Easter Olympics
A tradition for my cousins, before they were constantly glued to watching golf at Easter, was to host our own Easter Egg Olympics. That might be too grand a title for the slaughtering of hardboiled eggs with any mallet, stick, or bat that we could find—but it sure was fun. I will credit my late cousin, Mark, with this tradition. He was the embodiment of Irish Malarkey and Shenanigans.
Easter Egg Olympics are simple. There are usually too many eggs that are hardboiled that people don’t want to eat.
That might not be the case in 2025 with the bird flu pandemic’s effect on egg prices.
But in the nineties, we would hack away. From Wiffle ball bats and my dad’s legitimate “Wood” golf clubs, we would smash eggs around my parents’ yard to the delight of our dog, who loved them. Honestly, think about it, the size of a hardboiled egg yolk is the perfect size for golfing. Old badminton rackets? Great way to prepare eggs for doggy deviled eggs. The messier, the better. From mid-twenty-year-olds to three-year-olds, all of the cousins could partake in the smashing of the hardboiled eggs that nobody actually wanted to eat.
I am looking forward to the year I am permitted to corrupt my nephews to the glory of taking those beautiful eggs and destroying them.
Do you have the quirky, fun, or creative ways to celebrate Easter? I’d love to hear about them!
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