Performing at fairs, festivals, halftime shows and soon to be on television’s “Ripley’s Believe It or Not,” Chaz Marquette’s 20 years of juggling experience and enthusiastic love for laughter label him as an obscure, but touching oddity among fair entertainers everywhere.

After the “Little Big Top” show had ended, droves of fairgoers migrated toward the side stage to witness the juggler extraordinaire. Marquette’s performance at side stage just off the midway seemed perceptibly impromptu. But maybe it was the crackling of the announcer’s voice through the loudspeaker, or a chance to rest my feet while being entertained is what drew me. It struck me as opportunistic so I grabbed the closest bench. I mean haystack.

To tell you the truth, the first couple of tricks Marquette started with deserved more than the lack of recognition that came with their execution.

Seriously, a guy balancing a 2-foot machete on his tongue after juggling three tennis balls with a metal fold-out chair nervously teetering on his chin at least deserves some applause.

But not until Marquette jokingly pleaded with them did a few placate his dangerously manic stunts onstage with scattered approval. Every show is different depending on the audience.

The crowd was thoroughly Hispanic and lent itself to some trademark Marquette Spanglish.

“It’s a variation of the same show, but I’ll be here all week so you can never tell what you’ll get,” he said.

He feels that comedy is necessary for his success.

“You have to incorporate comedy or you’ll lose your audience,” he said. “I like to have the audience involved because it’s more improvisational.”

He carefully chose two young audience members to participate in his finale. Boy was I curious to see what he had in store for the giggling children approaching anxiousness.

“Now get right next to me,” he called. As he took a lofty seat above his unicycle, he ignited three torches and balanced precariously on one wheel while the boy placed a small ring on his leg.

“This isn’t cable TV folks, it’s the real thing. We all need to get involved,” he said, beckoning the audience to match his excitement onstage. With the final applause, I was left somewhat unsatisfied which the lure of greasy food quickly remedied.

After a corn dog, I sauntered into the Budweiser Pavilion to find something that you wouldn’t think to see at the fair. Before I could finish my thought, pop! The sudden backfire from a dirt bike shot from the entrance to the gate as the acrid smell of gasoline fumes hung underneath the metal bleachers. Amid the high squeals of several bikes revving just a few feet away, a writer named R. Scott Allred, local author of “Dead Gold,” a work of historical fiction set in the Philippines, hawked his book. What would these gas hogs care about drill hands from America discovering a secret Japanese World War Two gold stash?

“My friend is the promoter of the event and he just gave me the opportunity to sit in front of 7000, and I couldn’t pass it up,” Allred said. As for sales, “just a couple, not really my best market for my book.”

Leaving the pavilion I foolishly decided to try a game. The fast-talking carny calling himself Matt was a veteran for only eight months, but the way he pandered the prospect of fortune, $2 seemed a reasonable sacrifice. The point of the game was to sink four billiard balls in the order of your choice.

Failing miserably, I cursed every carny who ever existed and made my way toward the exit. Maybe years ago everything I saw were through the corn-battered glasses of a child, but the fair this time around was not so magnificent.