Because our hearts are going to be gladdened a little later this week when the divine and refined S reports on her experiences at the PBR Finals, I thought it might be nice to offer you some contrasting scenes that took place in my living room last weekend. Well, maybe I made up some of them, but as Ruth Reichl recommends, never wreck a good story by sticking to the truth. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I bring you snippets of conversations at the Stockyard during rounds 5 through 8 of the PBR World Finals, courtesy of Bombay Sapphire and Martini and Rossi vermouth. Oh, and don't forget the queen olives.
Stockyard Queen: I hate that Sir Patrick was ridden and I hate that that piece of s--- rode him.
Montana Barn Cat, having interrupted his viewing to repair the dog door, solicits SQ's opinion of his new door flap, conveniently created from the seat of his worn-out Wranglers. Stockyard Queen: It's a thing of beauty.
Stockyard Queen, speaking of a rider who shall remain nameless: I am going to drive to wherever he lives, slap him senseless, slap his entire family senseless, slap his dog senseless, bulldoze his house, set fire to the rubble, and sow the soil with salt.
Montana Barn Cat: That'll show 'em.
Montana Barn Cat to the Stockyard Queen, who is lying nearly prostrate on the sofa, begging for another martini: Did you hear what Leah just said?
Stockyard Queen: That she needs another martini?
Montana Barn Cat: She said she was moving her legs for him.
Stockyard Queen: Who was she talking to?
Montana Barn Cat: Kody Lostroh.
Stockyard Queen: Damn. She could have at least saved that for Elliot Jacoby.
Montana Barn Cat, having survived nearly half an hour of swearing and spitting on the part of his lovely Stockyard Queen: Why are you telling me this? You should be writing this s---I mean, these pearls of wisdom down. Where's your bull riding journal?
Stockyard Queen: It's in the other room. I reserve that for important stuff, like Challenger events in Miles City.
Montana Barn Cat, rummaging in the breakfront for a writing implement: Can't you at least keep a pen down here in case we have to make a grocery list or something?
Stockyard Queen: Do you mean to tell me you mind having to run to the grocery store 15 times every weekend to buy one thing? Oh, and don't forget the olives this trip.
(Disclaimer: I don't remember what the s---I mean, the pearls of wisdom are. I just remember MBC advising me thus, then grabbing a notebook and scrawling away on it. I bet everyone of you wish he'd just kept it to himself.)
Monday, November 9, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Let the Games Begin
It's here, it's finally here, and I am just about beside myself with anticipation. What a season this has been! I have neglected you all shamefully, but I plan to be back with a vengeance for the finals. Yessiree!
I just went online to the PBR site and voted for what I think will be the final standings: Marchi, Mauney, Lostroh. This is doubtless a reflection of the fact that Kody Lostroh bores me six ways till Sunday, but I can't ignore how much Marchi has cut the lead in the past three weeks. Don't look back, Kody, somebody older and wiser might be gaining on you!
And J.B.? I just don't think he can make up the ground, not with the way Marchi is riding of late, but I'd never count the boy out. All in all, it's going to be a barn-burner, a nail-biter, a photo finish.
I won't burden you folks with information that you don't want, so I'll just say that the past two years, and in particular the past six months, have been perfectly awful around the Stockyard. A lot of people are way worse off than we are, for sure, and I'm thankful every day that I'm able to keep working and that people are interested in hiring me. But I only said that to be able to say this: in 2009, the PBR season, and especially its second half, may have saved my life altogether by giving me something different to think about for a few hours every weekend. I have to tip my hat to the whole outfit, and shake hands in gratitude all around.
So I am ready. I am SO ready. Got the snacks, got the drinks, got the remote control. Bring it on, boys. Let 'em buck.
I just went online to the PBR site and voted for what I think will be the final standings: Marchi, Mauney, Lostroh. This is doubtless a reflection of the fact that Kody Lostroh bores me six ways till Sunday, but I can't ignore how much Marchi has cut the lead in the past three weeks. Don't look back, Kody, somebody older and wiser might be gaining on you!
And J.B.? I just don't think he can make up the ground, not with the way Marchi is riding of late, but I'd never count the boy out. All in all, it's going to be a barn-burner, a nail-biter, a photo finish.
I won't burden you folks with information that you don't want, so I'll just say that the past two years, and in particular the past six months, have been perfectly awful around the Stockyard. A lot of people are way worse off than we are, for sure, and I'm thankful every day that I'm able to keep working and that people are interested in hiring me. But I only said that to be able to say this: in 2009, the PBR season, and especially its second half, may have saved my life altogether by giving me something different to think about for a few hours every weekend. I have to tip my hat to the whole outfit, and shake hands in gratitude all around.
