A Little Bit Like Home

Pig Races and Hot Dog Shootouts

My first experience as an announcer did not involve helmets, pads, bats, horses, or engines. It involved pigs. Between my junior and senior year of high school, our FFA chapter held pig races, and I served as the track announcer. While I struggle to remember even a few of those pigs’ names, I am sure I tried to make the event sound more official than it probably was.

That may not sound like a direct path to motocross, but life has a way of using odd experiences. A few years later, I was at Mizzou and working in radio. By 1993, I was a farm broadcaster at Learfield Communications and the Brownfield Network, and Beth was working for a team of ENT doctors. One of the nurses, George, found out I was on the radio and mentioned that a group of motorcycle riders needed an announcer at Finger Lakes State Park north of Columbia.

I knew almost nothing about motocross beyond what I had seen flipping through channels on TV. But George said it would be easy to learn. Still, I had a microphone background. I had announced FFA pig races. Apparently, that was enough of a resume.

So Beth and I made our way to Finger Lakes, the only Missouri state park where motocross racing is part of the landscape. Trucks and trailers were everywhere, loaded with motorcycles of every size. Kids rode around while other bikes sat on stands for last-minute adjustments. Everyone else seemed to understand the system. I was the new guy.

My headquarters was a fairly new crow’s nest tower. Compared to some announcer booths I have seen at high school football fields, this thing was the Taj Mahal. It was not fancy, but it had room, shade, the PA system, rider lists, a race schedule and a step-out deck. Since I had no background in the sport, I learned by watching a few races, listening to the man who had been announcing and then taking the microphone.

The smaller classes helped. The little riders on 50cc bikes usually raced one lap, and most were not “catching air” over the hills. Their helmets and pads were serious, and their parents were serious, too. The bigger bikes, however, were another story. When those 125cc and 250cc riders hit the jumps, some seemed to launch from one hill, clear the next, and land near the bottom of the third incline.

I learned pretty quickly that announcing the leaders was only part of the job. Parents like to hear their kids’ names. If I could work in the name of a rider farther back in the pack, I tried to do it. If a young rider completed a lap, made a good turn or kept going after a rough start, that was worth mentioning. Not every kid was going to win, but every kid had someone in the bleachers listening for their name.

Beth stayed with me in the crow’s nest and often served as my spotter. After Morgan was born, we brought a playpen up into the tower so she could rest or play while the races went on around her. I am not sure how many babies can say they spent part of their early life in a motocross crow’s nest, but Morgan can.

My first races went well enough that I was invited back to announce the annual Hot Dog Shootout, the season’s highlighted race. I am not sure how it got its name, though I always assumed it had something to do with hot-dogging on a motocross track. Looking back, maybe the FFA pig races prepared me more than I realized. In both cases, something moved faster than expected, spectators got excited and someone with a microphone had to make sense of the action. Motocross riders generally took direction better than pigs. But for a couple of seasons, I had a front-row seat to a world I might never have known otherwise. And it all started, in a roundabout way, with pig races.

Tom Brand is a St. Joseph, Missouri, writer whose latest book, “You Have To Leave If You Want To Come Back,” is available at RichardsonPress.com. His early race-announcing experience may explain why he still appreciates a well-called Kentucky Derby.