1933 : Radio-LL Broadcasts the Slowest Sport in Radio History

In the rich history of 1930s radio, there were moments of pure inventiveness that showcased the vitality of this new medium. One such moment starred a group of Burgundy snails. In late 1933, Radio-LL began broadcasting snail races !

Radio-LL : Short on Resources, Big on Ideas

To understand how this improbable broadcast came about, it is important to recall what Radio-LL was in 1933 1934. It was the Parisian private radio station with the fewest resources. Its owner, Lucien Lévy (hence the LL ), would eventually sell it to Marcel Bleustein-Blanchet, who transformed it into Radio Cité in September 1935. At the beginning of the 1930s, sport ruled the airwaves just as it did everywhere else. Listeners demanded live reports from racetracks, stadiums, and boxing rings.

But connecting a stadium or racetrack to the broadcasting station required renting telephone lines circuits whose availability was neither guaranteed nor cheap. Some stations, lacking either the funds or the access, simply could not broadcast major sporting events. So what could Radio-LL do ? The answer was simple : embrace self-mockery and laugh at the situation. A team of Montmartre humorists would take care of that.

The Studio Snailodrome

Inside the station’s premises at 5 Rue du Cirque (between the Champs-Élysées roundabout and the Élysée Palace), a rudimentary setup was installed. A snailodrome housed ten carefully selected, trained, and as they proudly noted well-fed Burgundy snails. Each competitor was assigned a number. There were no jockey silks yet, as at the racetrack, but the numbers were written directly on the shells.

Ded Rysel at the Microphone

Behind the microphone stood Ded Rysel, a Montmartre entertainer and one of the station’s leading personalities, serving as both commentator and reporter.

The humorist already hosted three or four weekly programs at 7:45 p.m., such as The Music Hall Half Hour and The Montmartre Cabaret Half Hour, alongside pianist-singer Raoul Soler and Jean-Baptiste Evard. He was immensely proud of this invention and readily claimed credit for it.

Years later, he revealed some behind-the-scenes details : “Our friend Lannes, armed with a spray bottle, would make it rain on the snails, while Evard dangled two or three lettuce leaves in front of their horns with a piece of string. It was very amusing.”

Listeners Place Bets

The snailodrome also borrowed something from the racetrack atmosphere: betting. Twenty-four hours before each race, listeners were invited to mail in their predictions, choosing their preferred snail by number. Betting was free. The first three listeners who had backed the winning snail shared a prize of eight hundred francs.

The success was immediate and apparently enormous. The thousands of betting letters received before each event showed just how popular the races had become. The specialist press eagerly took notice. In December 1933, the magazine L’Antenne praised the initiative with a touch of irony, remarking that these races demonstrate the interest wireless enthusiasts take in improving the gastropod breed.

It was clever. By imposing a twenty-four-hour delay between the wager and the race, Radio-LL created anticipation. People chose their champion, waited, and listened. Ded Rysel s commentary with its slow but steady twists and turns, its centimeter-by-centimeter suspense was the payoff after days of anticipation. And above all, people laughed.

Great spectacles are not always where one expects them to be. Sometimes, they fit inside a makeshift studio setup, ten mollusks, and a man who knows how to commentate.