Rattlesnake Roundup

"These fellers are first-timers folks, so let's hear it for 'em!... That's right, folks, all you need to have to enter the contest is an ID and proof of insurance..." -- ring announcer, Rattlesnake Roundup 2003

Well, I finally went, and I wasn't disappointed. I had been told of the fabled Roundup in Taylor, TX for a few years now, but could never go. Actually, its official title is Rattlesnake Roundup and Sacking Championship.

That's right -- Sacking Championship. It's a competition to see who can put 10 rattlesnakes in a sack in the least amount of time -- one guys holds the sack, another guy picks them up (by hand) and chunks 'em in. But it's oh, so much more than that!! It's a carnival too, complete with rides, lazy-eyed carnies, and all the food on a stick you can hog out on. Not to mention the fried rattlesnake -- if you can gnaw through the gristle and around the tiny gum-piercing bones, it's pretty good. Getting fried chicken would have just been so mundane and ordinary, ya know -- rattlesnake meat has such a unique and savory essence and all. I felt a special sort of ironic justice when I was chomping down on fried rattler at the same time a guy was getting bitten by one! But no worries -- and I'm quoting the ring announcer here: "He did get bit on the hand, folks, but don't worry, he says it's not burning so that's a good sign..." Since I saw no ambulances come screaming in or anything, I assume the guy was OK. Right when it happened a uniformed Constable and a bunch of other folks jumped in the ring and pulled him out, then led him off to some tent I couldn't see. Maybe they just shot him, I have no idea. I'm pretty sure his team lost.

In between rounds we walked over to the "Handling Booth", where they store the snakes when they're not getting chunked into sacks and chomping people's fingers off. The Handling Booth is a tiny concrete shed set off to the side, and I figured it was some snake "petting zoo" with a couple of de-fanged and drugged-up snakes under glass for little kids to grope. As we walk up behind a crowd of 10-15 people standing at the front of it, I hear a sound I think is a running water spigot coming from inside the shed. "How nice," I thought. "They have water in there for them." As I get closer and start peering over shoulders, I get a stark realization: You guessed it, there ain't no water in the shed! That sound was dozens of rattles, attached to the bodies of dozens of rattlesnakes. They were anywhere from 2 to 7 feet long, curled up in piles, slithering around on the floor, or dodging the metal snake-prod-catcher-deals that a small group of thick-booted dudes were corralling them with. "Yep, that 'un's pissed..." as he snags a straggler with the pole and tosses it, hissing and rattling and curling into an 's', into a pile of his more docile pals in the corner. One guy was putting his hat on the pole and dangling it in front of one that looked particularly irritated -- "Let's see if he'll strike.." and ZAP the thing snags the brim, almost jerking it off the pole. The guy calmly brings the hat back up to him, takes it off the pole, and shows it to a little greasy kid (who was transfixed on him, gnawing absentmindedly on a hunka fried rattler like beagle with a gym sock) standing in front of him. "Look there, see there's a little venom on the brim," he said to us all. Then he takes the cap and pops it back on his head -- of course without wiping the VENOM off first! Something tells me the guy probably had about three fingers left (and even less teeth), but I forgot to check for sure.

And what Snake Sacking Championship/Carnival would be complete without a loud-as-hell, microphone-squealing, guitar-chorus-effectin', Molly-Hatchett-crankin', unabashed-mulletudin', nobody-givin'-a-damn ROCK'N'FUCKIN'ROLL BAND! You could cut the apathy with a spoon. To add to the merriment, it had rained earlier in the day and was all gray and muddy and drizzly -- the band had to keep lifting up the tarps over their heads and dumping the water out between songs. They covered the whole gamut from Stevie Ray to Merle, with a few "Texas Justice" (or whatever the hell they were called) originals mixed in for artistic good measure. Here's the musical highlight for me: "Alright, we're gonna take a little break, but we're gonna let my son and his friends get up and play a few tunes for y'all." I could hardly wait. Soon a trio of teenagers straggle onstage, way too cool to bothered with this crap. Complete with that surly, vacant look that only teenagers can achieve, hair in various lengths and stages of unwash, and pants with leg-bottoms so big that homeless people could live under there. Oh yeah, and the guitarist had a Misfits t-shirt on -- just to show us what's what. As they started banging out some kind of thrash/punk stuff -- CH-CH-CH-CH-CHUNK! CH-CH-CH-CH-CHUNK!! -- K leaned over and said to me "Aw, they're so cute! Should I go tell them I used to listen to that stuff when I was a little kid too?" We watched another number or two (they were right by the Port-A-Johns, after all), and slushed off to find some rides to get dizzy on.

