Tuck tuck tuck. (Shirt into pants).
Slick slick slick. (Hair back with comb).
Style brush twirl. (moustache grooming routine…excuse me – pre-alligator wrestling moustache grooming routine).
Twinkle twinkle. (Eyes into the mirror).
More twinkle twinkle. (Shiny toothed smile).
Eleven minutes to showtime.
The goal – pick as many ripe peaches to fill the buckets as you can while tightrope walking over an alligator-filled swamp/lagoon/levy – pick your damp, murky environment.
Unlike circus tightrope walking there was no safety net if you fell. Training in alligator wrestling was the safety net. Ninety-nine percent probability of tightrope falling with bucket of peaches while reaching for that plump, round, soft, juicy one that only tips of fingers can taste while tiptoeing on one leg and outstretched for dear life.
Six minutes till showtime.
Alligator Jimmy was his name and peach-picking and alligator wrestling was his game.
Inspired by, who he considered to be, the forefathers of alligator wrestling – from the Australian Outback – the late, great, Steve Irwin… from the sunshine state itself – his great grandfather – Punching Peaches Pete – named for his wild technique – using the butt end of the tightrope pole to punch the peaches from the top of the trees straight into the buckets below.
It’s ironic to hear the story of his passing – you’d think it would have been during his show… but it was while he was out golfing… near a sandbar… the gator came outta nowhere.
where rivers are born 