So I am ready. I am SO ready. Got the snacks, got the drinks, got the remote control. Bring it on, boys. Let 'em buck.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Excitement and Disenchantment: A little bit of everything . . .
Friends and neighbors, the Stockyard Queen is proud to present the Divine Shannon's description of her adventures at the PBR in Ontario. You've doubtless noticed that the Stockyard is falling into disarray, mostly because I've been too busy working on the Ranch House to come down here and mend the fences. So I am very happy to be able to offer you something besides my usual lame excuses. Without further ado, here's Shannon!
“I liked it better than I thought I would!” That was the sentiment I got from each of the three members of the family after their first live PBR event. I’m not surprised—even if bull riding is something that bores you, it’s hard to imagine not having fun with the party-like atmosphere surrounding the bull rides. My daughter, Amelia, who’d put together a collection of bull pictures for the riders to sign, decided that it was worthy of one of her teaching moments in the classroom that the teacher will indulge her in when they have a few extra minutes. After taking time with her to help her write up the rules and an explanation of some of the equipment, as well as what Flint and the bull fighters do and the range of personalities in the bulls, this is what she had me write for the end of her presentation:
“But wait, I've saved the best for last! Just before the show starts, the announcer greets everyone and announces that they are at the PBR and the letters PBR get lit up in fire on the dirt and fireworks go off with a loud bang! Then, with a little bit of fog across the dirt the riders are introduced one by one and while they are walking out, fire and sparks shoot out of the ground. When the leader of the first round comes out, the fire and sparks get bigger and higher!”
And that was on the second day—I can only imagine how she’d have felt on day one when the opening is even more dazzling.
So, why is it, I was left a little disenchanted at times? Funny that I should feel that way after this weekend when the PBR sight is being flooded with comments about an article on JB Mauney being such an upstanding guy (maybe he is—I don’t know him well enough to say otherwise.) and the Team PBR forum has a debate going about the guys coming out for autographs (or not in many cases). Now, perhaps it’s because I live in Southern CA and bull riding isn’t quite as big here, but I have yet to see these guys flooded with fans to the point of not being able to escape them (which is often an excuse for them not feeling up to dealing with people), and by Sunday afternoon, I was feeling rather frustrated with the number of guys who decided to come out for the fans. Yes, I’m aware of the exemptions and the penalty, but we got a total of 20 autographs (4 of which were in the concourse/VIP section) and believe me, my kids wouldn’t let anyone go by them. I know that there weren’t 20 riders with injuries and exemptions that night. By the time I left, I wanted to write to the PBR and say “By touting yourself as a sport ‘for the fans!’ and making it a point to crow about how your riders are always out for autographs, you are setting a lot of fans up for disappointment. I’d much rather you say ‘That’s it—we’re dropping it. If you want to go out for an autograph, that would be great, but we’re not going to force you. If you want to risk your reputation with the fans, that’s your business’ ”. Seriously—I’m going to say almost half of the 20 who went out didn’t even bother to try to fake that they wanted to be there. Would a smile and a “Did you have fun?....Thanks for coming…” have been that hard to say to a child? Thankfully, I had warned the kids ahead of time of the exemptions and told them that even if the riders did come out, they may be shy or not in a good mood, but couldn’t afford the money to pay the penalty, so they were left unphased. I guess it was the mother in me who was getting her ire up.
Ok, I’ll get off my soap box now. Sorry about that, but I felt the need to share it. I’m sure many of you will disagree and believe me-- you won’t be able to say anything to me that I haven’t already said to myself. There are so many gray areas to the subject that it’s a no-win argument. So, let me list highlights of the weekend:
1. The robbery had me seeing the worst of people, but the PBR was still able to make me smile in spite of my feelings about the riders giving or not giving autographs. It was a nice distraction and while I was sad that our family day was messed up, I did have a good time.
2. I got to meet Leah and Justin McKee and they were both really nice.
3. Junior Seau as a volunteer bull fighter. I’m sure they gave one too many interviews with him on the televised event, but having him there added a whole new dimension to the drama and the humor.
4. The sweet older couple gave the kids their VIP passes because they were done with them and thought that a couple of children might get a kick out of getting down to the special section and meeting the riders. Boy, did they ever! They were so excited. I got my pass and we went down and met Zack Brown and Renato (who promised the kids he’d do his best to do a back flip), then made a couple of posters before finding our seats.
5. Talking to Guilherme on night one and having him say “Yes, I am!” when I asked if was going to go back to back this year.
6. As hard as it was watching Ryan writhe in pain after breaking his jaw, seeing him stand up and walk out, and then finding out that he’ll be back sooner than suspected was a relief. He’s such a nice kid and has so much potential that it killed me to think that he may be out for the rest of the season. All I could think was “Please, not again….” (Speaking of twice in one year: I still miss Paulo Crimber). As of today, there’s an article saying that Ryan should be back by next week.
