Oland Easler’s enormous, mud-dripping 1947 truck sat poised at the entrance of the pits only long enough to ensure every eye was glued to it. Then it tore through the gully, screaming through the pits in a single, breathless moment.

The mud-covered onlookers at the Redneck Blank roared their appreciation. 

Saturday was the last evening of events at the fourth annual games, the creation of organizer Harold Brooks who hosts the events at his sprawling dirt pit and fields.

Tents were pitched all along the property, with campers parked and four-wheelers — an army of four-wheelers — cruised from the lodgings to the events.

Surrounded by unbridled fun, Kim Morrissette of Monmouth said that’s what makes the games unique.

“This is a place where people come and no one cares what other people think of them,” she said.

The day carried a gamut of physical feats. The greased watermelon haul consisted of lugging Crisco-slathered watermelons while lumbering through the sand in flippers. The tug-of-war dragged the losing team into the water.

Water, in Dell Bean’s mind, is missing an essential element: dirt.

Bean is a mud enthusiast. Between mud runs, he lounged idly in the thick soup wearing a full suit, cowboy hat and boots. The mud, he said, cooled him off.

He cautioned that although there’s a right and wrong time to jump — mud is best for swimming when creamiest — it’s always fun and relaxing.

“People don’t know what they’re missing,” Bean said.

John Barry of Fryeburg was drawn to the games with his family and in-laws for the “good family fun.”

“I think it’s a chance to spread your wings without getting into trouble. We’re all here to have a good time,” Barry said.

Nearby, 75-year old Sylvia Swanson’s cardigan was spattered with mud. She was there for the first time, she said, in part because all four children had come. 

The wife-carrying contest took athletes on an obstacle course over hay bales and sand hills and finally through the mud. The winners were Ethan Gladish, who won two years ago, and Michelle Theriault.

Flecks of red were caught in Kyle Stetson’s beard when he emerged victorious from the pickled pig’s feet bob. A Poland native, Stetson said he is allergic to pork.

“You just have to stick your face in and not think about it,” he said.

Brooks didn’t want to put a number on this year’s turnout, but he has said in the past that he prepares for about 2,000 people.

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