A Farm Games Reaping is a classic recruitment event used by the Farm Games organization to select players to join the Farm Games. Reapings occur all across North America, Europe and in some places in Asia. Farm Games recruitment officers gather at these events to purvey the goods, selecting players that will then be sent to Farm Games HQ for evaluation. If deemed worthy, players are placed in the draft pool and can be selected in the Farm Games Draft. Players who are decided to be ineligible are either cast out and publicly shamed, barred from participating in any Farm Games events such as games, conferences, reapings or seminars, or they are given a pamphlet referring them to the Junior Farm Games, where they must pay to play for a chance to maybe someday be chosen to the play in the Farm Games.

Some Reapings have become Farm Games Conscriptions, in which everyone attending the Reaping is forced to join the Farm Games with little to no pay. This practice is not to be confused with the Farm Games General Conscription, in which several citizens with no ties to Reapings were conscripted by law to come play in the Farm Games.

This practice has become controversial in many places, and has incurred the wrath of politicians and debbie downers across the globe. The recruiters have been accused of putting the players through rigorous tests, such as making them walk on concrete with their skates and laughing as they collapse, or shining bright lights into their eyes and screaming for several minutes, or forcing the group to perform the beep test for the entirety of the reaping which often lasts 6 hours, or releasing hounds unto the players and willing them to do battle. Classic player Bilston Nighfurd said of the Reaping in which he was picked, that during the individual evaluation, the Recruiters "…shone a great spotlight upon me, in a rink otherwise shrouded in darkness. I could make out their figures drenched in shadow, but I could not see their faces. I stood for many minutes and my knees began to shake, sweat building across my brow, awaiting an order, but none came. They merely chattered amongst themselves, in hardly discernable whispers. While I could not see them, I knew they were scowling. I eventually did my laps, my body wrapped in a queer fear that I had never once felt, and a sharp silence fell across the rink. It seemed to me there were people in the stands, but they stood more like statue than man. For how many minutes or moons I did my fearful dance across the ice, I shall never know. Finally they spoke, a booming voice that told me my time was done and I was to retire down the sphincter of a tunnel, and for a moment it occurred to me that this could be the voice of Denley himself, still rolling in this mortal plane, bidding me a stern farewell, like a hard-loving father. I sat frozen in the hallways, paralyzed by my experience, and it was then the man with the puzzling head appeared and told me I was selected to travel to Farm Games HQ. Despite all my years playing within this league, this event has never left me, and the darkness of these Farm Games only grows deeper as the time goes by. I may never rest, I may never retire, but God just let me forget."