THE WILD WEIRD WORLD OF SPORTS

I’ll admit, most of my news comes from ESPN. A good chunk from NPR. Never local network news (shiver). And occasionally, when the spirit moves me, I’ll peek at the NYTimes and MSNBC web sites. Though I seem to go straight to their sports sections. Hm.

Anyway, while surfing the mainstream news, I discovered a weird sport revival. Folks outside of Phoenix planned to bring running of the bulls back to The Grand Canyon State.

Time to make a run towards the border, yo.

I’ve wanted to photograph The Granddaddy for some time – the run in Pamplona. Looks like there are some amazing photos there.

Though, I’ll be honest. It does kinda scares the shit out of me.

There are way too many people running around very narrow European streets with very angry bulls aiming in all directions. Sure, it’d be cool to get a fun wide angle photo. But after being KO’d by a loose bronco in Oklahoma, I’m not sure how I’d do with an angry horned beast chasing me down.

The run in Arizona, with its cattle fencing and onsite parking, seemed like a safe – and smart – compromise.

I had planned to be on the East Coast when this was happening in Arizona. But the stars lined up nicely when I was asked to present my work at Erika’s alma mater, Northern Arizona, by friend, colleague and teacher, Wes Pope.

Goes without say, but it’s very flattering to be flown in to ramble in person about something I’m so passionate (nutty) about.

I timed my weird lecture on a Thursday, with the bulls on display Friday evening and Saturday. I love it when a plan comes together.

The run itself was divided up into heats, one every two hours. Lots of down time. I filled some of that time shooting costumed runners.

Of course, the midday light and triple-digit heat in Arizona are a bit brutal. Since I have no control over el sol, I did the best with what I had. That involved chilling between heats across the street at a local bar or cafe.

Yep. Once again, weird sports proves it’s great for tourism dinero.

So the dilemma is this: Where’s the best place to stand for each heat?

The run, which is maybe 400 yards, lasts just a minute or two. In some places, there were more runners than bulls. In others, more bulls than runners. It was a challenge to find that sweet spot, where the masses met the mayhem.

I think there were 5 heats on Saturday. So about 10 minutes of total action pix. At 5 frames/sec and with a 12-image buffer, I found myself waiting more than once for my camera to catch up with me. And cursing.

Oh, did I mention these are rodeo bulls?

Sure, they’re big. But they’re so much tamer than their Spanish primos. Aside from a couple scrapes and bruises from folks that fell down, there was little spilled blood.

What usually happened was that the run would start. Some of the folks sprinted safely to the finish line. But where’s the fun in that? Others plodded around, waiting for the lazy bulls to catch up. Once at full gallop, they could bowl you over. But the course was pretty wide, so the threat was minimal.

The Spaniards would have laughed.

As with any successful Weird Sport adventure, I was among local, fun(ny) friends. My favorite rickshaw driver from Geekfest Denver, Nick Oza, made it a point to hang out on Saturday. I was also shooting alongside Joshua Lott and Eric Thayer. Andy DeLisle arrived in time for the final heat Saturday.

Thanks to Wes & Kate for their hospitality in Flagstaff. And to Andy and his talent(ed) wife, Arielle, who already had one baby to take care of, but still offered this grown child a crib to crash in in Phoenix.

Kinda crazy trip, going from SF to PDX to NYC to AZ back to NYC all within the better part of two weeks. But I suppose I’m kinda crazy, too.

I’m not bullshitting you.

Ok, I’ve been at this Weird Sports thing for over 6 years and counting. Yet I’m only now – finally - able to say I photographed one of the Top 10 Weird Sports of ALL-TIME.

Yo Wife Carrying: Whereya been all my life?

Husbands carry their better halves around an obstacle course, which includes a rude, wooden hurdle and a sloppy mud pit.

The sport originates from Finland, the land of my Grandpa George’s people. But I never seem to recall him carrying around my grandmother like this. (Thank God.)

There are tales that back in the day, Finnish men carried their wives around as aerobic workouts (really?) OR they stole women from neighboring villages, to make them their brides (seems more likely to me). Regardless, today it’s a full fledge Weird Sport.

Some couples were celebrating an anniversary this particular weekend. Others a honeymoon. A few a divorce. (I kid.)

Access to the event was awesome. The media contact on scene, Darcy, couldn’t have been cooler. When I asked if we needed press credentials, she simply laughed. Just stay out of the way and have fun, that was her advice. Again, whereya been all my life?

I told Darcy about my good friends stuck wearing bright red vests along Pac-10, er, Pac-12 football sidelines – as if they were rogue ex-cons. We both had a good laugh at that. I guess common sense can’t exist everywhere.

Like all the cool kids, Sunday River Resort, in a remote area of Maine, has recognized how cool Weird Sports are. Hosting the North American Wife Carrying Championships is a perfect way to draw in the tourists – and media.

Fifty couples raced, two at a time, which lasted a couple hours total. The rest of the time was spent drinking, eating and buying local crafts.

(BTW, you misspelled the sign. It should read “Finnish,” yo.)

Winning is well-rewarded at wife carrying. The championship couple receives the wife’s weight in beer and five times her weight in cash.

Take that to the bank.

I love being a part of such a close-knit photo community. Met up with APADer & WKU student, Kristin Clements, in NYC. She volunteered to join me on the road trip up to Maine to make a video of me in action.

It was also a perfectly timed to hang with all the foliage nerds out there in New England. Changing colors, holla.

Why do I photograph Weird Sports? Because people are fucking geniuses.

How else can you explain a 5K run?

With zombies.

Damn right, I’m talking about the running among the walking dead.

Run For Your Lives is the name of the game. To be honest, I had zero idea what to really expect at this race. All I knew was this: zombies chasing after runners outside of Baltimore. If that’s not a prescription for a road trip, nothing is.

Alongside local stud photographer, Mr. Matt Roth, we ventured into the woods to chase after dead meat being chased by dead meat.

Sure, there are nervous laughs and giggles from those coming mano-a-mano with the living dead. But I laughed out loud (yes, LOL!) when a woman screamed: “A clown? Not a clown!”

Folks at the event were very helpful and accommodating. We were encouraged to walk the course and see what we could see.

Even if it was there was a clown in our path.

Runners receive a belt with a few flags. Zombies want brains. And flags. If you finish the race without flags, you’re dead.

The plus side of being dead: you can become a zombie and chase after those suckers still living.

Ok, it’s a small world. Not even two weeks after meeting with cats at the ESPN Mothership, I bumped into Kristy & Katie. Yes, the Barry Twins. They too specialize in Weird Sports and report back to ESPN.com with their findings. An ESPN editor had dropped my name to them just days before. For some reason, he thought we’d have something in common to talk about.

The Barry Twins are way cooler than me: they actually participate. Matt and I met them, along with dedicated friend/videographer Karen Sterling, in the VIP tent. Do yourself a favor and check out their video, yo.

Thanks to Matty R for joining me on my weirdness and making some murderous images. Silliness loves company.

Why am I craving some cerveau, yo?