A claim about rodeo steer riding is that when it was first tried it was a dud. That's right, boring. Most everyone went to look at the champion roosters event rather than sit through the steer riding event. [SOURCE]
That changed, of course, as a change in steers to bulls made history. Brahman bulls showed the way to today's event or gore, stomp, rampage and assuredly kill the "thing" on its back... and raking his balls too.
More bell, less hat. MooPig knows the in and outs of riding a bull. More the bull than the pig that is.
But before we get to bragging, lets do some fact finding.
by Pat Darnell
HOw could Bovine Complacency provide a ride of a lifetime. Yes, if you jump on a beast that has never had much on its back -- besides snarling wolves, lions, tigers and bears -- then your life will flash through your mind, and in a twinkling you will be accelerating through space and time akin to human rapture visions. Yes.
I have sat atop wild, semi-broke horses. And at the time I suspected there is no greater ride for your life than that. So of course there are those whose need for speed and brain rattling prompts them to jump on bulls for their rides. It's always one up showmanship, every where I try to go. Ain't it a bitch?
"It's not a matter of 'If' I get hurt, but 'When' I get hurt," say the semi-cripple ex-bull riders.
MooPig asked some of those present, "Are there any ex-ridden Bulls that are hurting and crippled?"
That question drew a blank. Turn about is still fair play.
2 comments:
Can't speak firsthand of any angry bulls ridden, but I remember a Shetland pony that once put a young boy in his place. A trip through the briarpatch ensued, followed by a number of low-hanging treebranch encounters, culminating in a rub against a barbed wire fence. Then the varmit layed down on the ground and rolled over on its back and rubbed until the saddle broke. It sure put a hitch in my git-along and made me think twice about ever saddling up again.
There's never been a horse that can't be rode, and there ain't no rider who can't be throwed...
Scrpaing you off on the barb-wire fence, now that is cold.. real mean, I don't care the size of the pony; that is pre-meditated mean.
I'm sorry and happy you had that experience, because so have I. Except that part of rubbing its saddle off in the dust... that is a new one.
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