Published: June 13, 2007 07:48 am            

Hooked on rodeo

The list of things I regret is short.

Very short.

In fact, it consists of just two things.

Number two on the list is a string of bad decisions I made while visiting Tiajuana during college, but first on the list by far is turning 24 before attending my first rodeo.

Now, anyone that knows me knows you will never get me into a pair of Wranglers and a 10-gallon hat. But guys body slamming baby cows? Now that’s something I can get into.

Though I’m beyond positive that I looked misplaced and uncomfortable at as I dodged piles of excrement to take my seat at last week’s Oklahoma High School Rodeo Finals, it wasn’t long before I was slapped across the face by the sport’s appeal.

My first thought was, “how is the ASPCA not protesting outside the entrance to this thing’, but that thought was quickly chased away by the thought of ‘Who cares about the ASPCA, this is awesome.’”

Rodeo is sport in it’s purest form. It’s a man or woman against a creature free of compassion or complex strategy. The sport provides something rare in this age of cheats and steroids . . . a level playing field. It’s a cowboy against an animal’s instinct, nothing more nothing less, and it didn’t take me very long to realize that a matchup such as that can’t help but entertain.

Though I had little clue as to what was going on when I first arrived, I caught on fast and found myself using terms such as “steer turfing” and “bull dogin’” in no time, thanks to a little help from the spectators in my vicinity.

By the time the bull riding commenced I found myself thanking the same editor I had cursed when he told me to cover the event.

Amidst my new found adoration for rodeo, I still contend that anyone who thinks riding anything with horns is a good idea is more than marginally insane, but isn’t that part of the appeal of sports?

I don’t think stepping in the ring with Mike Tyson is a wise decision, but that fear is what drives us to watch the person who does. Will the rider get crushed or hooked? We don’t know, but we don’t want to miss it if he does. It’s morbid, but it’s true.

I left the first night of competition with a Columbus-like feeling. Thinking I had discovered a new world, I immediately reached for my phone to sing the sport’s praises, but that led to yet another startling discovery:

My friends were already aware.

They had attended rodeos with their dads or grandparents, one even had an uncle that rode bulls professionally. I was shocked to say the least. Even my own father had attended rodeos without even so much as telling me he was going. When I asked him why I wasn’t ever invited, his excuse was the same as mine when he asked why I waited so long to tell him about the Tiajuana incident.

“I didn’t think you you’d like it.” he said.



Robert Cassidy is the Woodward News sports editor.

        

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