A stretch hummer passed me as I was walking to my assignment at the U.S. Cellular Center Friday night. Where was it going, you ask? Why, where else would a stretch hummer be going on a Friday night in Cedar Rapids-- to the World's Toughest Bulls & Broncs, of course. An event that was being held at the same place, incidentally, where I was heading.
It was my first rodeo, and although initially there was a moment of culture shock to see fresh dirt on the entrance steps and cowboy hats on every other individual, it soon became clear that rodeo operates on the same basic principals that make all popular sports so successful-- people doing strange, physically daunting things while other people watch them and consume as much meat and alcohol as possible.
Following a brief introduction period, where the cowboys were described and homage was paid to America (and vague threats, in song form, were made against enemies of freedom) the first rider was soon launched into the arena. The best way to describe what this looked like is to imagine a pinball machine, except instead of pin ball in motion, there is a human being with incredibly elastic joints attached to a giant bucking animal darting about in random directions. This lasted about 8 seconds, which apparently was a good ride. The crowd seemed nonplussed, except when they gasped in concern (excitement?) when the rider had difficulty getting off the animal. I think this reaction is somewhat like Nascar and its potential for fatal crashes.
The arena smelled variably of horses, dirt, beer, grilling, leather, people and the salty, unmistakable aroma of stadium hotdogs. The arena was dimly lit, and the building’s sound system blared with an eclectic mix of disco standards, eighties hits, late nineties hip-hop, and of course, out of nowhere, Britney Spears.
The songs were played in 5 to 10 second increments, before being changed to another song. This makes me wonder whether all rodeos work this way, or if the U.S. Cellular Center’s song board was being implemented. In either case, I would find it disconcerting as a cowboy to have to face death while "The Power of Love," by Huey Lewis was playing at 100 decibels.
I’m just saying.
Because the actual "action portion" of the show lasted only a few seconds at a time, it was necessary for the announcers-- who sounded suspiciously similar to professional wrestling announcers-- to keep up a constant chatter along with the incessantly changing soundtrack. There were even skits, including one involving a chicken, but I couldn't quite follow it and then they started playing "Cotton-Eye Joe" over the loud speaker.
It was all so confusing.
But I forgot to mention why I was sent to the event in the first place. I was supposed to ask people how long they thought they could last on a bucking bronco, a question that became a lot easier to get responses for once people had consumed a sufficient amount of alcohol.
The format of this blog makes it incumbent upon me to answer this question as well, and in my mind, there are two schools of thought of how to answer it. There is the honest way, and there is the fantastical, and hopefully humorous, dishonest way. The honest answer to this question is that if I tried to ride a bucking bronco, it would throw me off like a dandelion seed in around two seconds, and then I would end up smashing into the side of the arena, probably with blood running down my face and dislocations in multiple areas of my body that I don’t want to spend time contemplating. The humorous answer to the question is that I would ride the horse so long that it recognize me as its master, and later that day I would use it to go fox hunting along with my genteel friends.
Tally ho!
(Sadly enough, I don't really have any genteel friends.)
In closing, I would like to recall a conversation a girl I worked with at a grocery store once had with one of her girlfriends. Mind you, this was a long time ago, so this is likely not exactly how it went.
Girl One: I’m going to go to the rodeo tonight.
Girl Two: Why are you going there?
Girl One: To pick up guys. They’re so hot!
Girl Two: They are?
Girl One: Mmmhmmm…especially the bronco riders. I’d never date a bull rider, though, they’re crazy.
The conversation then degenerated (or elevated, depending on your perspective) into describing the praiseworthy parts of cowboy anatomy, and I excused myself to go stock the milk. I could never quite understand why it was somehow a mark of sanity to ride a giant angry bronco instead of a larger, angrier bull, but I suppose if you had to choose between the two...
Incidentally, I saw a picture of Girl One in the paper the other day. The man she married was wearing a cowboy hat.
I’m glad that worked out for her.