Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
There are a few officially crazy places in the good old USA, and I’m never sure whether to be relieved or slighted that the Carolinas didn’t top the list. But until Florida secedes, the competition will always be stiff. Case in point: the inaugural Florida Man Games in St. Augustine.
Hundreds of spectators bought $45 tickets to watch beer-drinking teams evade the police, wrestle inflatable alligators and fight to the finish with “weaponized” pool noodles. (Anything is possible with duct tape.) In other states, these novel sporting events might qualify as kooky, but in Florida, they’re inspired by local news headlines featuring people who like to threaten each other with machetes, dance naked in Waffle House parking lots and deposit carnivorous reptiles at drive-thrus when the chicken nugget count is off.
Participants needed absolutely zero athletic ability, just an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation—traits common among Florida’s proud, untamed males.
The Irish Times said the games were “just like the Olympics but funnier, drunker and stupider.” That’s high praise from a publication that probably boasts a fair number of professional beer-drinkers among its readers.
During the faux sumo wrestling challenge, men of all waist sizes donned inflatable tubes around their bellies. Each competitor fought to protect his pitcher of beer as they collided with their opponent. Some guys could get knocked flat on their backs without spilling a drop. That takes remarkable athletic skill that any cocktail waitress would envy.
Women didn’t get to show their wild sides this year. They only appeared in the pin-up girl contest, which may change next year. But they could play the ever-popular Chicken Poop Bingo, a familiar event at family-friendly festivals.
To set up the game, you just need a couple of chickens. If you don’t have any, you can rent some or rob a farm. Next, prepare a big square coop with 48 squares painted on the cage floor. Number each square so the chickens can play. Since chickens can’t write, they have to settle for making deposits on their selected numbers. Here’s where it gets fun: People will pay to bet where the chicken will go. Imagine the intense gamesmanship as you wait up to 20 minutes for the chicken to cooperate. If you’re impatient, try pigeons.
Not every contest featured nail-biting action. There was a competition for the most fabulous mullet, which I thought went out with Patrick Swayze in the ’80s, but the style is alive and well in the Sunshine State.
In the early 1900s, an actual wild man was terrifying residents and ranchers on the west coast of Florida. Blamed for cattle mutilation and disappearing livestock, the man-beast was huge (or scrawny). He was clad in thin cotton (or maybe bearskin, depending on which rumor you prefer).
Between his lack of interest in proper hygiene and his stash of rotting meat, the only unanimous consensus was that he smelled very, very bad, according to lemonbayhistory.com. No one ever got his name since he was given to grunting, but residents didn’t feel safe until the wild man was safely locked up in the local insane asylum. That was before the whole state became one.
If the wild man were running around today, he’d probably be favored to win the Florida Man Games. But somebody better keep an eye on those chickens.
Jan A. Igoe loves homegrown sports and the way Floridians embrace their craziness. When you’ve got it, flaunt it. Join us anytime at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.