Tug-O-War is a no-brainer on an outing for country kids. I was a new youth director, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with this contest.
I was told to expect maybe 10-12 teens for the fall activity, the usual number that attended church sponsored events. Having a new youth director in a small town in Kansas must have created a lot of interest. Teenagers began to appear at the church, one after another until the old bus that would take us out in the country for the activity was packed with more than 40 kids.
“Where did you get all of these kids?” one of the adult sponsors said incredulously as rowdy teenagers poured off the old buss as I braked to a stop in a cloud of dust in front of a cattle feeding lot. A farmer had offered his property for the activity.
“I don’t know, they just came!” I answered. It looked like the outing was going to be a success, at least in numbers.
I had planned all the normal activities. We roasted weenies and marsh mellows over a bon-fire. To make the fire the farmer used a kind of wood that is plentiful in the plains states, it is called ‘hedge wood’ and is taken from the rows of bush-like trees that grow between sections of farm land. At some point in history these were planted to prevent wind erosion.
Hedge wood has a lot of sap, as pockets of sap reached a certain temperature in the heat of the fire, a loud ‘pow’ sound was heard, not unlike that of a gunshot. The kids with their sticks stepped back a step or two each time this happened, as if avoiding being shot. The huge fire burned so hot that getting close enough to roast weenies was somewhat perilous.
One kid named ‘Vinnie’ was super excited. I had never seen him before this day. He engaged in every activity with an enthusiasm that was infectious. I feared he would singe his hair as he was determined to roast his weenie and marsh mellow. When we bobbed for apples, Vinnie’s head was under water so long that I was about to yank it out when he finally surfaced, grinning with an apple between his teeth.
“Girls against Boys!” I shouted, somewhat impulsively, as I organized the tug-o-war. Eyeing the group, this seemed reasonable. At this age, 12-15 year old boys and girls are about the same size. If there were a few more girls, it shouldn’t matter. To make it more exciting, I decided to organize the two groups on either side of a dry creek bed. Each group would be motivated to pull hard to avoid falling into the ditch.
“I’ll be anchor!” Vinnie shouted, his excitement reaching a fevered pitch. He was all-in, moving to the end of the rope and taking the extra step of tying the rope around his waist! He was committed to victory for the boys team. His teammates fell in line in front of him and the girls casually took their places on the other side of the creek bed.
My conception of tug-o-war was of two teams pulling steadily with one side seeming to have success for a few seconds and then the other responding in like manner, thus the battle progressing slowly until one of the teams began to tire and slowly lose ground.
“When I lower my arm and say GO, begin pulling.” I instructed the group of eager teens. They prepared themselves, pulling the slack out of the rope and assuming their positions, each gripping the rope as firmly as possible.
“GO” I lowered my arm. Adult chaperones and the farmer who owned the property looked on as if they were witnessing the Olympics.
What happened next was not something I could have imagined. Maybe it was because girls at this age are actually stronger or a bit bigger than boys. Or, perhaps the boys weren’t ready. I can’t say. But with one lunge backward, victory for the girls was secured. It was all over… well almost.
The boy in front, closest to the ditch quickly let go, diving to the side to avoid falling into the creek bed, then the second boy did the same, and the third and fourth, until at last it came to Vinnie— who was unable to let go. By this point, the girls were trotting backwards pulling a mostly limp rope-- with Vinnie tied to the end.
Vinnie had little time to think and when he came to the ditch, all he could do was summon his best broad-jumping skills and attempt to leap over it, legs pumping, arms turning like a windmill, he made a valiant effort. But he fell short of the other side and landed face-first on the sloping creek bed. The girls’ momentum carrying them, dragging him pitifully part of the way up the embankment.
Everyone was laughing and the boys team seemed to take it in stride, like it must have been some sort of fluke outcome. I looked at Vinnie to see if he was alright.
Vinnie slowly arose, his clothes caked with dirt and his face scratched. As he dusted himself off I thought for a moment that he might cry. As he untied the rope, he managed a grin and said, “What’s next?”
Vinnie is a great sport! Hearing you tell the story made me laugh.