The Little Brown Jug is (somewhat) Decadent and Depraved

The first leg of the harness racing triple crown is the Little Brown and Mr. Ohio promised public debauchery of all types in Delaware, Ohio.

“Last year as soon as the Jug race (the last one which decides the champion) was over, I mean right when it ended, I instantly saw someone puke and two men get into a fist fight,” he said.

I know a little bit about the makeup of the most conservative county in Ohio through working up there occasionally and I trusted Mr. Ohio’s account. See, the race is an annual family tradition and it’s in his genetic makeup – his dad was a horse racer and his mom a horse trainer.

You know an event is meaningful to the natives when it rains for hours and they don’t leave or lose their ferocity. Two women nearly got into a fight because of an umbrella. Aaron coaxed Jell-O shots for our entire group. Mr. Ohio’s aunt ate shit trying to stand on a cooler.

The rain was incessant and that brought a huge grin to the face of Mr. Ohio’s uncle.

“This is good weather for a wet T-shirt contest,” he said. “Last year it didn’t even rain and I saw eight girls in the parking enticed by a little money. They ruined some guy’s car by crawling over it.”

The thought of trowling the parking lot looking for farm girls fed on corn and awkwardly gyrating their bodies was unappealing. Instead I decided to learn the basics of horse racing and in nine bets won a total of $3.40. Not enough to convince me to quit my job and rely on the ponies for enough income to live but not bad for a first time.

Besides, enough PG-13 entertainment was provided by Aaron who began drinking at 9 a.m. and knew exactly how far to push the drunk rednecks before they beat him up.

Leaving the fairgrounds we carried a large cooler of beer that was mostly empty and a boombox blaring a strange style of music that has yet to arrive in Delaware. Not even a mile down the road Aaron woke up from a brief slumber and made the universal sign for pull over, I’m about to vomit.

Around half the thick white liquid, that resemble a mix between tapioca and melted insect larvae but spelled like a rotting animal carcass, made it outside my car which would be used later that night as the transportation for a bachelorette party.

That’s when I realized we were the Little Brown Jug.

Click here for one of my all-time favorite HST pieces.

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