The Last Laugh: Donkey Baseball

Tobacco juice, bulls, and bit of luck result in an improbable home run at a donkey baseball benefit game.


| May/June 1980



063 the last laugh

One pitch, one hit, and one big mess—it's donkey baseball as only this column could present it.  


ILLUSTRATION: MOTHER EARTH NEWS STAFF

"To be good is noble. To tell people how to be good is even nobler, and much less trouble." Mark Twain  


Well sir, the weather here at Plumtree Crossin' has up and got itself stuck betwixt spring and summer . . . an' the days has been mighty dull and dreary of late. So much so, in fact, thet the ol' loafers over to the Gen'ral Store has been hard pressed to come up with many subjects fit fer lyin' about! 

Thet bein' the case, I have to admit thet I'm hound-dog grateful fer a piece of down-home tomfoolery what arrived in the mail recently . . . from a feller name ol' Ed Griep. In point of fact, of Ed's narrytive is so all-fired amusin' thet I aim to sit back, relax, an' enjoy it right along with the rest of you.

Last evenin' (Ed begins), me an' ol' Sally Lou went over to the annual Donkey Baseball Benefit game. As usual, thet contest figgered to be a toe-to-toe battle betwixt the volunteer fire department's squad—called the "Foundation Savers"—an' the American Legion Post 9, what took the name "Spitballers".

Now as I'm sure you'll recall, them fellers use a baseball nigh onto as big as an October pumpkin. The object of the sport, o'course, is to git a hit, lope over to some walleyed mizzerble excuse fer a donkey, hop aboard, an 'try to git to first base in the shortest time possible.

As you know, although the donkeys is told the rules of the game jist like ennyone else—and despite the fact them critters is all assured thet they plays roles of the utmost importance—the beasts ain't always overly enthusiastic about doin' they parts. Iffen a batter manages to hit the ball in the first place, an' iffen he's able to git his mount headed in the appropriate direction, he jist might reach base after five er ten minutes of coaxin' an' shoutin'"giddyup" . . . more often than not, though, the critters manage to out smart the ball players in one way er another.





dairy goat

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