This past weekend was hot, but it wasn’t the heat outside that ignited a fire in the hearts of hamster enthusiasts in the D.C. Metro Area. It was the PetCo, Inc.-hosted “hamster derby,” a race that pitted the fastest hamsters in town against each other, for ultimate hamster glory. Never one for rodents, I made my way to Connecticut Ave. not knowing what to expect.
When I arrived at PetCo, I walked down a long set of stairs to the middle of the store that had the unmistakable odor of small animals. There, a group of about thirty anxious youngsters and parents twittered excitedly, with an occasional shriek of “COCO’S TIRED!” piercing the din. Technicolor plastic balls whizzed across the floor, echoing loudly all over the store. The racecourse consisted of four small tracks about one-and-a-half meters long adorned with dinky Nascar-esque racing flags on either side. Nothing too promising.
During warm-ups, I spoke with 11-year-old Ellen, whose hamster Blackie would go on to win 2nd place. She mentioned how he “peed immediately” when first put in his hamster ball for training. It was strange, but talking about Blackie made him seem so endearing that Ellen and I laughed gleefully as the other clearly inferior hamsters spent their warm-ups running the wrong way and careening off the track.
Finally, a young man in a PetCo shirt put an end to our fun by announcing with DMV-inspired banality the rules and regulations. All the adults giggled, feigning a lighthearted attitude, while the kids nodded, each displaying a steely countenance. Already past the stage of feigning disinterest, I was ready to see Blackie kick some hamster ass.
Most of the races were over extremely quickly, with three of the hamsters stalling at the start and one rolling like greased lightning to the finish. One of my favorite races involved a hamster that stopped dead in his ball, looking utterly lifeless. His owner wailed and the others cackled, but thankfully it was only a case of nerves.
The final between Blackie and Brownie was epic (2nd and 1st places, respectively.) Getting off to a roaring (or rolling) start, both inexplicably and abruptly stopped inches before the finish line, inciting the roars and cajoles of the crowd, urging them to complete the race. Alas, pounding on wooden floors doesn’t motivate a hamster as one might think. While Blackie placidly licked his face, Brownie rolled frenetically in the opposite direction, eventually reaching the starting point again only to be turned around by his hysterical owner. After Brownie incredibly kept his stride and managed to roll past a catatonic Blackie (still inches away from glory) to win the race, the noise immediately subsided, with all of the adults looking shiftily and shamefully around.
Disturbingly, I realized that I, too, was a little bit upset that my favored rodent didn’t win. I grudgingly approached Brownie’s owner for an interview. Nine-year-old Chris, a charming and engaging kid, was excited to enter Brownie in future races, though he tried not to favor her over his other hamster, Goldie, who, truth be told, “wasn’t much of a racer.”
So what compels perfectly normal people to enter hamster racing? Is it a passion for rodentia? Is racing them a unique thrill that can’t be found anywhere else? This is what I asked Ellen before the race, to which she replied, “Well, it’s something to do since I don’t have a dog,” with a pointed stare in her father’s direction. Well, that’s a good reason, too.
