(“The dunk tank beckoned.”)

As we sat around in the barn sharing an after-clinic bottle of wine, the conversation wandered inexplicably to amusement parks and carnivals. One student opined that her favorite midway game by far was whack- a-mole. How could anyone not love to bash their little grinning plastic heads back into their holes?

Whack-a-mole inspired this game which you may have seen in my on-line store.

My personal midway guilty pleasure was the Dunk the Clown booth. At church fairs and community-friendly fund raisers the “clown” was often a good natured high school principal or some similarly respected person who wanted to be seen letting his hair down. At sleazy traveling fairs the clown was more likely an angry, half-potted ne’er do well.

I could never resist plunking down my two bucks (for three balls) knowing full well I’d keep going back to my wallet till this guy ended up in the drink.

Strategically I would always “waste” the first pitch. Instead of aiming for the target paddles that would tip his chair, I’d fire the ball as hard as I could at his head. Of course it would bounce off the cage’s protective bars, but shocked to enraged attention, the clown would invariable spew forth a vicious stream of invective which put to shame the perfunctory taunts he usually spent the day half heartedly repeating.

At one more recent fair the dunk tank beckoned, and my aging arm not being what it used to be, I laid a ten dollar bill on the counter feeling none too optimistic at my short term prospects. Defying the odds my fifth or sixth throw made the clown take the plunge.
The little kids waiting in line for their turn cheered as I gestured to my still-large pre-purchased stack of balls. “They’re all yours,” I said as I strolled away, knowing full well that I could throw a hundred more without repeating my success.

Thirty-five years ago Dressage at Devon was a mid July show, still a big deal but with a more casual ambiance than now. Amid the vendors, confectioners, and lemonade stands, there used to be a Dunk the Clown tank. I well remember putting my horse up after a ride, hanging my riding coat in the tack stall, and still wearing stock tie and black boots going off to send that clown to his watery demise.