On my way home from work I decided to pick up a coffee and some donut holes (Munchkins?). I came up out of the underground train station right next to city hall, in a cement park area, and had a seat at one of the many benches under a conopy of trees to enjoy my snack. The last donut hole was powdered sugar (my least favorite), and it felt a bit hard anyway, so I tossed it. A few pigeons immediately started chasing the rolling donut hole across the sidewalk, and were joined by a few more as soon as they caught up to it. Within seconds, there was a whole group (flock? gaggle?) of pigeons fighting for the ball. The funny thing was, they couldn't seem to get their beaks into it. The stale, stubborn pastry would just roll off to the side, continually bouncing around between the birds. The competition began heating up up, with some of the pigeons kicking it, and others nudging it with their heads away from the rest, in order to get a better chance at spearing it. I'm not in the habit of feeding pigeons, so I'm not sure if this happens all the time, but all I could think of was: DONUTBALL: a down-and-dirty contest of skill and determination, in the tradition of inner-city games such as stickball, but combining elements of rugby, soccer, and bobbing for apples.... a no-holds-barred, every pigeon for himself, fight for the ultimate prize: food. I must have been laughing hysterically, because some kids started crowding around to see what was going on. Five minutes into the game, and the Donutball barely had a couple chunks out of it. A few tired old birds had given up, while several more players eagerly joined the game in progress. Every so often one of them would succesfully spear the ball with its beak, and make a running dash for the sidelines, only to be pounced and pecked in the head by the others. (One bird seemed to keep pecking this other one in the eye, even though he wasn't near the ball -- an obvious penalty). Other times the Donutball would suddenly fly up in the air, and the birds would all look up, shifting their position, flapping their wings and scrambling to intercept it. At this point, at least 10 minutes in, the spectators included some adults. A police officer approached, sensing the potential for things to turn ugly. Some of the kids watching had chosen favorites, and were actually cheering for them! I was waiting for someone to throw down some money. With a sudden explosion of flying donut chunks and a puff of powdered sugar, the ball was finally torn apart, marking the end of the game. As the proud winner strutted off with the largest chunk, head held high, the the rest of the pieces disappeared quickly in a frenzy of bobbing pigeon heads. After the last crumb was eaten, the birds dispersed, and so did the small crowd. A few kids were left looking at me, hoping I had another Donutball. Alas, I did not. But it was a good game while it lasted.