In the noble sport of pig racing, the first thing that comes charging out of the starting gate is a flock of terrible puns.
“You Never SAUSAGE a Show!” proclaims the gaudy trailer of the touring athletes, who sport names such as Shaquille O’Squeal, Luke Sky Porker, Lady Hoga, and Spongehog Porkpants. These are the famous All Alaskan Racing Pigs, now performing up and down the West Coast and operating out of Oregon because the commute got boar-ing. When I learned they’d be showcased at the Sacramento County Fair, I could hardly wait to see these superstars in person.
Pig racing follows a simple format: an oval sawdust track, chutes for four baby pigs, and enough chow at the end of the run to motivate the little porkers to hustle their trotters. Their humans keep fairgoers cheering and laughing by showering them with fun pig facts and bad puns. Occasionally one of the young porkers loses the plot and wanders off to investigate the audience or nibble a little dropped popcorn, but for the most part the participants thunder over the finish line and dash to the trough where they go hog wild over their reward chow.
After showing off their speed in the flat races, the piglets demonstrate their agility by leaping hurdles as high as their own heads, flying through the air with keen eyes, flapping ears, and surprising grace.
Then comes Soapy Smith’s solo performance. Soapy is named after a famous Alaska con artist who made a fortune selling soap with prize money tucked into the wrappings of some bars — which somehow always found their way into the hands of his cronies.
“And this little pig is equally slippery,” says the announcer. “He’s got big ideas and is always strutting his stuff. He wants to show off with a higher jump.”
A pig wrangler adds an extension that nearly doubles the hurdle’s height. “Think that’s high enough?”
The crowd yells “Yes!”
The announcer looks over at the piglet in his chute. “Nope, Soapy wants more.” Another extension is added. Soapy eyes the proceedings with the poise of a seasoned pro. No fear.
And then the chute’s gate flies up and Soapy flings himself onto the track. He passes like greased lightning, a blur around the bend, and then he reaches the impossibly high jump. Unfazed, he pokes his snout into a tiny flap at the base and slithers under the hurdle. The crowd laughs uproariously, and Soapy swaggers over to the victory trough.
This sure-fire crowd-pleaser began with a single brilliant moment of inspiration back in 1987, when an assistant fair manager named Bart Noll happened to read an article about pig races in an industry magazine. “All I needed to hear were ‘pigs’ and ‘races’ put together and the vision of the show took place in my head. My wife and I talked it over. ‘This is what it should look like!’ And what [people] see now is roughly what we came up with. It’s designed to be a fun attraction and an educational attraction.”
Not everyone loves the idea of racing pigs. Some consider it in poor taste, if not outright animal cruelty. Prompted by protests from animal activists, investigations of the sport have been undertaken by veterinarians, civic groups, and sponsors including charities, fairs, and pubs. In the end, it’s deemed harmless fun, with animals getting plenty of exercise, siestas in air-conditioned trailers, and generous chow. It sure beats living in a cage or crowded pen awaiting their final destiny. And with All Alaskan Pig Races, at least they are spared the indignity of having jockeys on their backs.
Surprisingly, nobody seems to object to the All Alaskan Racing Pigs organization’s other event, the one involving young humans. Known as Pedal Pullers, the race requires youngsters, some little more than toddlers, to propel miniature tractors toward a finish line while hauling a trailer that gets progressively heavier. I’ll be honest, the kids seemed to be suffering a lot more than the pigs, straining their little legs and in many cases curdled with humiliation at being unable to finish the course. And they don’t even get fed treats afterwards. But hey, if it’s OK with the kids and their families, who am I to judge?
It’s all part of the general nuttiness of county fairs everywhere. The one nearest you may not have flying pigs, but there’s bound to be something looney, whether it’s sheep races, alligator wrestling, or Texas-style fried beer (yes, it’s a thing). I always find something to love at a fair: the oddball competitions, the zany vendors, and of course, the amazing animals.
At one point I found myself chatting with a pig-raising 4-H Club member named Julie. She introduced me to Duke and spoke with such fondness of her 280-pound pal that I felt I’d stepped into the pages of
Charlotte’s Web
, the tender story of a friendship between a spider and a livestock pig. (This was hot stuff when I was in second grade. Still is.) Like the book, our conversation ended with a cold dose of reality. “Of course,” she said, “these animals are raised for consumption.”
“What do you think of the new laboratory-raised meats?” I asked her. Here in Sacramento, at the northern end of the Central Valley’s $43.5 billion food industry, she would have more than an academic interest in the subject.
“You mean those ‘meats’ made out of vegetables and stuff,” she said.
“No. Scientists can now take some cells from Duke here, reproduce them in the lab, and grow enough tissue to make actual meat. In the lab.”
The look of horror on her face was almost comical. Almost. “Are you serious? They can do that?”
“Yep. It’ll be a while before it’s cost effective, but someday it’ll be on America’s grocery store shelves. And we’ll be living in a whole new world.”
I left Julie looking pale and shaken; I had a feeling she’d be grabbing her phone and Googling lab-raised meat before I was out of the pig pavilion.
Despite my worries about the future of meat, or perhaps because of them, there was something tremendously comforting about spending the day among prize-winning animals and the hard-working, fun-loving people who raised them. In a world on the verge of mass-consuming lab-raised protein manufactured by robots and marketed by chatbots, being among farmers felt reassuringly down-to-earth.
Best of all was meeting so many delightful pigs — animals who, science tells us, test smarter than dogs and even young children. You don’t see the piglets straining their trotters trying to move tractor-trailer rigs around. As the porkers dashed over the sawdust and flew over (and under) those hurdles, they seemed to revel in the attention and applause. These little piggies are definitely smart enough to know when they’re on to a good thing. And that’s no hogwash.
By mid-afternoon of a day at the Sacramento County Fair, kids and animals were all tuckered out.
JUST JOINING US? THE NUTTERS’ WORLD TOUR SO FAR
IN PROGRESS: THE NUTTERS’ TOUR OF CALIFORNIA
Do You Believe in Magic? (Alameda’s Macabre Market)
My Close Encounter with the Skeptic Society (Outer Space)
The Nutters’ Guide to Modern Comfort Food (My Kitchen)
Relationships: Do Humans Stand a Ghost of a Chance? (Hangtown)
For Nutters, There’s No Place Like California (Petaluma Chicken & Egg Day)
Can Artificial Intelligence Help Me Plan the Next Nutters Tour?
RECENTLY COMPLETED: THE NUTTERS’ TOUR OF SPAIN
Spain Never Runs Out of Offbeat Curiosities (Zaragoza, Barcelona, Tarragona)
I Travel Deep into the Heart of Nuttiness (Palencia & Pamplona)
Road Warriors: Let the Good Times Roar (Léon & Oviedo)
Travel Alert: You Can’t Always Get What You Want..
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(Madrid & Burgos)
Gobsmacked at Every Turn but Embracing the Chaos
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All Aboard for the Nutters Tour of Spain (Packing & Organizing)
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