While I was home and visiting friends last week, I was invited to a fundraiser the local Future Farmers of America was hosting at my old high school. The fundraiser was dubbed, ""Donkeyball."" When my friend asked me to go, I wasn't sure if she was joking or being completely serious. ""How?"" I thought. ""And why?""
After a thousand questions swamped my brain all at once, I finally had to ask, ""What in the name of Barbara Streisand is Donkeyball?""
That's a good question. And for anyone who doesn't hail from HickVille, USA, the concept may be hard to grasp. It's basketball… on a donkey.
While events that involve any form of livestock tend to turn me off at first glance, I decided attending might somehow broaden my horizons. Or at least provide me with a humorous story to tell all my city-dwelling friends. We found some seats in the overly crowded gymnasium, conveniently next to Mitch McGee, the farmer who lives down the road and ""bringed one of the ole asses down from the farm"" to play in ta-night's ""game.""
The game started with the national anthem, sung by a not-so-talented young choirgirl wearing a cowboy hat and sporting a gap-tooth that whistled all the way through, ""Oh say can you see."" Then the ref threw the ball in the air and… nothing happened. Five minutes later, one of the contestants was able to get their donkey moving and grab the ball.
The game is played four-on-four and all players have to be mounted on their donkey in order to shoot or pass the ball. Each half is 10 minutes long and the teams are members of the community versus FFA members. As the average spectator would guess, the donkeys become the center of difficulty in the game quite early on.
Roger, one of the FFA members, was bucked off of his donkey within two seconds of riding it. Every single time. I found out later on in the game from Mitch McGee that ""dat one 'der bucking dat kid off is called ‘Hemorrhoid.'"" Fitting, I thought.
Another donkey would roll over onto its back and lie there like a dead cockroach rather than stand or (gasp) actually move. In fact, actually getting the donkeys to move seemed to be the biggest obstacle the game had to offer.
One might ask, ""Isn't this dangerous?"" Yes, indeed it is. Two years prior, in another rip-roaring game of Donkeyball, the high school English teacher shattered her knee after having falling off her donkey. But don't worry, because ""Dey's gotta wear a helmet while der out der."" But I would think that the bigger concern shouldn't be whether their head is protected from flying basketballs or the floor that's four feet below them, but moreso the fact that they are riding donkeys in the gymnasium, damnit!
And then I thought, ""Why isn't PETA up their asses (pun intended) about Donkeyball being inhumane?"" If they're going to bitch about Obama swatting a fly in the White House, then one would think PETA would have something to say about donkeys in a gymnasium with flying basketballs all around.
During halftime, the teacher who had collected the most money in a fundraiser jar that sat in their classroom during the past week had to kiss a donkey. One of the young, newly hired teachers was the lucky winner. The donkey even puckered up right before they locked lips. Welcome to Glenwood City High School, newbie.
The game ended 12-6, in favor of Team Who-Gives-A-Rat's-Ass. According to Mitch, ""Dat der is da most points dey'd ever scored."" Doncha know.
After saying an unintentionally long goodbye to the camouflage-clad Mitch that I had the pleasure of sitting next to during the game, I left the gymnasium, feeling a little bit of remorse for having went, smelling a bit more like a barn and thinking of how I'd explain this to my friends here in Madison sans sarcasm.
While Donkeyball wasn't all that scintillating, I can't say I didn't laugh watching my old high school peers get bucked off donkeys in the middle of the gym. It's kind of like cosmic retribution for all those tall jokes.
Have you ever watched or played in a Donkeyball match? Were you mercilessly trampled? If so, e-mail Stephanie at slindholm@wisc.edu and fill her in on the gruesome details.
