Spitting Olives in Murcia
Politicians, athletes and journalists lining up in a Spanish square to gob olive stones for distance sounds like a joke. It is — a deliberate, joyful one — but behind the silliness sits a genuine folk tradition, a bit of real technique, and the neatest possible use for a pit.
Every so often a town stages an olive-stone spitting contest and the wire photos go around the world: a mayor, a footballer and a local celebrity puffing out their cheeks and letting fly. It is easy to file under ‘silly season’ and move on. But pit-spitting is older and more universal than any single stunt, and like a lot of daft games it rewards a surprising amount of skill.
An old habit, dressed up as a sport
Wherever people have eaten olives, they have spat the stones, and wherever people spit stones some show-off has asked whose goes furthest. Formalised competitions — with a line to toe, a tape measure and rules against gum-flicking — have popped up from Spanish plazas to American festivals, often as the comic centrepiece of a harvest fair. The appeal is that anyone can enter: no kit, no training, just a mouthful of olives and a competitive streak.
The technique nobody expects
Here is the part that surprises people. Distance does not come from the lips or the lungs — it comes from the tongue, snapped forward like a catapult behind a burst of breath, with the head thrown to lift the trajectory. Seasoned spitters clean and slightly dry the stone so it does not stick, pick a plump, big-stoned variety like Cerignola for a heavier projectile, and treat it like a shot-putter treats the ring: angle, release, follow-through. Watch a good one and it stops looking like a joke.
Why it keeps coming back
The contest endures because it does three things at once: it entertains, it draws a crowd to a harvest celebration, and it makes light of the humblest by-product of the olive — the stone. And that stone is the tidiest ammunition imaginable: wholly natural, wholly compostable, and in the wider trade actually valued, since crushed olive pits are burned as clean biomass fuel. A sport whose only litter turns into firewood is a rare and forgivable kind of daft.
| Element | Do | Don’t |
|---|---|---|
| The stone | Clean it, dry it slightly for grip | Spit a wet, slippery, flesh-covered pit |
| The olive | Pick a big-stoned type for weight | Use a tiny oil olive’s pip |
| The launch | Catapult with the tongue and breath | Rely on lips or spitting downward |
| The angle | Throw the head back to lift it | Fire it flat into the ground |
If you ever toe the line
- Choose a large-stoned table olive — more mass carries further.
- Give the pit a quick clean and dry so it leaves cleanly.
- Power it with the tongue and a sharp breath, not the lips.
- Enjoy the one zero-waste sport — your ammo composts or burns as fuel.
Olive-stone spitting: common questions
Is olive-pit spitting a real competition?
Yes. Organised contests with a throwing line, a tape measure and rules have been held from Spanish town squares to American harvest festivals, usually as the comic highlight of a fair.
How do you spit an olive stone far?
The distance comes from snapping the tongue forward behind a burst of breath, with the head thrown back to lift the pit — not from the lips or lungs. A clean, slightly dry stone leaves the mouth best.
Which olives are best for spitting?
Large-stoned table varieties such as Cerignola, because a heavier pit carries more momentum. The tiny stones of oil olives are far too light to send any real distance.
Where did the modern contests start?
They have sprung up independently in several places as festival games; a widely reported one ran in New York, and Spanish towns have staged their own versions in the plaza.
Is it wasteful?
Not really — it is about the least wasteful sport there is. The only thing that leaves your mouth is a natural stone that composts readily, and crushed olive pits are even burned as clean biomass fuel.
I have judged more of these than I’ll admit, and the crowd always thinks it’s pure luck until the one quiet farmer steps up and doubles everyone. It is never luck. He has picked a big Cerignola stone, wiped it dry, and he launches it off the tongue with his whole head, like a tiny shot-put. Daft? Completely. But it is a proper harvest ritual, it costs nothing, and it’s the only sport I know whose litter you can put on the compost heap or burn to heat the mill.
Drawn from the folk tradition of olive-stone spitting contests and the physics and biomass reuse of the pit.