Those who say the South is devoid of high culture are gravely mistaken. Cotillions, debutantes’ balls, galas, and even the Kentucky Derby are events that are the epitome of class and distinction. One event, however, towers above them all. One event was, and should once again, be the pinnacle of Southern high culture. The illustriousness of this event is near beyond words in its magnitude and, perhaps one day, we can again reach such heights.
Great author and taxidermist Billy Ray Faulkner once said, “No event causes the human spirit to soar like gathering together to watch a dwarf riding a little bitty bucking Shetland pony.” He was, of course, referring to the midget rodeo. The rodeo was more than just seeing if that stumpy little fella could hold onto a Shetland pony hopped up on PCP or could rope a medium-sized dog wearing cow horns. It was an extravaganza. A cavalcade of the finest athletes who stood above all others, but under 4 feet.
The zenith of this rich tradition was, quite naturally, the dwarf joust. Armored mini-warriors would mount their porcine steeds and, with a slightly high pitched battle cry, would charge with their comically short lances aimed at their opponent. The winner of the contest would be crowned king of the half court, and would be sat upon a phone book so he could see over the table to dine with the very best of Southern socialites.
The importance of the midget rodeo was worthy of no small amount of grandeur. Those lucky enough to attend such an event would stop at nothing to present themselves in sufficient splendor. How much party a man had in the back of his mullet could very well be the talk of the evening. This writer would be remiss if conversation at such events was not mentioned; the fate of nations could be determined during the dwarf toss, in which only the most respectable world leaders could choose a champion to hurl a manlet for distance. The extravagance of the event was both a joy to behold and a marvel to participate in. Legend tells of a midget rodeo in 1932 where the beer-can pyramid reached 27 feet in height.
If we are to ever reclaim our birthright as Southern gentry, we must restart this most aristocratic of traditions. While this seems obvious at first glance, great work must be done. Wild dwarves must be caught and tamed. This is a lost art. Sadly, there are now few formally trained and experienced midget wranglers left. And even then, they can be found only in the most remote parts of Appalachia and the hills of Uraguay. Saddleries must be commissioned to make little bitty rodeo saddles for the Shetland ponies and the tamed midgets must be trained and, like horses, be drugged a bit for our amusement. And, unfortunate liberals and Yankees that stumble upon the event are dropped into the squared-circle to wrestle the enraged midgets for our own merriment.
In the words of the immortal Jerry Reed, “We’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there.“
Retake Everything.
