Doggin’ days at ol’ Cheyenne
Rodeo as a spectator sport has been growing in attendance.
Maybe it’s because it is live-action, close to home, reasonably priced and rated PG. NASCAR has a similar appeal.
As rodeo moves into the ranks of other professional sports, you notice a consistency in the show. The Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association runs a tight ship.
Most of the excitement comes when a tie-down roper puts one down in 7.6 seconds, or when a ranking saddle bronc rider makes a classic ride. Or, a barrel racer wins by 1/100th of a second.
In other words, when a champion shows you how it’s done.
But, most often the most memorable event fans remember is when Billy Joe got hung up in his bull rope and became a propeller. Or, when Jamie was fired from his bareback horse and became a lawn dart. Or, when Jose the heeler broke the barrier and roped the line judge.
However, most pro rodeos have reduced the unknown factors. It keeps the competition finely tuned.
Then, there is Cheyenne Frontier Days. Organizers throw in several ringers: green cattle, a 30-foot barrier, and an arena as long as the White House lawn. These additions don’t affect the rough stock riders much, unless one of the bareback horses becomes Sea Biscuit.
But, it turns the normally machine-like timed events into rough stock performances as wild and unpredictable as donkey basketball.
Imagine the tie-down roper tense in the box. He nods for his calf. The chute opens, the roper’s horse quivers, the rope is buzzing, everyone is holding their breath … and the calf strolls out, lazily.
Meandering into the arena, looking at the crowd, imagining his mother is out there somewhere, seconds tick by, and then he crosses the magic 30-foot barrier and the wheel comes off the wagon.
The steer-wrestling event is even more exciting.
The dogger nods his head. He and the hazer, wound like springs, watch the big steer break out of the box like he’s got heel flies in his pants. They wait the interminable microseconds.
By the time the steer hits the 30-foot barrier, he is going at the speed of beef. It takes our
fearless cowboys another 20 or 30 yards to catch up.
The questions arises, “What does it feel like to push your horse into a dead run, flat out, nostrils flaring, tail flying and jump off him into a four-legged horned calf-skin torpedo weighing 600 pounds?”
Imagine standing on the hood of your car, getting your buddy to get it up to 35 miles per hour, then reach out and grab a telephone pole.
Talk about exciting. It was like watching the Hulk tackle Shrek’s donkey.
Suffice it to say each performance ended with the Wild Horse Race. What else did you expect?
When you took one look at those characters entered, they made the Pittsburg Steelers’ defensive line look like fashion designers for Dancing with the Stars.
If you’ve heard the phrase, “cowboy up,” Cheyenne Frontier Days is how you spell it.