Tucked away, behind the stands selling hot dogs, funnel cakes, and lemonade, was a hidden gem. A makeshift track, with hay sprinkled generously on the asphalt and surrounded by thin metal fences. The tall American flag, the stands occupied by onlookers, and the cheers of the audience gave off an indication of a race.

Indeed, it was a race, but one without cars, motorcycles, or even horses. Before my very eyes were Robinson’s Pig Paddling Porkers, preparing for a race of trifling proportions.

The starting gate that housed the pigs before the race began contained four stalls. One at a time, the pigs were introduced to the audience, each with a cheesy name that alluded to both ancient celebrities of a bygone era and eyeroll-inducing pig puns.

These pigs were handled and introduced by a man and a woman. The man donned a checkered button-down shirt, jeans, a hat, and a headset. It wasn’t quite an official uniform for a referee, but it clearly gave the impression of one. The woman, meanwhile, wore a purple shirt with a large cartoonish pig’s snout on it.

As the man continued to generate excitement among the crowd, the woman sprinkled crumbs from a single cookie near the starting gate. The crowd listened attentively and eagerly as the man then explained how the pigs knew to race because they expected the crumbs to greet them upon their victory.

One by one, the man called upon the audience, appointing individuals to cheer for each amusingly-named pig. Many of the attendees (myself included) eagerly raised their hands, desperately vying for the chance to shout their support for the creatures which they had discovered mere seconds before.

Finally, after each pig had obtained their respective audience member to cheer on their behalf, the starting gate was lifted. Where four stalls had existed, there were now four arches that served as a portal for all four pigs. These unsuspecting yet impatient competitors were now free to rush onwards and attain victory.

There was a slight hesitation when the gate ascended, but it lasted for only a moment. One, two, three, and finally four pigs began their journey down the track. These four, separated by mere instants of reaction time to their liberation from captivity, were perpetually bound to their starting order as soon as it was determined. The first pig to take the lead was the winner, and the last pig to realize that the gate had been lifted was the last to cross the finish line.

The race, a spectacular occasion built up with a copious amount of excitement by the man and the woman, lasted only a few seconds. The crowd cheered as the pigs rounded the corners of the track and exclaimed as they reached the end, but the shared rush of adrenaline that surged through the veins of every devout audience member began to slowly evaporate as the final pig completed its trek around the small loop and began to search for a single cookie crumb.