Warren captained the first-ever Chicago Tribune cow-milking team at the state fair’s annual Moo-Moo Classic in Springfield on Friday. Armour begged off–he claimed he had a prior commitment (at Wrigley Field).
Warren’s account:
There were a lot of things I was expecting from a show ring full of cows–and, yes, a remnant of one of those things is still sticking to the sole of my shoe.
But I certainly didn’t anticipate the dropped jaws and hum of respect from the other contestants when the Tribune team entered the ring and approached the beast.
The cause of this fearful stir was Larry Dowson, a dairy farmer from nearby Auburn. I’d begged, implored and finally convinced him to lead the Tribune milking crew after learning he was the finest dairyman in these parts. Or as his wonderful wife, Linda, puts it, “He cares about cows–a sixth sense. And he lives and breathes the cows.”
When Dowson, 55, entered the ring in a Tribune T-shirt, the state agriculture director, Joe Hampton, confided to me, “I’m trembling.” “The blood drained from my face,” added Hampton, captain of his own Moo-Moo squad.
For a while, I had considered enlisting Tribune reporters for this competition and doing some milking myself. But that was before I decided I’d like to win.
That’s when I went looking for ringers and found Dowson, who lined up the other milking pros on the four-man Team Tribune: slender but mighty Dowson farm foreman, Richie Gum, 26; Dave Stayton, 40, who is lucky he has a bushy moustache; and Stayton’s nephew Mike Stayton, 27, who works on the Stayton family farm in nearby Waverly.
Moo-Moo rules stipulate that a team can consist of people who do not work for the team sponsor, so, technically, we weren’t cheating. My role was confined to manic cheerleading and asking stupid questions such as, “Does that cow have a name?” and “How can you tell when it’s empty?”
In the preliminary round, the ornery cow we were assigned, a milking shorthorn, kicked over our pail once, spilling a good bit of milk. Still, the Trib team came in second among the 10 squads in the first heat. We had 3.3 pounds of milk–just behind the Ag Broadcasters squad with 3.5.
But the competition was tougher in the second, and final, milk-off round. Our cow was another milking shorthorn with a wicked disposition. She wouldn’t stand still until the very end, after she gave Trib milker Dave Stayton a swift kick in the face. That seemed to calm her down.
Dave told me he was fine–in part because his moustache softened the blow. “No blood, no foul,” hollered teammate Mike, and the Trib team picked up the pace.
After the final buzzer sounded, I waited until the other three finalist teams weighed in. Then, I swaggered up to the scale holding what I was sure was the winning bucket. Despite my precontest boasting and unsportsmanlike predictions of victory, we lost. It wasn’t even close.
Despite our excellent 5.75 pounds, we were walloped by last year’s winning team, captained by Springfield radio station WFMB’s farm director, Hartzel Bruno. His team weighed in with a commanding 7 pounds. I’m humbled.