7. Shane Proctor, Ryan McConnell, Chris Shivers, Mike White, Aaron Roy and Zack Brown for noticing that they were signing a picture of a rank bull that they’d covered during their time on tour and mentioning it to Amelia. We had a hard time getting pictures of those bulls and it was sweet to have them recognize and acknowledge the effort. It was especially nice of Shane to listen to the quick version of why she wanted them to sign bull pictures and respond with “That was a good idea.”
8. Getting onto the dirt. In all honesty, it really isn’t much different than being on the other side of the fence except for the different perspective and not having to fight the bars for a picture with the riders, but it was still neat to be in the ring.
9. Watching Chris Shivers on Julio’s horse. He’s looks good up there and seeing a sense of humor (in the face of defeat) when Flint joked “Chris told me before the show that he’d be in the short go!”
10. JB Mauney taking his buck offs in stride. He really is maturing this year.
11. Finally: McKennon Wimberly. He listened intently when the kids talked to him as though he really cared about what they had to say. He answered them thoughtfully when he told Amelia that he’d probably pick Troubadour as his favorite bull and when he told Dalton, who suggested he name one of his bulls ‘Crash and Burn’, that it was a really good name and he may have to use it. He moved around the table and got down on one knee to have his picture taken with them. Then, he chatted with me, too, as though he was interested in what I had to say. At a time when I’d been losing a bit of faith in some people, I needed that. (He also came out after the event even though he didn’t have to.)
Well, this will probably be the only installment from me. I really wanted to do a much better write up, but as you can imagine, after Saturday night, I was exhausted, and between that and having to watch two young kids by myself in the arena, I wasn’t soaking in as much as I normally do. As a final thought, I’d like to say that even though I’m a Marchi fan, I’m looking forward to the Vegas rounds no matter what the outcome. All three of these riders have made it a great year and no matter who wins, it will be exciting for different reasons (a first-time winner, a back-to-back champion, or JB’s record from his rookie year to present). If they keep it up, it will be a nail biting finish and those are my favorite kind.
“I liked it better than I thought I would!” That was the sentiment I got from each of the three members of the family after their first live PBR event. I’m not surprised—even if bull riding is something that bores you, it’s hard to imagine not having fun with the party-like atmosphere surrounding the bull rides. My daughter, Amelia, who’d put together a collection of bull pictures for the riders to sign, decided that it was worthy of one of her teaching moments in the classroom that the teacher will indulge her in when they have a few extra minutes. After taking time with her to help her write up the rules and an explanation of some of the equipment, as well as what Flint and the bull fighters do and the range of personalities in the bulls, this is what she had me write for the end of her presentation:
“But wait, I've saved the best for last! Just before the show starts, the announcer greets everyone and announces that they are at the PBR and the letters PBR get lit up in fire on the dirt and fireworks go off with a loud bang! Then, with a little bit of fog across the dirt the riders are introduced one by one and while they are walking out, fire and sparks shoot out of the ground. When the leader of the first round comes out, the fire and sparks get bigger and higher!”
And that was on the second day—I can only imagine how she’d have felt on day one when the opening is even more dazzling.
So, why is it, I was left a little disenchanted at times? Funny that I should feel that way after this weekend when the PBR sight is being flooded with comments about an article on JB Mauney being such an upstanding guy (maybe he is—I don’t know him well enough to say otherwise.) and the Team PBR forum has a debate going about the guys coming out for autographs (or not in many cases). Now, perhaps it’s because I live in Southern CA and bull riding isn’t quite as big here, but I have yet to see these guys flooded with fans to the point of not being able to escape them (which is often an excuse for them not feeling up to dealing with people), and by Sunday afternoon, I was feeling rather frustrated with the number of guys who decided to come out for the fans. Yes, I’m aware of the exemptions and the penalty, but we got a total of 20 autographs (4 of which were in the concourse/VIP section) and believe me, my kids wouldn’t let anyone go by them. I know that there weren’t 20 riders with injuries and exemptions that night. By the time I left, I wanted to write to the PBR and say “By touting yourself as a sport ‘for the fans!’ and making it a point to crow about how your riders are always out for autographs, you are setting a lot of fans up for disappointment. I’d much rather you say ‘That’s it—we’re dropping it. If you want to go out for an autograph, that would be great, but we’re not going to force you. If you want to risk your reputation with the fans, that’s your business’ ”. Seriously—I’m going to say almost half of the 20 who went out didn’t even bother to try to fake that they wanted to be there. Would a smile and a “Did you have fun?....Thanks for coming…” have been that hard to say to a child? Thankfully, I had warned the kids ahead of time of the exemptions and told them that even if the riders did come out, they may be shy or not in a good mood, but couldn’t afford the money to pay the penalty, so they were left unphased. I guess it was the mother in me who was getting her ire up.
