When we were young, we passed the time playing horseshoes. We play other games now.
**********
Maybe it’s a Sunday, or a sunny day after school when it happens. Boredom sets in. So, we’d roam the neighborhood, find somebody’s back yard and pass the time pitching horseshoes. I miss the days.
The setup was always the same. Soft dirt, no lawns. Pace off 40 feet, or shorter for the wimps who want an easy score. There’s no shortage of that crowd.
Then, with the bent backs of the iron horseshoes, we’d pound the steel poles into the soft dirt. In those days a lot of effort was expended off the backs of something or somebody—mules, tractors or people. Same today.
Occasionally sparks would fly when the horseshoe glanced off the pole, a reminder that later heated discussions could erupt over scoring and whose shoes were closest to the pole. Cheating was rare, but arguments can happen over stupid things.
We never thought that playing horseshoes could be a preparatory tutorial on what was to come later. Scores are always being kept. ‘Getting even’ and settling scores was always in the cards.
Only ringers and leaners made bank. Total misses, well, at least they showed you played, and after all, nobody wins every time in a zero-sum game like horseshoes. But in those days, it was just a game, nothing was ‘for keeps,’ unlike shooting marbles or falling in love. Years tend to change things, not always for the better.
If you have pitched horseshoes before, you can recall the game by memory. You’d position yourself, focus intently on the goal. Then you’d clank the iron shoes together for good luck or attention.
Then, all cocked and ‘loaded’ (sometimes a pun), you’d swing your arm back, and with a smooth fluid motion let go your best underhanded pitch (‘underhanded pitch’ can have different meanings). With luck your horseshoe would become a circus acrobat, making beautiful back flips in a perfect arc towards the leaning post. Most times not.
Of course, shooting for the post is the purpose of it all. Ringers get 3 points, leaners 2. Your heart sinks when your shoe rolls off uncontrollably in the distance or simply plows up the dirt with the sickening thud of a total miss. Even if you were blind, your ears would announce whether you’d lost that point or got lucky.
You play in dirt, you get dirty. And with horseshoes it’s impossible to keep clean. Dust, dirt and grit are a fact of life. Some games, like croquet, are cleaner and more refined. They’re played on manicured lawns by teams clothed in pristine white attire who whack large wooden balls through tiny steel arches with wood mallets while oohs and aahs resound quietly. It’s where wine and civilized cordiality rub elbows with thinly veiled hypocrisy.
Horseshoes is a more earthy sport that leans more to beer and bragging, one step higher than shooting pool. Its arena is filled with dirt and expletives, a place where hard iron and steel collide. It leaves behind the raw, chewed-up turf as a real-time symbol of the contest fought there.
Like in all games, there’s an ending. You feel it approaching before the reality sets in. It gets old, no longer fun. It becomes work. The arms get tired, the throws get wilder, the focus becomes dull and the initial purpose dissipates. No use wearing out a good thing. So, you call it quits.
You tally up the final scores, not worrying now about the results. Maybe it just wasn’t your day, or maybe it was. After it’s all said and done, what did it matter anyway. In the end it was just a game you enjoyed playing, beating back the horror of youthful boredom for another day.
**********
We don’t play horseshoes much anymore. We’ve moved on to other games, games with cleaner hands and digital players. But we remember the days, and some rules don’t ever change.
Ringers, Leaners and Total Misses. Playing horseshoes is a lot like life…it boils down to one pitch at a time. And score IS being kept.
Bud Hearn
November 4, 2019