No doubt you’re wondering what the two have in common. The short answer is, not much.
A few years ago, while guiding on the Yukon River, one of the participants was a rodeo fan. I professed to him that I didn’t see what was so interesting about it all. He said that I could never really appreciate the energy and excitement of the events until I attended one. And, that next year, when he returned to Vancouver to attend the Cloverdale Rodeo, he would invite me as his guest. I agreed, hoping that time and a short memory, would protect me from having to go.
No such luck! He did remember, and I found myself amidst thousands of revelers at the Cloverdale fairgrounds. The main concourse was filled with vendor booths offering all fashion of cowboy gear, clothing, and memorabilia. Scanning the crowd that filled every inch of the fairgrounds, I was witness to more jean products, cowboy hats, and cowboy boots than I had ever seen, in one place, at one time.
We made our way to the main stadium where the rodeo events took place. We sat among thousands of others, men and women, boys and girls. There was an air of anticipation and excitement to which I found myself curiously drawn. The setting with a huge fenced dirt corral, milling cowpokes, smaller holding corrals filled with bulls, horses, cattle, a bunting draped tower, all supported my preconceived idea of how a rodeo should look.
Finally the announcer, with the cowboy drawl, began an afternoon of hyperboles, western singing (never completed a song), personal information on each cowboy, horse, and bull, and cowboy philosophy/humour, went on without interruption for the full three hours that he held the mike.
I never did understand the flow of rodeo events. It seemed to be long periods of nothing except the continual flow of people going up and down the stairs, often leaving with empty arms and returning with pop, hot dogs, popcorn, and fries. Then, a gate would open, and a stream of cowboys and horses would enter the dirt arena and stationed themselves at some corner of the coral. Cowboys would spur their horses from a starting gate, chase down some freightened cow, and either jump from their horses and try to wrestle the beast to the ground, or try to lasso it and tie it by its legs. I found myself siding with the cows, and am happy to announce that the cows had a fairly good margin of success in avoiding capture.
At one point, the announcer extolled the credits and skills of one participating cowboy who had been named Cowboy of the Year (CY). It seemed a great coup to have this fellow attend and compete at the Cloverdale Rodeo. He went on to say that as soon as his event was over, CY would have to rush to the airport and fly to attend another rodeo in Wyoming. Well, I certainly appreciate seeing an athlete at his pinnacle, regardless of the sport. The cow was loosed, CY’s gate flew open, horse at full gallop, CY flew his lasso at the fleeing cow. The lasso landed on the cow’s rump and fell to the ground. The cow pranced around the coral in a victory lap, while CY rode straight for an open gate, right to Wyoming I surmised. Hopefully, the cows there were not so elusive.
The final event created the most buzz and anticipation – bull riding. I have to admit that even I was looking forward to this. Fearless cowboys riding the backs of angry, one ton bulls – could it get any better?. Aside of the drama it offered, rides were short, very short. The bulls seemed to have mastered the choreography of the event. Enter the small paddock, have rider situate on back, gate flies open, throw rider in less than ten seconds, head directly back to holding pen where food, water, and friends await. Not a bad gig for a bull.
This routine was broken when one bull decided to enjoy his moment in the spotlight and the freedom it offered from his holding pen. After quickly dispensing of his rider, and in opposition to two riders whose job it was to help riders in trouble and to direct bulls back to their holding pen, began a thirty minute freedom prance on the dirt corral. This was one savvy rodeo bull. He was wise to the routine that was used to encourage wayward bulls back to their holding pens. One rider would lasso the hind leg and the other the opposite front leg and would then guide the bull to the pen. But, every time the riders would approach with lassos twirling, the bull would lie prone, belly down, against the ground, leaving no leg available to anchor the lassos. To the great delight of the crowd, the bull won every attempt by the riders to gain the upper hand. Then, as if tired with the sport, or driven by hunger, he simply walked over to the open gate and returned, on his terms, to the holding pen.
I have to say that I did enjoy the rodeo experience even though many of the nuances were lost on me. I don’t know that I will ever attend another rodeo but I will always remember that one bull who won the crowd’s favour that day. I so became his fan, that from that day forward, I always hoped that the steak that I was eating was not him.