Ok, I’ll get off my soap box now. Sorry about that, but I felt the need to share it. I’m sure many of you will disagree and believe me-- you won’t be able to say anything to me that I haven’t already said to myself. There are so many gray areas to the subject that it’s a no-win argument. So, let me list highlights of the weekend:
1. The robbery had me seeing the worst of people, but the PBR was still able to make me smile in spite of my feelings about the riders giving or not giving autographs. It was a nice distraction and while I was sad that our family day was messed up, I did have a good time.
2. I got to meet Leah and Justin McKee and they were both really nice.
3. Junior Seau as a volunteer bull fighter. I’m sure they gave one too many interviews with him on the televised event, but having him there added a whole new dimension to the drama and the humor.
4. The sweet older couple gave the kids their VIP passes because they were done with them and thought that a couple of children might get a kick out of getting down to the special section and meeting the riders. Boy, did they ever! They were so excited. I got my pass and we went down and met Zack Brown and Renato (who promised the kids he’d do his best to do a back flip), then made a couple of posters before finding our seats.
5. Talking to Guilherme on night one and having him say “Yes, I am!” when I asked if was going to go back to back this year.
6. As hard as it was watching Ryan writhe in pain after breaking his jaw, seeing him stand up and walk out, and then finding out that he’ll be back sooner than suspected was a relief. He’s such a nice kid and has so much potential that it killed me to think that he may be out for the rest of the season. All I could think was “Please, not again….” (Speaking of twice in one year: I still miss Paulo Crimber). As of today, there’s an article saying that Ryan should be back by next week.
7. Shane Proctor, Ryan McConnell, Chris Shivers, Mike White, Aaron Roy and Zack Brown for noticing that they were signing a picture of a rank bull that they’d covered during their time on tour and mentioning it to Amelia. We had a hard time getting pictures of those bulls and it was sweet to have them recognize and acknowledge the effort. It was especially nice of Shane to listen to the quick version of why she wanted them to sign bull pictures and respond with “That was a good idea.”
8. Getting onto the dirt. In all honesty, it really isn’t much different than being on the other side of the fence except for the different perspective and not having to fight the bars for a picture with the riders, but it was still neat to be in the ring.
9. Watching Chris Shivers on Julio’s horse. He’s looks good up there and seeing a sense of humor (in the face of defeat) when Flint joked “Chris told me before the show that he’d be in the short go!”
10. JB Mauney taking his buck offs in stride. He really is maturing this year.
11. Finally: McKennon Wimberly. He listened intently when the kids talked to him as though he really cared about what they had to say. He answered them thoughtfully when he told Amelia that he’d probably pick Troubadour as his favorite bull and when he told Dalton, who suggested he name one of his bulls ‘Crash and Burn’, that it was a really good name and he may have to use it. He moved around the table and got down on one knee to have his picture taken with them. Then, he chatted with me, too, as though he was interested in what I had to say. At a time when I’d been losing a bit of faith in some people, I needed that. (He also came out after the event even though he didn’t have to.)
Well, this will probably be the only installment from me. I really wanted to do a much better write up, but as you can imagine, after Saturday night, I was exhausted, and between that and having to watch two young kids by myself in the arena, I wasn’t soaking in as much as I normally do. As a final thought, I’d like to say that even though I’m a Marchi fan, I’m looking forward to the Vegas rounds no matter what the outcome. All three of these riders have made it a great year and no matter who wins, it will be exciting for different reasons (a first-time winner, a back-to-back champion, or JB’s record from his rookie year to present). If they keep it up, it will be a nail biting finish and those are my favorite kind.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
I have Seen the World Cup
And I have a few things to say to several of the participants. Line up, please, and take your medicine. To maintain our undisputed reputation for fairness, we will go in alphabetical order. (Under most circumstances, we’d go boy/girl, boy/girl, but we all know where that would land us, right smart.)
Mr. Zack Brown: You’re probably disappointed in your performance, and I wish you’d ridden better for your own sake, but I’m proud of how you handled yourself, sir. You didn’t back down, you didn’t leave anything on the table. At the end of the day, how many people can say that?
Mr. Brendan Clark: Either take some time off and get yourself together, or quit riding. It might be time. I’ve never been a huge fan of yours, but I don’t want to see you get hurt again and I’m worried that your head isn’t where it needs to be. Think about it, please.
Mr. Ryan Dirteater: What a show you put on for us! You are going to be with us for a long, long time, and I for one can’t wait to see what you do the rest of this season.
Mr. Pete Farley: I finally see what all the fuss is about. I’ve been thinking for a couple of years that you need to just quit, but I have to take all that trash talk back. You really showed me what you can do, this time out of the chute.
