They didn’t come for the “inflate-your-own” balloons. They didn’t come for Wild Bill’s menudo slushies (though the lines stretched to Main Street). They didn’t come to see Flublue’s antics or watch Bebe the Bozo guzzle his second pint (he was drunk by 10am). They didn’t even come to glimpse Scotch Johnson’s oil drum, now proudly etched with his son’s name. No. They came to see Crotch.
This was Crotch Johnson’s day in the sun at Founder’s Park.
And talk about sun? Record temperatures kept thermometers well above the 110 degree mark. Dust devils swept through the park, toppling the main tent and several vendor encampments. Heat stroke was rampant. But nothing could deter the estimated two hundred families, kids and local leaders who came out to celebrate the grand finale of the greatest race in Down County, The Tour duh Flubug.
And Crotch was the center of attention, signing autographs, posing for snapshots, telling the tales of his harrowing trek across the Miasma and distributing modeling sand to the younger fans. He even popped a Faust in a moment of jubilation and sprayed the famished crowd. But it wasn’t just Crotch that attracted their attention. Fans were equally eager to catch a glimpse of his ‘74 Charlatan, one of only two in existence, acclaimed by all to be the key to his well earned success.
The festivities, which began at 10am and continued until the police showed up, reached their peak at the award ceremony on the main stage (before the tent blew down) when Mayor Ornrey and Flublue (caught drinking a Faust) presented Crotch with “the gratitude of an entire county” and an ersatz key to Locker #107 at Flubug High, rumored to contain at least something of value. “I only wish we could do more,” he said as he grabbed Crotch in a belly-to-belly bear hug. “You’re as great as your old man.”
When the mayor left police moved in to disperse the crowd with rubber bullets and night sticks. Those with Gold tickets made their way to Blackwaters on Kingslide Slope for a night of mule burgers, night vision goggles and the rockin’ sounds of Fuzz Against Junk.
Everyone else left for… well, wherever they came from.
At least until next year when the Tour duh Flubug will again delight crowds, fire our youngsters’ imaginations and give the police another excuse to fire on peacefully assembled Flubuggers.