After getting chastised by the ticket-rippers as we passed the gate - "Hey, you can't take beer on the rides" - we walked the gauntlet of barkers hawking their blow-up Ninja Turtles and Dokken vanity mirrors, trying to grin and avoid eye contact at the same time. Every time I walk through one of those things I think of Steve Martin in The Jerk -- "Step right up folks, take a chance and win yourself some crap!" After some sleeve-tugging from K, I busted 2 balloons with 3 darts from a guy with 1 eye, and won K a stuffed pink snake (keep your dirty jokes to yourselves, please). Next on the agenda was getting dizzy and trying not to hurl up any snake chunks, so we bought some tickets and went on the "Thing With Little Cars That Goes In A Circle Real Fast". We had great fun having our innards pressed against our ribcages, both backwards and forwards, while trying to comment on the slack-jawed carnie at the helm without him hearing us and keeping the ride going until we exploded. I felt a foreboding twinge each time we whizzed by the rusted out, faded paint of the "Crabtree Amusements" sign on the side of the beaten-up old truck that was running the machine for the ride. It looked like it had been painted around 1963, and hadn't been refurbished or cleaned since then. I hoped aloud that the ride hadn't suffered the same fate. But alas, we were safe and sound, and staggered off the rain-slicked corrugated metal platform (score: platform 1, Roger & his muddy boots, 0) to go find some more fried stuff on a stick.

Before heading home, w went browsing through the booths of folks selling their homemade, stolen, or storebought wares -- plastic toy sets (Baby's First ATF Set -- complete with plastic billyclub, gas mask, handcuffs, and a suction-cup dart gun), clothes (anything made out of any lizard's skin you could think of), peanut brittle (from the Apostolic Church), and the general knick-knack bonanza. We got some o-fficial National Rattlesnake Sacking Championship" koozies, and K bought me a set of golfball-sized snakeskin "Rattlesnake Balls" on a little chain. Aw, shucks... It came with "instructions", too -- 1) When you arrive home, run and show all your neighbors your balls. They will be excited and impressed that you finally have balls. You will definitely be the talk of the neighborhood.. 2) When you go to a singles bar, flash your balls and you might get lucky. 3) You can now look at people and think, 'I got balls and they don't' -- and so on, and so on. Well, ain't that just clever. We hung 'em on the rear-view mirror.

And I can't finish writing this without giving MONDO kudos to Louis Mueller Barbecue in Taylor. Being a meat-etarian, I've eaten LOTS of barbecue around here, both good and bad. In Austin, Hoovers has the BEST ribs, Ruby's on Guadalupe has knee-buckling chicken, Black's in Lockhart has killer brisket, Rudy's on Hwy 183 has bad-ass turkey. But now, all I gotta say is LOUIS... FREAKIN'... MUELLER!!! That's some damn fine 'Q, folks, We stopped on the way home and got a juicy and tender half pound of brisket, a slab of the meatiest ribs I've ever eaten, a smoke-blackened half-chicken, and sides. All I'm sayin' is... K ate the sides. Good God, I almost had a spell when I took that first bite of rib. Good thing you're only 3 blocks from my house, Mr. Hoover, cause you got competition!! Louis Mueller is HIGHLY recommended grub.

Also highly recommended is coming home afterwards and settling on the couch with yo' fine la-day, a good flick, mild brain alterations, and a plate full of some DAMN GOOD BARBECUE. But it's only THIS cool if ya got rattlesnake balls.