Ms. Leah Garcia: What a trooper! On the go through the whole event, standing up to the waves of sound rolling through the arena, tucking your head close to the interviewee's so you could both hear yourselves think, fearlessly swallowing down street food and chatting up street performers, and giving us a lesson in Portuguese on the fly, you were the epitome of engaged professionalism. And the top you wore on the last night rocked the Kasbah.
Mr. J.W. Hart: I was pleased to see you looking uncharacteristically sober for a lot of the event, because clearly you recognized what you were up against. Certainly you coached the team to a victory that wasn't unexpected, but it wasn’t in the bag, either, till the last round. But please, don’t compare this team to the 1980 Olympic hockey team. That’s just silly—your team was never the underdog, not for a second and not by a long shot. Your guys are young, but they aren't rookies. No analogy is perfect, but this one was so wrong that all I could do was shake my head.
Mr. J.B. Mauney: I’ve had issues with your behavior in the past, but you’ve grown up a lot this season, and you really showed some class during the World Cup competition. Nobody doubts your talent and now we can’t doubt your dedication, either. Just one tiny suggestion: Please find something new to say besides, “I’m just doing my job.”
Mr. Ryan McConnel: No, the Brazilians didn’t applaud you. Did you really expect them too? You, sir, are the man who took their trophy away. J.B. may have been the anchor, but you were the go-to guy in tight situations, and didn't you step up to the plate? My hat is off to you.
Mr. Rocky McDonald: Talk about determination! I still can hardly believe that I saw you keep climbing on one bull after another, right down to the end. Certainly I wouldn't have blamed you for throwing in the towel when two of your four riders had to drop out late in the game, but you never shirked, you never faltered. Hold your head up high, mister. You’ve earned our applause.
Mr. Justin McKee: Really, Justin. Did you really say that “Leah has mastered the Australian and Canadian languages, too”? I’m damned near speechless, and you have to know what that takes. Montana Barn Cat is so impressed, he may ask you to bottle it so he can shut me up regular-like.
Mr. Austin Meier: I have been a closet fan of yours since your rookie season, and certainly since I saw you eating lunch in the bar at the Sheraton Hotel in Billings in 2006, but it’s time for me to come out of the closet and proclaim my fanhood from the mountain top. I don’t think I have ever seen anybody display so much grit. Those short stubby spurs were giving you fits, we could all tell, but you never gave up, never refused to climb on the back of yet another bull and give it another go. That last ride wasn’t purty, but I was on my feet cheering for you every second. You may have been robbed of a score, but you didn’t lose, not in my book.
Mr. Adriano Moraes: What a fine human being you are--what generosity you showed when you grabbed Austin and consoled him after his re-ride challenge was rejected! I don’t know what you said to him, but I’m sure it made him feel better. I felt better just watching you.
The bulls of Brazil: Yes, I admit it, I really only watched the World Cup to see what you bulls could do. I’m not that big on team sports to begin with and the nationalistic angle of this one sometimes sets my teeth on edge. And I have to say that at the beginning, I was mostly disappointed—you all seemed big, fat, and slow. Then the rank pen showed up, and I, for one, was glad to meet its members. A big salute in particular to Pesadelo and Tambureti. Could you send us some of those straws (you know what I mean) up here to the north country? Did anybody think to save any of Bandito’s, er, contributions?
Whoever designed the World Cup trophy: Even taking into consideration my view that most trophies for professional sporting events are UG-LY, you managed to outdo yourself in the BUTT-UG-LY department. If that’s the prize you wanted to win, hang up your spurs—you can’t possibly do any better, ever again.
Mr. Zack Brown: You’re probably disappointed in your performance, and I wish you’d ridden better for your own sake, but I’m proud of how you handled yourself, sir. You didn’t back down, you didn’t leave anything on the table. At the end of the day, how many people can say that?
Mr. Brendan Clark: Either take some time off and get yourself together, or quit riding. It might be time. I’ve never been a huge fan of yours, but I don’t want to see you get hurt again and I’m worried that your head isn’t where it needs to be. Think about it, please.
Mr. Ryan Dirteater: What a show you put on for us! You are going to be with us for a long, long time, and I for one can’t wait to see what you do the rest of this season.
Mr. Pete Farley: I finally see what all the fuss is about. I’ve been thinking for a couple of years that you need to just quit, but I have to take all that trash talk back. You really showed me what you can do, this time out of the chute.
Ms. Leah Garcia: What a trooper! On the go through the whole event, standing up to the waves of sound rolling through the arena, tucking your head close to the interviewee's so you could both hear yourselves think, fearlessly swallowing down street food and chatting up street performers, and giving us a lesson in Portuguese on the fly, you were the epitome of engaged professionalism. And the top you wore on the last night rocked the Kasbah.
