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      |  |  | Ridin'
        and Ropin'--It Ain't Just For The Bedroom Anymore
 by Mad Dog
 
 
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      | Cowboys
        tried not to get thrown off bucking broncos, they wrestled steers to the
        ground without the help of WWF costumes or scripts, and they roped
        calves and tied them up faster than a $200 dominatrix.
 |  | I went to the rodeo under
        a full moon in Reno and lived to tell about it. They call it the
        Wildest, Richest Rodeo in the West and it was the first time I’d been
        to one since my cub scout troop went on a field trip to visit the true
        wild west—New York City, which may be the most un-rodeo place in the
        world. Watching a rodeo in Madison Square Garden is like viewing a
        Chagall painting hanging in the middle of a corn field. Except in
        Madison Square Garden we didn’t have to be on the lookout for oncoming
        tractors. Just rampaging bulls, overprotective den mothers, and upset
        stomachs from eating too much cotton candy.    It’s hard to tell whether a lot has
        changed, since my recollection of the rodeo is mostly of trying not to
        sit in front of my older brother and his friend Ralph who thought
        putting peanut shells down my back had higher entertainment value than
        some guy in a cowboy hat wrestling a calf to the ground. There’s no
        question the Reno rodeo had added some modern touches. They showed
        instant replays on a giant screen, there were radio-style commercials
        broadcast over the P.A. between events (including, of all things, the
        Reno Orthopaedic Clinic), bleach blonde waitresses in cowboy boots
        walked through the stands serving beers off trays rather than hairy,
        stinky, unshaven guys from Queens shouting “Be-ah he-ah!”, and the
        announcer proudly told the crowd that their web site, www.renorodeo.com,
        had received a half-million hits during the first two days of the rodeo.
        Now that’s a virtual first place if I ever saw one, pardner.
 
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      | Rodeo is a popular
        sport. It’s NASCAR on horses, only without the noise, fumes, and seat
        belts.
 |  | In the arena
        it was pretty much rodeo as usual. Cowboys tried not to get thrown off
        bucking broncos, they wrestled steers to the ground without the help of
        WWF costumes or scripts, they roped calves and tied them up faster than
        a $200 dominatrix, and they tried their damnedest to stay on top of
        decidedly unmechanical bulls. And not get trampled when they got thrown
        off. The women only had one event, which was to race horses around four
        barrels. Obviously the Powerpuff Girls haven’t dented the rodeo
        consciousness yet. Even cowkids got into the act. They competed in an
        event called mutton bustin’, in which the tykes straddled excited
        sheep and tried not to get tossed off, something most of them had seen
        Dad do behind the barn when he thought no one was around. In a nod to
        the 21st century, a six-year-old girl kicked the boys’ butts. I
        couldn’t tell if she was wearing a Powerpuff Girls T-shirt.    The rodeo is nothing to sneeze at.
        Well, not unless you’re allergic to the smell of animal crap. It’s
        definitely big business, with the total prize money for this one being a
        cool $1 million. It’s true that’s nothing next to what Tiger Woods,
        Lennox Lewis, or Shaquille O'Neal earn by waking up in the middle of the
        night and going to the bathroom, but on the other hand they can’t
        write off their cowboy hats, spurs, and ropes as business deductions.
        Only bona fide cowboys and R. Kelly can do that.    Rodeo is a popular sport. It’s
        NASCAR on horses, only without the noise, fumes, and seat belts. It was
        a Monday night during a week-long rodeo and the grandstands were packed.
        The crowd ranged from babies to grandparents. While going to the rodeo
        is a time-honored tradition among the older folks, it turns out to be
        perfect for the MTV generation too, since the events are all short,
        fast, and exciting. In fact, in bull riding you don’t even get a score
        unless you stay on for at least eight seconds, which is quicker than an
        Osbourne can be bleeped four times. Yes, it’s the perfect sport for
        those with A.D.D., which helps explain the booth selling Jack Daniels
        and Ritalin shooters. In the rodeo, unlike the bedroom, a 60-second man
        is a star. No wonder the groupie quotient is so high.
 
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      | Instead of sending all those troops into Afghanistan we
        could have put nuevo- cowboy Bush atop a bucking Osama bull Laden,
        opened the gate, and if Bush stayed on him for more than eight seconds
        it would all be over.
 |  | Don’t be
        surprised if rodeo events become part of the Olympics, joining such
        other “sports” as badminton, synchronized swimming, and kayaking.
        Even though it’s an American creation, other countries won’t be at
        as much of a disadvantage as you might think, since they have their own
        time-honored versions of it. Granted, in Mexico, Spain, and other
        countries they spear the bulls rather than ride them. And in Pamplona
        every July men don’t get up on the bulls unless they’re gored and
        thrown atop one as they run through the streets trying to avoid a
        stampede, the whole time wondering why they hadn’t tried a more sane
        Hemingway passion, like fishing or suicide. But as with other American
        icons, such as Big Macs, Baywatch, and Britney, they’ll quickly adopt
        our rodeo and learn to love it.    In fact, the rodeo would be the
        perfect way to resolve international disputes. Instead of sending all
        those troops into Afghanistan we could have put nuevo-cowboy Bush atop a
        bucking Osama bull Laden, opened the gate, and if Bush stayed on him for
        more than eight seconds it would all be over. We’d have bin Laden,
        Bush could ride off into the sunset with Laura the Rodeo Queen, and we
        could focus on whipping the economy back into shape.    Next, Ariel Sharon and Yasser Arafat
        could get together for the team roping competition. Someone would let a
        dove go. Sharon and Arafat would take off after it on horseback, lariats
        swinging. If they lassoed the dove and tied it into a neat bundle it
        would be a miracle, much like peace in the Middle East. But at least it
        would be more fun to watch than it is now. Not to mention another chance
        to eat cotton candy, buy beers from bleach blonde waitresses walking
        through the stands with trays, and wear those ten-gallon hats that have
        been collecting dust since Urban Cowboy. Look for the
        International Peace Rodeo, coming to a web site near you soon. ©2002 Mad Dog
        Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.These columns appear in better newspapers across the country.
        Read them practicing with that lasso.
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