We didn’t get to the Bangor State Fair this year, but every time we rode past the Bass Park fairgrounds, I couldn’t help thinking about the year I ran a charity booth there with Bob Cimbollek.

Cimbollek was the boys varsity basketball coach at Bangor High School at the time, and I was a student at the University of Maine in Orono. Part of my summer duties for the Bangor Parks and Recreation Department included accompanying the legendary coach on all his projects.

At age 19, I was willing and able, of course, to perform any task that came my way.

The booth we monitored was, oddly enough, a basketball shooting booth.

We were to entice onlookers to join us in our shooting gallery, if you will, by launching a ball at two baskets and regularly making shots.

Bob was better at this task than I was, but I could hold my own on occasion. Truth be known, the rims of the two baskets were slightly smaller in circumference than regulation hoops.

This didn’t affect Cimbollek at all. Quite frankly, I told him he had obviously missed his calling, for he thoroughly enjoyed his barker duties. Plus, he was knocking shots down with a good deal of regularity on this, the opening night of the annual summer extravaganza.

We were located about half way up the midway, and we had very little game competition near us. The booth next to us was a hot dog stand, which specialized in sausages with green peppers and onions.

The delectable treat could be purchased with a soft drink and french fries, and patrons could enjoy the fair and eat by sitting on benches provided by the owners of the small establishment.

We were having a grand old time when the coach needed a break, and I, of course, took over the shooting chores. I was an okay salesman, but when it came to making baskets and demonstrating just how easy the task could be, my results were less than spectacular.

As the coach was making his way back to the booth, I took a shot that bounded off the side of the rim and headed towards the hot dog stand.

Much to our amazement, it developed a rather high arc, then landed in a customer’s paper plate of sausage links, onions, green peppers, and french fries.

That wasn’t the worst part, dear readers.

When the ball came to earth with a splat, the mustard and assorted condiments sprayed the innocent gentleman from head to toe with an odd-looking combination of red, yellow, and a color I can only describe as grease.

Oh, my, I’m thinking.

The guy was a pretty good sport about the whole thing. We bought him a new T-shirt; paid for his dinner; and awarded him our grand prize – a huge Teddy bear – and he didn’t even have to shoot!

From that point forward, any shots I took were launched in the opposite direction. If I missed the mark there, the ball would land on black top, a safe place indeed compared to the nearby lunch counter.

The moral of the story?

Like Clint Eastwood always told his young partners in his Dirty Harry movies, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”

From then on, I always looked before I leaped, er, shot.

For Cimbollek and coaching colleagues and cronies, it was a story I’ve yet to live down.

NEWS columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net