Be Ready to Throw that Hooey

     My wife and I both work an evening shift at our jobs and with her end time being a little later than mine, I get the opportunity to write and do other fun stuff like dishes and cleaning the cat box. I get home a few hours before she does and by the time of her arrival I am beginning to wind down with my feet up till I melt into the couch; upon which she shoos me off to the sleep sack. During the week we typically DVR the shows we like and watch them together when she gets home. Sometimes I have to watch them again because that melting thing happens and I miss some things. Last week started that time of the year when the networks, both national and cable, put their regular shows on hiatus during the holiday season. Our DVR didn't have much to do, and when we sat down to watch the boob tube at the end of the day, pickings were kind of slim. Anyone who works a 2^nd shift job knows that infomercials and multitudes of “why is this on” type of shows rule the airwaves as the night goes on. No thanks; I don’t need a dump cake cookbook, a sticky buddy, or a knife that can cut up a beer can, then slice a tomato.

     Last week we came across the National Finals Rodeo from Vegas and basically fell into it headfirst. We occasionally watch Professional Bull Riding, so it wasn't a big stretch to stop and check it out. After watching Bull Riding, which is basically the same group of guys trying to avoid getting tossed into to the air by a different angry bull every round; the rodeo was a nice change. I've never watched the rodeo on TV before; the last rodeo I went to was at the Big E in Springfield , Mass and  I was probably about 10 years old, so it’s been a while.

    We had a lot of fun watching this and started to DVR it after the 2nd night.  It was a kaleidoscope of bedazzled cowboy gear and colorful names; there were cowboys named Tuf, Turtle, and Timber; bulls with the monikers of Bushwacker and Train Wreck, plus a 22 year old horse called Sweetness in the roping event. The rounds went fairly quick, each cowboy only had one shot each day to make a score, so missing out on getting a score or putting up a bad one made it tough to make up for. The national finals last for 10 days and by the end of it almost all the cowboys walked with a limp, or were holding some body part that had been banged up along the way.   

     The riders in the bucking competitions, whether its broncs or bulls, proved over and over again that they are hard as nails and a bit nuts. The cowboys really don’t wear any padding, other than a Kevlar vest and what looks like a lacrosse helmet, and they take a hell of a beating. Even though they only have to ride for 8 seconds to get a score, it seems like forever watching that clock tick, while you’re rooting for them to get in a full ride.  Watching their heads snap back and forth, one arm waving in the air, using it to maintain their balance, while trying to keep their legs from flailing in 6 different directions makes for an intense 8 seconds, or less. While I was watching some of the guys get tossed into the air like a Saturday Morning cartoon character, I was hoping they didn't break something when they landed. A few of them did.

     One of the bronc riders was thrown in the air and landed smack on his head; he wasn't allowed to continue when they found he cracked a couple vertebrae. Another of the bronc riders broke the forearm on his free hand and kept riding. It was almost painful watching him limp back to the waiting area holding his injured arm after his each ride, I wondered at the degree of toughness or insanity it took to get back on a horse. To say these guys are single-minded is a serious understatement.  During another round of the bronc competition a rider got his hand caught in his saddle wrap as he was thrown off, so his shoulder did a “Right turn Clyde”, which made me cringe watching, as it obviously dislocated. He’s done right? Wrong, the next round he’s back on the horse, the arm he used for his saddle hand strapped to his side with a shoulder brace and out in to the arena he went for the full 8 seconds. Ouch.

     The horses in the roping competitions were not only gorgeous animals; they were really cool to watch. The expressions on their faces before each round were classic examples of, “I got my game face on.” They each stood at the start, ears up, eyes focused on the calf in the chute, a quiet confidence burning in their demeanor showed they knew what the job was and that they were ready to do it.  The cowboys had to be quick on their horses when the chute opened and the calf took off running. During the roping we had our first taste of rodeo commentary that had us looking at each other and wondering what the hell he just said.  “You have to be quick when you throw that hooey”. Umm...okay what’s a hooey?  Well, turns out that’s the short rope that calf ropers have to hold in their teeth because their lariat is in one hand and the reins are in the other. Where the name came from I have no idea, though I‘ll tell you those cowboys sure have speedy hands; they make that rope fly around the calf’s feet.

     The barrel racing was the ladies time in the spotlight. Fallon Taylor won the barrel racing, after coming back from a broken neck a few years back, on a horse she raised from a foal. The barrel races at around 14 seconds were the longest of any event and were a nice change of pace from the others.

     Each night the bull riding was saved as the last event in the show. The only familiar face we saw from the PBR was JW Harris, who is one of the top riders. We watched him get thrown, then stomped on and kicked; that was tough to watch. He went and rode the next day with stitches in his head and a notable creakiness to his every move; it didn't go well. 

    Don Hay, an 8 time PBR champ, did the color commentary for the bull riding and he had us in stitches every night.  We had to rewind to hear these classics again. “You know it’s kind of like when your car is coming out of the garage and you have to be invisible and it’s hard to do.” I think this was in reference to one of the bull fighters, formerly known as rodeo clowns, though I can’t say that with any certainty. The other I still can’t make any sense out of.  “It’s like trying to ride around a square box and come out smooth.”  Um, WHAT?  The comments rivaled Cosell, Gifford and Meredith at their goofiest on Monday Night Football years ago. One thing that was very apparent was Don’s love for and knowledge of bull riding, though he often left us wondering what the hell he was talking about.

     Even though I live in the West I don’t see a lot of cowboys. You really have to get out of town; way out where the cactus outnumber the cars and you won’t see someone buzzing by you on a rice rocket wearing a tank top and flip flops, to see some real cowboys. You may see a few here or there in town, and since this city is like Southern California East without the implants, they are easily recognizable.  I was glad I took the time to indulge in something a little out of the norm for me; it was well worth the time invested. I think I could see the two of us heading to a rodeo in the future.  

   One final note I thought I would add. A rodeo is essentially a gathering of cowboys.  The street in L.A. pronounced Roh-DAY-Oh was the name given to the area by some of the first Europeans to settle there. They called it ”El Rodeo de los Aguas”, the Gathering of the Waters, because the area at that time had water aplenty.  No matter how you pronounce it, they are both a gathering of good things.