I’ve been watching the NFR from Las Vegas that I think they are now calling the WNFR (the Wrangler National Finals Rodeo) because of the great sponsorship of Wrangler (my favorite jeans too, by the way). In Canada it comes on tv at some inconvenient time so we tape it and watch it together in the evening.
I have to confess we kind of fast forward thru the rough stocks events to get to the timed events that we most relate to (we try and avoid animals that buck) but then at the end my cowboy never wants to miss Donny Gay’s commentary on the bull riding so I have to sit thru that which I find quite painful. I had to look away tonight when a young fellow got rubbed in the dirt by a big white bull. Been there: done that.
I quite often relive that moment I reached out and put both my hands on the forehead of a big, charging, white bull last year and remember how I thought I was going to be fully aware as death by Charolais took me out. I wondered at the time if my lifelong aversion to bulls was because somehow I knew it was how I was going to die.
One of my girls mentioned the other day how ironic it was that her mother who was so scared of bulls that during a rodeo she would disappear during the bull riding (I used to go hide in the washroom till I heard about the lady who was in the outdoor washrooms at a rodeo and a bull escaped and ended up in there with her.) now has so much to do with them. Ya, around 70 a year, sigh. I’m no less terrified, but I gotta do it anyway.
Well, maybe death by Charolais is still out there but that incident, last year, only took me out of commission for 6 weeks. And if I just don’t watch the bull riding I won’t have to think about bulls till the first of June. Ya, don’t watch the bull riding, that’s going to be my plan.