In one corner, the reindeer:
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Dasher. Prancer. Comet. Cupid. And eight others, all looking docile and dear.
In the other corner, the humans:
Katrina Auton, who put on her game face by gobbling down a reindeer sausage. Erik Johnson, who psyched himself up by mounting a pair of velvety caribou antlers -- the spoils of a victorious hunting trip -- atop his head. Bobby Ziegler, who prepared by painting a target and a taunt -- "Reindeer: Hit Here" -- on his bare chest. And 997 others, all looking wild and loaded for deer.
And all around them, thousands and thousands of spectators who packed rooftops, balconies and stood three or four deep on both sides of Fourth Avenue for Sunday's inaugural Running of the Reindeer, which just might be remembered as the event that made Fur Rendezvous relevant again to a city that thought maybe it had outgrown its little winter festival.
Reindeer hoofed it down two city blocks antler-to-shoulder with humans -- first 500 women, then 500 men -- in an event modeled after Spain's famous Running of the Bulls.
It was, by every measure, a resounding success.
A bluebird day brought out a huge crowd that rivaled any seen downtown in recent memory, including the Iditarod. Thousands of dollars were raised for Toys for Tots and the Wounded Warrior project. As far as organizers could tell, everyone emerged unscathed, including the reindeer.
And -- best of all -- the reindeer ran.
Boy, did they run.
"That one right there, One-Horned Willy, got me," a breathless Shawn Silverthorn said, pointing to a reindeer that ran with just half an antler but a full head of steam. "I got out of the way and smacked him on the butt and then he hit this guy here," now pointing to a friend.
Silverthorn, 35, grew up in Anchorage and had to think back decades to remember the last time he'd seen anything so electrifying, and so popular, at Fur Rendezvous.
"I remember when I was a kid, there would be booth after booth on the streets," Silverthorn said. "It's great to see people lined up with their cameras like this. This is a shot in the arm for the city.
"There'll be a lot of people watching this on YouTube in the morning."
This was highlight-reel stuff, as long as you were quick with a camera.
Each race lasted about two minutes, and at times it was hard to see the reindeer through all the people, most of whom arrived in costume.
The animals proved more than game, defying predictions that they would be too domesticated and docile to put on a good show.
Starting in the middle of the street behind several rows of runners, they built speed quickly. After less than a block, they were weaving through people like ski racers on a slalom course. By the time they neared the finish line -- where two "bait" reindeer stood, plus trailers filled with treats and straw -- they were moving fast and looking almost manic.
Tom Williams, who runs the Williams Reindeer Farm in the Butte and brought a dozen of his best beasts for the show, wasn't surprised.
"They make their living outrunning wolves," he said.
Truth be told, Williams was among those who wondered in the days leading up to the race whether the reindeer would run, amble or cower against the snow fence, intimidated by the whole scene.
"We knew the reindeer were domesticated, so we knew it would either be great, or it would be a walk with the reindeer," said Mark Colavecchio, a disc jockey at KWHL who dreamed up and promoted the event with on-air partner Bob Lester.
The pair did its share of pimping last week, doing interviews with a number of out-of-state reporters.
"We told them, 'Oh, their hooves are like knives. They're blood-thirsty beasts. They want revenge for all that sausage in the world,' '' Colavecchio said.
Ah yes, the sausage.
The Running of the Reindeer is one of many events in the 10-day Fur Rendezvous, which ends Sunday. Astute readers will notice that in an alphabetized listings of events in this year's program, the Reindeer Races are followed by the Reindeer Sausage Eating Contest, which is later this week at Humpy's.
This can be a tough town for reindeer.
Sure enough, after the races ended, a long line formed at MA's Gourmet Dogs, where Michael Anderson dished up sizzling reindeer sausages. Dasher, Prancer, et al had barely left downtown as the hordes began to devour what was once part of a herd.
"Do I look like I have any remorse?" Anderson joked as he slapped a sausage in a bun.
Business at his food booth was brisk, conjuring thoughts of Anchorage in its formative years, when Fur Rendezvous made stars out of sprint mushers like George Attla and Doc Lombard and everyone who was anyone penciled Fur Rondy into their social schedules.
Gone, at least temporarily, were memories of recent Fur Rondys, where the weather has been uncooperative and the public has been disinterested.
"This is great, because Fur Rondy has been so down," Anderson said. "It was exciting to see that many people."
Find Beth Bragg online at adn.com/contact/bbragg or call 257-4309.