A local school district recently hosted a donkey basketball game. Teachers rode on donkeys and competed against their students. I am a former donkey basketball player but have long hung up my riding sneakers. I was roped into doing this while running the San Augustine paper, despite my lack of qualifications to either play or ride a donkey successfully. The company provided both helmets and the animals, which were much better trained than their riders.
Riding a donkey bareback is tough on one’s posterior. My donkey galloped down the hardwood toward the goal, skidded to a stop, then turned around to go to the other end. There are few things more humbling than missing a shot from five feet out while sitting on a docile donkey. Unless it is actually falling off the donkey, which I did while attempting a left-handed hook. Luckily, this was in my callow youth, when I healed much more quickly than I do now.
Donkey basketball is just one of the foolish newspaper publisher events I have agreed to participate in during my career. When the circus came to town, I agreed to ride on an elephant through downtown, along with the sheriff and county judge. I had to climb up a stepladder to get on the elephant, which seemed resigned to its lot in life. Down the red-brick streets we loped. I was worried about falling off, since it was a lot further to the pavement than my tumble off the donkey. I felt sorry for the elephant, and am glad Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus is phasing out their stable of beasts.
I once rode English-saddle style on a horse inside the Nacogdoches Expo Center while holding a glass of champagne, the object being to see who could go the furthest without spilling the glass. I finished dead last, of course.
Twice I have agreed to sit in a dunking booth and let people hurl baseballs at a target in an effort to plunge me into icy water. A steady line of folks paid $1 for the opportunity, many with uncommonly accurate throwing arms. I spent a lot of time underwater during those events. Taking aim at a longtime newspaper publisher proved to be quite an attraction.
I served a year as president of the Nacogdoches Chamber of Commerce, 15 years ago. The chamber held a membership drive, and in a moment of insanity I agreed to have my head shaved if we signed up more than 200 members. No way that was going to happen, I thought, since it would have meant a 33 percent increase in membership.
We signed up 211 new members in two weeks, and in front of a cheering crowd my head was shaved. It was the first time as an adult I had actually seen the shape of my skull. I would prefer not to repeat the experience, though I rather enjoyed the cool air blowing on my bald scalp.
And I’ve been a celebrity waiter a few times, dressing up in silly costumes to try to raise money for worthy causes. Being widely known as the World’s Worst Salesperson, invariably our table raised the least amount of money. A few years ago, I decided to retire from making a fool of myself, at least on purpose. It happens often enough by accident, I figure. I broke the rule last year when I participated in the Ice Bucket Challenge and was doused to raise money for ALS research. But that’s it. I plan to delegate such duties, all for a good cause, to folks here younger and more spry than me. If I fell off a donkey now, it might take a month to recuperate.
