Dear Guilherme

I want to apologize for failing to keep my promise to shake your hand at the Nile Invitational in Billings last weekend. I am genuinely sorry that Montana Barn Cat and I didn’t get to meet you. We had been looking forward to it for a long time.

One of our problems, quite frankly, is you weren’t scheduled for any public appearances during the day on Saturday. I really do wonder what that is all about. It seems like every year, the PBR trots out the same crew in Billings—Chris Shivers, Mike White, Mike Lee, Ross Coleman, and Brendon Clark. I won’t say “the same old broken-down crew,” because I have no call to insult any of those guys, but still, you get my drift. This year they did manage to add Robson Palermo and Valderon to the line-up at Shipton’s Big R, but you were nowhere to be seen. Reese Cates also was at the Boot Barn, but sadly, we had made a lunch date with some friends we haven’t seen in a long time that conflicted with both his and Robson’s appearance, so we didn’t get to meet either of them. I really wanted to ask Reese about that van, too.

I have to confess I’m totally mystified as to why the PBR folks didn’t have you prominently on display sometime during the day. You are, after all, the reigning world champion! Are they afraid of your accent? Are they afraid of your charisma? What’s going on here?

Something else did raise its ugly head during the competition on Saturday night, and I sincerely hope that it doesn’t mean what I, in my worst moments, suspect. For some reason, Kody Lostroh rode Soulja Boy, the last bull in the next-to-last flight, rather than at the end of the evening, as usually befits the event leader. As a Kody-Lostroh-rides-a-spinner experience goes, it was okay, but it was most certainly not a 91-point ride, not by any stretch of the imagination. The only conclusion I could draw was that the judges were trying to score Lostroh high enough to guarantee he’d win the round, even though five top contenders were yet to come. Your ride on Why Not Minot, which is the bottom picture, was way better than Lostroh’s, but what did you get? A measly 86.25! Just take a look at this picture, at the top, that Montana Barn Cat took, about five seconds into Lostroh’s ride. This is what a 91-point ride looks like, Guilherme! Yes, you're right! It looks exactly like a bull’s ass!

Now, ordinarily, I would have to excuse myself from this discussion because I am completely in your corner, and thus might not be the most objective person to talk to on the subject, but what really convinced me that Lostroh is being favored is the fact that Zack Brown, who literally got his guts stomped out at the Metra in 2005, and who came back out of retirement to win the event there last year, got practically NO acknowledgment from the announcers. That was bad enough, but I was mortified that the crowd didn’t seem to remember him, either. Between you and me, if you don’t repeat as champion this season, I am rooting for Zack. As far as I’m concerned, he has all the goods.

So all in all, the experience of the Nile was a mixed bag for us this year. Our seats were marginally better than last year, but we were stuck at the end of the row, next to a barrier, which meant we couldn’t get out without crawling over about nine other people, so we regretfully passed on the beer. With the exceptions of Apache Leap, Wrangler Big Rig, Unabomber, and Husker’s Terror, the bulls in the go-round really weren’t very good, but the cowboys kept falling off left and right anyway, so I guess I really can’t complain too much about that.

Our single biggest mistake, however, was that we raced out to the parking lot right after the event was over—and sat there for one hour, count them, 60 minutes, before we managed to get out off the Metra grounds and headed back to the interstate. We were in a rush because the restaurant we wanted to try closes at 10 p.m., but as it worked out, we would have been better off to have stayed and shaken your hand during the autograph session. We won’t do that again, I assure you. If you’re back next season, we will stick it out to meet you, come hell or high water. That’s a promise.