, $5000 cash, and avoiding national/local media—and Delta.

I returned to my company and informed the cadet company commander about the situation. I was pretty nonchalant about the matter. I had a reputation as one of the stricter TACs and, frankly, didn’t expect anything to come of it (SUCKER). Around 1100, my Cadet CO returned asking if I thought the Commandant was serious about locking down 4000 cadets and what might happen to any alleged culprits.

“Crap,” I thought to myself, “something’s giving.”

I reiterated the Commandant’s message. The Cadet left, and I reported to higher. Shortly thereafter, surprisingly, one of my best cadets came in to negotiate. Long story short, while I personally thought the prank hilarious, the generals did not, and they weren’t going to “negotiate”. Immunity was off the table, but so was UCMJ if the crew fessed up. Minutes before the 1200 deadline, the ringleader (later, I would find the term “raid commander” more appropriate) turned himself in.

I, Cadet [censored], Cadet “CAG” and his TAC (I’ve forgotten the names) were summoned to the Commandant’s office. We left with a plan where I was nominated to lead the “rescue” effort. Navy’s goat was being held at an unknown location over 600 miles away in the Fort Bragg area by some members of a certain JSOC unit.

(Cue up the mission impossible theme in your mind)

As I opened the cheap government-issued briefcase (that was actually a briefcase)…

“Good afternoon, Captain. The mission, should you choose to accept it is to rescue Navy’s mascot held by Delta operators somewhere in the Bragg area and return it to the Naval Academy without national media coverage. Enclosed are $5000, plane tickets, a satellite phone (OK, it was actually a gov’t cell phone, which was a big deal 15 years ago), and link-up info for the mule trailer, which is being dispatched on a different and classified route. Should you be compromised as we would do for any ‘You Have to be Kidding Force’ mission we will disavow any knowledge and give away your parking space. Good luck, Captain. This briefcase isn’t worth self-destructing.”

In all seriousness, the Generals and Admirals did not think the issue was a laughing matter. There was tremendous pressure to keep the story under wraps, and flag-rank officers communicated it to me multiple times. What can I say, no sense of humor even as PC was dawning.

Two hours later, Cadet “CAG” and I were on a plane to Bragg, where I rented a car and checked into a cheap hotel where we shared the room (no, I’m not going there). On the way down, I got the whole story. During the summer, Cadet “CAG” was one of five cadets who attended the Army Combat Diver School. While there, he befriended some Delta members who were later open to participating in the prank, especially after hearing about SEAL participation several years earlier in the previous mascot snatch.

Cadet “CAG” and his crew frankly impressed me with their planning and execution. They decided to kidnap the goat in September, three months before the game, because as the game approached, goat security increased dramatically to the point that Marine guards were detailed to guard the goat during the week of the game. Before that point, the goat is housed on an unsecured farm off the Naval Academy grounds. That intel came from cadet exchange students who were in the Navy.

The cadets did detailed reconnaissance, including visiting the farm, surveilling it, and taking photos and timing routes. Their planning was meticulous, too. They planned to breach the goat pen from an unlit area that was difficult to see from the farmhouse—breach, snatch, and security personnel were detailed. They even had a cadet in a limousine feign being broken down on the road that police would likely use if requested as a hoped-for distraction. They used their girlfriend’s credit cards to avoid a money trail.

After snatching the goat, the plan was to head south to Bragg and cache the goat with Delta instead of driving north in the event the police were alerted, as had been the case in ’91. Delta physically put the goat on a veteran’s farm for care, deniability, and distance, as well as to minimize UCMJ pressure (it’s doubtful an academy would want to involve local or federal law enforcement).

The three-month internment was to be used to conduct a media campaign and hopefully “turn the goat.” (OK, I’m exaggerating a little. A goat is a goat.)

Once we got to the hotel room, the Cadet contacted his Delta contact, who refused to surrender the goat and demanded a meeting. A combative, slim, haired, unshaven jeans, flannel shirt, and booted character showed up shortly after. He proceeded to argue with me about UCMJ being ridiculous (not his words) and how “chickenpoop” (again, not his words) the generals were being.

After venting some emotion, he noticed my class As laying on the bed (for a Navy link-up, hopefully) and mellowed tremendously (I’m not a big deal compared to a member of Delta, but I wasn’t chickenpoop either when only 20% of the force wore a combat patch let alone other “stuff”).

We proceeded to have a heart-to-heart, and while I told him I was old school and thought the whole thing was hilarious, the powers that be did not. To which he explained that he wasn’t the only guy in the squadron who knew about the goat and that he might be intercepted returning the goat and lose control of it since there was some annoyance over the SEAL involvement years earlier, which is why they were involved. To that, I said, “I’m just the messenger and that while I like Cadet “CAG,” his butt wasn’t mine.”

At that point, he and the Cadet chatted briefly and agreed that the goat would be returned the next day. The Cadet asked if he could have a beer and dinner with the operator, to which I agreed, explaining it was likely the last beer he would have for a while but not come back drunk.

The next morning, the goat arrived. I had already pre-positioned the mule trailer and driver and coordinated for the post-vet to examine the goat before driving north. The vet’s son was a plebe, and I remember him asking to cut off a lock of hair for him. I faced the opposite direction. Just then, a local TV crew arrived. I suspected it was a parting gift from Delta. 🙂 They reported it, but it didn’t get a lot of traction, and ESPN never picked up on it.

On the way back, I don’t remember how it happened, but a General at the Pentagon I knew called and tried to convince me to come to the Pentagon for a picture. I declined, knowing I would be sharing the Cadet’s fate, considering my COC’s lack of a sense of humor.

We did the goat homecoming at the Navy’s stadium parking lot. The Navy Lieutenant was highly charged and started haranguing the Cadet about disobeying a flag officer’s order, UCMJ, etc., at which point, I interrupted him and said, “Relax, we’ll take care of him. You, on the other hand, need to take better care of securing your animals oh, and sign this hand receipt.” He signed it. I told him, “Beat Navy“ and left.

Here’s another goat-napping story that ESPN covered in 2021.