New Year's Resolutions

Friends and neighbors, it’s time again for the Stockyard Queen’s annual attempt to improve both herself and the sport she loves so much. That’s right, once again she’s trotting out the resolutions she has made on behalf of the organization, and in the spirit of fairness, she’s offering up some for herself and Montana Barn Cat, who doubtless won’t appreciate being suborned into these activities, but doubtless also will go along for the ride because he won’t know what hit him.

Resolutions for the Stockyard Queen

1) I resolve to post here at least once a week during the season, come hell or high water. I may take a breather during the weeks when there are no events, but I am sick to death of the slovenly way this blog has been run for the past year and I will brook no more whining and complaining about how the principals are just too buried in work to mend the fences and muck out the stalls at the Stockyard. I can’t deny that things have been perfectly awful here for the past two years, but I also can’t say that not posting has made anything any better. Certainly, it hasn’t made me feel better. I may be doing nothing here but indulging myself by clapping my gums together, but if all I accomplish is an improvement in my own attitude, it will be worth it.

2) I resolve to persuade Montana Barn Cat, who came up with the idea for this blog in the first place, to post something every once in a while his own self. MBC, we need to hear from you, please.

3) I resolve to continue to investigate the effects of premium gin on PBR events, and to try out as many brands as I can find without ending up on the floor snoring at the end of the telecast. Since on Sunday mornings I go to work at midnight EST, I can’t afford to be drunk and disorderly when the event is over, so I will be prudent. But I also can’t think of anybody better qualified than me to take this task on.

4) I will finally, somehow, find the perfect Western shirt to wear to PBR events.

5) I will attend the Nile in Billings and the Enterprise event in Bozeman. I would like to try to get to Nampa as well, but since it’s always the weekend after Billings, it’s problematical, especially since my dog sitter has had the audacity to find herself a boyfriend (and a fine man he is, too). Consequently, I hesitate to ask her to disrupt her life for two weekends running so I can go off joyriding around Sun Valley. This is especially an issue since looking after our dogs involves taking your life in your hands when you open the door, because MacKenzie still thinks that everybody in the world is pleased to be knocked to the ground and licked half to death upon arrival.

6) I will make every effort to get to the PBR Finals in Vegas this year. I can’t promise, because being in business for yourself means that you can’t conclusively predict what your income stream will be, but I really want to get down there. Every year, MBC and I talk about it, and every year we have ended up deciding against it, because to do it right meant spending a fortune and 10 days—in Vegas, for God’s sake. We don’t enjoy gambling (although some might contend that the second sentence of this paragraph proves I’m a liar), so you can imagine how much we would enjoy being stuck there for that long, even if we did manage to slip off to LA in the middle of the week to see some of our friends and relatives. But now that the PBR has collapsed the event into a single week, we might manage to get down there for at least the last two or three days. We will work on it, I promise.

Resolutions for the PBR

1) To insist that Leah Garcia, and not Donna Brothers, will be the *girl* reporter when events are broadcast on NBC. I wish just once someone would explain to me why the rest of the PBR broadcast team (need I point out that they’re all men?) moves over to NBC, but Leah is always left behind. I have not forgiven Brothers yet for chasing the crying Adriano Moraes down the hall after his last ride in Vegas in 2008, and I don’t plan to, ever, and just forget it. Leah is the one who really works her tail off at the events and, more often than not, shows a lot of guts when she questions the riders, so I’m willing to overlook the way she fawns on Kody Lostroh. Please, folks, vote Donna off the island. I’m sick of the sight of her skinny behind.

2) To finally make wearing helmets mandatory. Really, people, how long do we have to keep talking about this? My woman Leah had a long-ass report during the Baltimore event about how the PBR has officially sanctioned two types of rowels for spurs, so maybe fewer riders will get hung up in their ropes and dragged all over creation, but the Powers That Be can’t suck it up and insist that the riders put on helmets or take their business elsewhere? Does that make any kind of rational sense to you? A year ago, the National Football League initiated a study of the effects of multiple concussions on players’ lives AFTER they leave the league. In case you haven’t noticed, those players are REQUIRED to wear helmets, but apparently that isn’t enough to protect their brains from serial injury over the long haul. But the PBR, for God’s sake, can’t cut the mealy-mouthed crap about this being “an individual decision” and save a few lives, to saying nothing about the quality of those lives? Really, I’m fed up with this macho posturing. Do the right thing and make those boys put on helmets.

3) To encourage some riders to just retire and get it over with. I am ready to see Cord McCoy, Mike White, Mike Lee, Brian Herman, Ross Coleman, Sean Willingham, and Luke Snyder bow out, because overall, none of them is riding worth a damn anymore. I really love some of those guys, but I’m ready to see some new faces. More importantly, most of these guys are just embarrassing themselves by hanging around. If I never see Brian Herman bucked off again, I will be a happier woman, and I for damned sure won’t miss hearing the commentators rhapsodizing about how Brian spends so much time in the gym. Whatever he’s doing, it ain’t working. Next case.

4) To revive the slogan “The Toughest Sport on Dirt” and ditch the milque-toast version you’ll now see on PBR merchandise, “The Toughest Sport on Earth.” And to fire the genius who thought the latter was an improvement. This is a no-brainer, folks.

5) To start a national campaign among the fans to provide Code Blue with all the Waffle House waffles that adorable baby can eat. I’m ready to sign up, right now.