Five Bad Things About the End of the Circus

Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey folded up its tent.
Here are some of the unforeseen consequences of the circus being shuttered.
- Somewhere in Florida there are a bunch of out-of-work clowns. Wait, let me try that again; “somewhere in Florida there are a bunch of out-of-work clowns that are not ‘Juggalos’.” Clowns can’t go home. Clowns, in case you didn’t know, aren’t born. They just show up after falling off a turnip truck. Homeless, underemployed clowns… in Florida. It can’t turn out well.
- You can’t run away and join the circus anymore. What is a disaffected teen to do without the psychological relief valve of contemplate joining the circus? What option will they have? The answer is a bad one: The carnival. Without the circus, kids will have to run away and join a carnival. What’s the difference between a carnival and the circus? A lot. If you screw up in the circus, you end up permanently disfigured because your arm was mauled by a tiger. If you screw up in the carnival, you end up with meth habit, a manslaughter conviction, and 5–10 years in a federal penitentiary.
- Using the term “circus” as a synonym for happy bedlam will stop making sense. Someone will ask you, “how was the Cub Scout meeting?” and you will say, “What a circus!” and they will look at you like you have two heads. I’m not sure where we turn. Maybe you say, “what a trampoline park!”, or “what a dog run!” Any suggestions would be helpful.
- You’re never going to get to see a tiger jump through a circle of flame again. I’m not sure why you would want to see that, but I’ve seen it. If you haven’t yet, you never will. I have also seen an elephant balance on a giant ball and a bear do a hand-stand on a bongo board while balancing on a platform held up by a stick. The bear was in the Moscow circus, and you might be able to still see that because in a country where you can still beat your wife, I think you can still terrorize a bear into balancing on a bongo board.
- My chances of dating a trapeze artist, a sword swallower, or a human cannonball just went through the floor. As you get older you realize that there are a lot of things that you thought you would do in life that you will never do. I’m never going to live in Africa. I’m not going to learn how to speak Mandarin. I’m never going to own a cow, or make my own eclairs, or learn to knit, or clean my sock drawer, or send my brother a birthday card… etc., etc…. you get the idea. But some dreams die harder than others, and, to be honest, the dream was not just to date a trapeze artist OR a sword swallower OR a human cannonball, but to date all three at the same time, and then fill the landing pool with pudding, put on the sparkly outfit, release the bear… and… maybe I should stop.
