I have had my fair share of fun Saturday nights. Last night was not one of them as landed myself at the local tractor pull.

Before you ask, no, it wasn’t my idea. I have never sat around and said, “You know what would make tonight better? Watching tractors pull heavy shit.”

For those of you who enjoy tractor pulling, to each his own. I’m not here to change your mind, I’m just sharing how my experience went. I understand it’s popular based on the fact that there was barely a place to stand. I’m happy it was a success and I hope those that put it on made a sack full of money.

I don’t get much excitement out of watching a tractor pull a sled. I don’t understand the rules or tactics. Don’t bother explaining them, as you’ll notice I don’t care. If I had to offer a solution I’d recommend taking the tractor off the sled and drag racing them. I understand racing, I don’t understand farm work.

Another solution is to set a fire behind the tractor. Give em something to run from. Better pull far or you’ll be engulfed in flames. That’s entertainment. I’d pay to watch that.

I might have enjoyed the tractor pulls more if I understood the language everyone else was speaking. The learning curve was steep but I accomplished some minor translations, for instance, “ar” means “hour”, “outhur” means “out there”, and “par” means “power”. I’ve spent a good amount of time around stock car racing so I caught on fairly quick.

The part about the tractor pulls I enjoyed the most was the guy beside me who fired up cigarette after cigarette and held them under my nose. I never even saw him take a hit, he just fired those bastards up and left ’em burning under my nostrils. I fully anticipate being diagnosed with cancer tomorrow.

The knowledge of tractor parts the crowd has is phenomenal. A tractor would go down the track, shake, shutter, piss, and die in its path and it immediately someone would identify the part that broke. It was like a game of Name the Part Before Billy Gets His Cigarette Out of His Mouth. I wanted to play but the only part I was confident in was a tire and I never saw one pop.

I think I might go back. It’s good for my County and I like to support my community. But you can bet I’ll be prepared. I’ll wear tight blue jeans that have plenty of dirt on them with a belt that has my name on it, a t-shirt with a mustard stain, and a hat that looks like it’s been ran over a hundred times. I’ll have a box of Marlboro Reds in every pocket. I’ll light em five at a time. The week before I’ll study a John Deere parts manual so when my opportunity comes I can scream at the top of my lungs, “AXLE ROTOR SWITCH! That’s why he lost par outher!”

See you at the pulls.