How the PBR Saved My Life

Gather round, children, for I need to testify. I am weary with well (and not so well) doing. This fall has been one of the most difficult of my life, what with a sudden windfall of work that started in early September, issues with family and friends too far away for me to lend much more than moral support, ailing pets, and this damned presidential election. Folks, I am worried and flurried and sometimes almost paralyzed, checking the polls and the news and declaring that I’m THROUGH watching any political coverage, only to be lured back almost immediately for another fix. This is what addiction feels like, and I don’t like it one bit, but I seem to be helpless to do anything about it, which is the other part about addiction, of course. Only two things are going to pull me through, the first being that come Wednesday morning, one of those guys will be our guy and it will be time for all of us to set aside what divides us and come together to support him and one another. And come Thursday night, the PBR Finals will be back on Versus.

I truthfully cannot express what a relief it was to think about nothing for three days running besides riders and bulls. Thursday night, which was without a doubt the most boring PBR performance I’ve seen since the big Tulsa debacle, I quite literally watched with tears of gratitude running down my face, so great was my relief at being able to forget all this other crap and only pay attention to what was going on in Vegas. Which wasn’t much, let’s be truthful. If ever a bunch of bulls were worthy of the name “Pussy Pen,” the crew that bucked (using the word kindly) on Thursday night was it. I cannot for the life of me figure out why the PBR always runs in the easy bulls on the first night of the finals, unless they are looking to drag some unknowing passersby in off the streets of Vegas and charm them with the spectacle of a bunch of guys twirling around atop bulls that should by now be on their way to Burger King. But you know what? I didn’t care! I didn’t give a damn that it was boring, all that mattered was that it was bull riding.

And then came Friday, when the rank pen showed up and cowboys went flying hither and yon. Only 14 managed to stick for eight seconds, which is just about right, in my book. Weren’t the bulls wonderful? Bones and Major Payne and Chicken on a Chain and all the rest? I could watch Bones throw Justin McBride into the dirt every day for the rest of my life and not get tired of it. So what if J.B. Mauney managed to ride Troubadour? I don’t care what anybody says, that bull had a bad night, for which J.B. should be thanking his lucky stars.

The other good news this weekend is that even though J.B. won two rounds and now leads the event, our man Guilherme also rode all three bulls and trails J.B. by a mere three points. Three points! Don’t go getting a big head yet, J.B., ’cause it ain’t over till it’s over. If Marchi were to win both the title and the finals, I’ll think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Adriano also is looking good, though Smash Hit just flat beat him on Sunday afternoon. He’s riding with concentration and confidence, and I’d love it if he won the finals. That’s one notch on his belt that he doesn’t have yet, and I know I’ll be crying my eyes out when it comes to pass.

So I’m feeling a lot better now, thanks to the PBR finals. They came at just the right minute to save my sanity, for sure, and quite possibly my marriage, since I think if Montana Barn Cat hears me screaming my political point of view at the television just one more time, the next stop might be divorce court. I only have to make it through two more days, and the election will be a done deal, and when Thursday rolls around, I will be well and truly ready to kick back and watch the bulls buck.

Just one plea about the election: Please, folks, if you haven’t already done so, get yourselves to the polls tomorrow and vote. Don’t ever forget that people have died to secure you that right and privilege. I’ll see you here Friday morning, when I plan to post the first of four posts in four days about the finals. Come on back and see me, hear?