Mr. J.W. Hart: I was pleased to see you looking uncharacteristically sober for a lot of the event, because clearly you recognized what you were up against. Certainly you coached the team to a victory that wasn't unexpected, but it wasn’t in the bag, either, till the last round. But please, don’t compare this team to the 1980 Olympic hockey team. That’s just silly—your team was never the underdog, not for a second and not by a long shot. Your guys are young, but they aren't rookies. No analogy is perfect, but this one was so wrong that all I could do was shake my head.
Mr. J.B. Mauney: I’ve had issues with your behavior in the past, but you’ve grown up a lot this season, and you really showed some class during the World Cup competition. Nobody doubts your talent and now we can’t doubt your dedication, either. Just one tiny suggestion: Please find something new to say besides, “I’m just doing my job.”
Mr. Ryan McConnel: No, the Brazilians didn’t applaud you. Did you really expect them too? You, sir, are the man who took their trophy away. J.B. may have been the anchor, but you were the go-to guy in tight situations, and didn't you step up to the plate? My hat is off to you.
Mr. Rocky McDonald: Talk about determination! I still can hardly believe that I saw you keep climbing on one bull after another, right down to the end. Certainly I wouldn't have blamed you for throwing in the towel when two of your four riders had to drop out late in the game, but you never shirked, you never faltered. Hold your head up high, mister. You’ve earned our applause.
Mr. Justin McKee: Really, Justin. Did you really say that “Leah has mastered the Australian and Canadian languages, too”? I’m damned near speechless, and you have to know what that takes. Montana Barn Cat is so impressed, he may ask you to bottle it so he can shut me up regular-like.
Mr. Austin Meier: I have been a closet fan of yours since your rookie season, and certainly since I saw you eating lunch in the bar at the Sheraton Hotel in Billings in 2006, but it’s time for me to come out of the closet and proclaim my fanhood from the mountain top. I don’t think I have ever seen anybody display so much grit. Those short stubby spurs were giving you fits, we could all tell, but you never gave up, never refused to climb on the back of yet another bull and give it another go. That last ride wasn’t purty, but I was on my feet cheering for you every second. You may have been robbed of a score, but you didn’t lose, not in my book.
Mr. Adriano Moraes: What a fine human being you are--what generosity you showed when you grabbed Austin and consoled him after his re-ride challenge was rejected! I don’t know what you said to him, but I’m sure it made him feel better. I felt better just watching you.
The bulls of Brazil: Yes, I admit it, I really only watched the World Cup to see what you bulls could do. I’m not that big on team sports to begin with and the nationalistic angle of this one sometimes sets my teeth on edge. And I have to say that at the beginning, I was mostly disappointed—you all seemed big, fat, and slow. Then the rank pen showed up, and I, for one, was glad to meet its members. A big salute in particular to Pesadelo and Tambureti. Could you send us some of those straws (you know what I mean) up here to the north country? Did anybody think to save any of Bandito’s, er, contributions?
Whoever designed the World Cup trophy: Even taking into consideration my view that most trophies for professional sporting events are UG-LY, you managed to outdo yourself in the BUTT-UG-LY department. If that’s the prize you wanted to win, hang up your spurs—you can’t possibly do any better, ever again.
Friday, August 28, 2009
MacKenzie Speaks: JDub Must Go!
Hi, folks! Long time no type at you! And I don’t have much time now—-I have to get this done before my mom finds out I’m on the computer. She’s downstairs chasing Carter the Great, my new baby brother, and she totally doesn’t know I bribed him to run outside and bark his head off, so I could get a minute on the machine. That little doggie has a great future ahead of him.
Of course, this means I’ll have to come through with my bribe, and I’m not sure I remember where I buried that last rawhide chew, except that it was somewhere in one of the front flowerbeds last fall, before it ever snowed. Might take me a while to find that.
First, I guess I better let you know that my mom is fine, just really, really busy. She’s so busy she didn’t even really walk me in the mornings this summer, and you know how she gets when she doesn’t get regular exercise. She got a new job back in May and I guess I should be thankful because it’s probably why she’s been buying all those smoked pig ears for us lately, but boy! She hardly ever gets up from in front of the computer anymore at all.
And since there’s barely been any bull riding lately, she really doesn’t have much reason to, does she? And since it’s hardly ever broadcast within about a million years of when it happened, she’s starting to wonder why she even bothers to comment on it. It’s all old news before she gets to see the action.
But she finally managed to finish off a huge job that, and I am not making this up, took five years! Five years! That’s longer than I’ve been alive! She was showing it to my dad the other night, and he said it was beautiful. I’ll have to take his word for it, since I can’t read and I don’t understand why anybody’d want to look at pictures of horses when they can go find some real ones to bark at, but she does seem a lot happier now that it’s over.
