I went to my first rodeo this past weekend. Very interesting, to say the least. The people there were just as interesting as the action in the arena. Lots of people that I never would have pictured attending a rodeo. Actually, I probably fit that category myself with my double-knit T-shirt tucked into my khaki shorts with white Reeboks. I felt like the only one not holding a stetson or at least a plastic straw Dwight Yoakam hat during the national anthem.

One fellow down a couple rows from us was “A true juxtaposition.” The guy was tall, skinny, had slightly protruding teeth, and coke bottle glasses with thick black frames. He was wearing a cap that I expected to promote some dot com site or maybe a stamp collecting store or something. Certainly not the confederate, red-neck-looking BASS TOURNAMENT logo he was sporting. We were forced to refer to him frequently as the “Nerd Fisherman”.

My hat’s off (if I had one) to the bull riders though. Those guys are unreal. Honestly though, I’m just not sure if they are testosterone driven, men’s men, with brass kahuna’s and nerves of steel, or if repeated concussions have liquefied their brains and turned them into mindless fools acting purely on animal instinct, like a lemming jumping off a cliff. They wear bullet proof Kevlar vests. Apparently, some of these bulls are pissed off enough to be packing heat. What, tossing these cowboys around like rag-dolls and then stomping all 1400 pounds into their backs isn’t enough? They have to pull out their Glock 18’s and pop a cap in ’em too? Like I said, hat’s off to the bull riders. These are some bad-ass bulls. I will stick with the calf round up, thank you very much.

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