I remember a county fair where people tried to climb a greased pole and retrieve the ten dollar bill nailed to the top; another where a bunch of kids chased a greased pig around an enclosure, trying to catch it; but yesterday, at the Virginia State Fair (which is so much bigger and better in so many ways), I saw pigs fly.
Many of you have seen it yourselves.
I found a place on the bleachers at the racing pig pavilion just before the 10:30 event yesterday and listened to the pre-race patter. The announcer told us that the pigs were not smacked with a riding crop to get them around the track or lured by a mechanical rabbit like racing dogs are. “No,” he said, “these pigs race for love—for love of the crème-filled sandwich cookies waiting for them at the finish line.” And, sure enough, after he had told us their names and numbers (I think Number 1 was “Shakin’ Bacon”), his assistant dropped the gate and off they went, flying around the turns and streaking down the straightaway.
I laughed out loud, and kept on laughing, until the tears ran down my cheeks.
I’m not sure what that says about the new pastor of Richmond’s First Baptist Church except that, along with all his thoughtful observations about political discourse and the church’s true purpose, he loves a good pig race as much as anybody.