But the reason I’ve commandeered the computer is because I want you all to join me in protesting J.W. Hart’s existence. I mean, my mom would never say this, because she’s a human and all, but the man clearly is prejudiced against dogs! Seriously! Just think about all the anti-dog stuff he said in Nashville!
First, he remarked that Justin McBride was “shaking like a dog that had eaten a bunch of thumbtacks and needed to go to the bathroom” before he went onstage at the Grand Ol’ Opry. Now, my folks are big-time country music fans, and they weren’t at all impressed with McBride’s singing, guitar playing, or song-writing ability, but they would never say anything like that under any circumstances! I guess that might just prove they love dogs, because they did have some snarky things to say about Mr. McBride’s performance, but you get my drift.
My mom did say that we were lucky JDub managed to edit himself enough not to use the true version of that expression, which has something to do with peach pits. She put her hands over my ears when she said it, but I did catch that much.
And then, JDub started making fun of McKinnon Wimberly, just because the man was glad his dog came home! And he actually said HIS dog left and wasn’t coming back! That really hit my mom hard-—I don’t think she’s told you all that we lost Belle Doggie and Mattie both last winter. She still cries when she thinks about them. Sometimes I do too. I miss them terribly.
It’s a good thing for all concerned that she and my dad adopted Carter, because he’s really livened up the place, and now I don’t have to pester Tiny G to play, which she hardly ever did, anyway, and then my mom would get really mad at me for barking in Tiny’s face and getting her all riled up. I thought it was all in good fun, but when I saw mom grab the squirt bottle, I figured out I was wrong.
So on behalf of all dogs, everywhere, I demand that those who love us rise up and strike back! Of course, my mom is mad at JDub for a whole lot of other stuff that she probably thinks is more important, but I beg to differ with her on that.
Whoops, gotta go. Just have to tell you, though, that all us four-legged creatures in this household are praying for the day the World Cup is televised. Maybe then things will lighten up around here. I have to tell you, though, if I weren’t such a red-blooded American doggie, I’d have to root for somebody besides JDub. Nobody likes a dog hater.
Of course, this means I’ll have to come through with my bribe, and I’m not sure I remember where I buried that last rawhide chew, except that it was somewhere in one of the front flowerbeds last fall, before it ever snowed. Might take me a while to find that.
First, I guess I better let you know that my mom is fine, just really, really busy. She’s so busy she didn’t even really walk me in the mornings this summer, and you know how she gets when she doesn’t get regular exercise. She got a new job back in May and I guess I should be thankful because it’s probably why she’s been buying all those smoked pig ears for us lately, but boy! She hardly ever gets up from in front of the computer anymore at all.
And since there’s barely been any bull riding lately, she really doesn’t have much reason to, does she? And since it’s hardly ever broadcast within about a million years of when it happened, she’s starting to wonder why she even bothers to comment on it. It’s all old news before she gets to see the action.
But she finally managed to finish off a huge job that, and I am not making this up, took five years! Five years! That’s longer than I’ve been alive! She was showing it to my dad the other night, and he said it was beautiful. I’ll have to take his word for it, since I can’t read and I don’t understand why anybody’d want to look at pictures of horses when they can go find some real ones to bark at, but she does seem a lot happier now that it’s over.
But the reason I’ve commandeered the computer is because I want you all to join me in protesting J.W. Hart’s existence. I mean, my mom would never say this, because she’s a human and all, but the man clearly is prejudiced against dogs! Seriously! Just think about all the anti-dog stuff he said in Nashville!
First, he remarked that Justin McBride was “shaking like a dog that had eaten a bunch of thumbtacks and needed to go to the bathroom” before he went onstage at the Grand Ol’ Opry. Now, my folks are big-time country music fans, and they weren’t at all impressed with McBride’s singing, guitar playing, or song-writing ability, but they would never say anything like that under any circumstances! I guess that might just prove they love dogs, because they did have some snarky things to say about Mr. McBride’s performance, but you get my drift.
My mom did say that we were lucky JDub managed to edit himself enough not to use the true version of that expression, which has something to do with peach pits. She put her hands over my ears when she said it, but I did catch that much.
And then, JDub started making fun of McKinnon Wimberly, just because the man was glad his dog came home! And he actually said HIS dog left and wasn’t coming back! That really hit my mom hard-—I don’t think she’s told you all that we lost Belle Doggie and Mattie both last winter. She still cries when she thinks about them. Sometimes I do too. I miss them terribly.
It’s a good thing for all concerned that she and my dad adopted Carter, because he’s really livened up the place, and now I don’t have to pester Tiny G to play, which she hardly ever did, anyway, and then my mom would get really mad at me for barking in Tiny’s face and getting her all riled up. I thought it was all in good fun, but when I saw mom grab the squirt bottle, I figured out I was wrong.
So on behalf of all dogs, everywhere, I demand that those who love us rise up and strike back! Of course, my mom is mad at JDub for a whole lot of other stuff that she probably thinks is more important, but I beg to differ with her on that.
Whoops, gotta go. Just have to tell you, though, that all us four-legged creatures in this household are praying for the day the World Cup is televised. Maybe then things will lighten up around here. I have to tell you, though, if I weren’t such a red-blooded American doggie, I’d have to root for somebody besides JDub. Nobody likes a dog hater.
Monday, August 3, 2009
I'm Mad as Hell
So I waited literally for months to see some televised PBR action, and I dutifully avoided visiting the web site so I wouldn’t see or read anything about what happened in Tulsa, and I was looking forward to a fine weekend of coverage of Tulsa and San Antonio.
Then, because we are ridiculously busy here of late, so busy that one or the other or both of us is working at least part of every weekend, we managed to watch Versus on Saturday night, but then one of us was on the road by late Sunday afternoon, and the other was scrambling to finish a bunch of chores that just couldn’t wait till Monday morning.
So the short end of the story is, I (the one left holding the chore bag) finally managed to tune in to Versus just in time to see the championship round for San Antonio last night. I was just stretching out on the sofa, with three dogs trying to shove one another out of my lap, when Matt Bohon came flying out of the chute on Spit Fire, got smacked in the head with a big ol’ horn, hung up and got trampled, and ended up face down in the dirt.
Doctor’s verdict: A broken shoulder blade, broken upper jaw, broken lower jaw, facial lacerations, and a(nother) concussion.
My verdict: Enough is enough. I am so mad I’m just about to stroke out.
So now hear this: It’s time for the PBR to make it mandatory for competitors to wear helmets.
And furthermore: It’s time for fools like J.W. Hart to quit opining that if you wear a helmet, you’re a pussy. Okay, so he hasn’t come right out and said that on the air, but I’d bet good money he’s said that, or worse, in unrecorded conversations.
Certainly I recall that in Beyond the Bull, J.W. remarked after a particularly lackluster performance that he might as well just sell his bull-riding equipment and buy himself a purse and some make-up. That kind of crap has no place in any professional sport, and taking a position that puts people’s lives at risk, like lobbying (yes, I'm saying he's lobbying) for riders to go helmet-less, is unconscionable.
And one more thing: Here’s why it’s time: Sooner or later, some helmet-less bull rider is going to take a horn or a hoof to the head, and that will be all she wrote.
Somebody (somebody’s son, husband, father) is going to die, right there in the arena or in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, or in the hospital after his family has had to decide to pull the plug, because the folks in charge at the PBR don’t have the guts to stand up and do the right thing.
When that happens, those folks at the PBR who declined to fix this will have the blood of that young man on their hands.
It’s just a matter of time.
Then, because we are ridiculously busy here of late, so busy that one or the other or both of us is working at least part of every weekend, we managed to watch Versus on Saturday night, but then one of us was on the road by late Sunday afternoon, and the other was scrambling to finish a bunch of chores that just couldn’t wait till Monday morning.
So the short end of the story is, I (the one left holding the chore bag) finally managed to tune in to Versus just in time to see the championship round for San Antonio last night. I was just stretching out on the sofa, with three dogs trying to shove one another out of my lap, when Matt Bohon came flying out of the chute on Spit Fire, got smacked in the head with a big ol’ horn, hung up and got trampled, and ended up face down in the dirt.
Doctor’s verdict: A broken shoulder blade, broken upper jaw, broken lower jaw, facial lacerations, and a(nother) concussion.
My verdict: Enough is enough. I am so mad I’m just about to stroke out.
So now hear this: It’s time for the PBR to make it mandatory for competitors to wear helmets.
And furthermore: It’s time for fools like J.W. Hart to quit opining that if you wear a helmet, you’re a pussy. Okay, so he hasn’t come right out and said that on the air, but I’d bet good money he’s said that, or worse, in unrecorded conversations.
Certainly I recall that in Beyond the Bull, J.W. remarked after a particularly lackluster performance that he might as well just sell his bull-riding equipment and buy himself a purse and some make-up. That kind of crap has no place in any professional sport, and taking a position that puts people’s lives at risk, like lobbying (yes, I'm saying he's lobbying) for riders to go helmet-less, is unconscionable.
And one more thing: Here’s why it’s time: Sooner or later, some helmet-less bull rider is going to take a horn or a hoof to the head, and that will be all she wrote.
Somebody (somebody’s son, husband, father) is going to die, right there in the arena or in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, or in the hospital after his family has had to decide to pull the plug, because the folks in charge at the PBR don’t have the guts to stand up and do the right thing.
When that happens, those folks at the PBR who declined to fix this will have the blood of that young man on their hands.
It’s just a matter of time.
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