There were servicemen galore on this evening of the rodeo: It was Patriot Night. The Stampede Association had given away nearly nine-thousand dollars in tickets to those in the armed forces, and they were now in the arena. Their presence added a different flavor; that of additional strength, and a bit of a tug at the heartstrings. A 'thank you' might have been on the tip of just about everyone's tongue, but it isn't always so easy to say. Free tickets were a way of expressing that.
Mady Alsup was out mutton-buston and got her boot knocked off. The announcers commanded the audience to 'pay her off', and they did, with thunderous applause. You've just got to admire a kid who's got grit like that.
A lone Stampeder once again rode to the center of the darkened arena, carrying the American flag, which had a spotlight on it. She wasn't alone for long, though. On this evening, several servicemen carrying additional flags, had their own spotlight as well. Philip Hurley, who had been our soloist for the week, walked out to stand beside those men as he sang our National Anthem.
I noticed that with each night, the numbers in the audience of those that sang along increased. There was a definite change happening. The lady standing next to me sang with just as much fervor as I felt. It was our country, our song, and our flag, and we were proud.
After the National Anthem, a prestigious-looking Hummer, painted as if it had a furling flag on it, rolled onto that special Oregon Trail dirt and stopped right in front of the announcer's booth. Colonel Sayler of the Mountain Home Air Force Base stepped out, and commanded into a microphone:
"Let 'er buck!"
The announcers quickly added that this was about as official a command as they'd ever had on a Thursday night to get things started. The rodeo was now underway, the Colonel said so.
On to the bareback bronc riding, where cowboy Kelly Timberman, who got a good ride with a decent score, and after jumping off the bronc, circled his arm around in a celebratory move, then ended that move with a strong pointing upward, as if to say, "The glory goes to God." This is not an uncommon theme among the cowboys. They know who keeps them safe. I'm betting those out there in the audience that were in the military understood that sentiment very well.
Every now and then, when the announcers felt we weren't being a gracious enough audience, we were told to 'help him out'...meaning to wake up and applaud. We did, with those not-so-subtle reminders.
My media friends and I heard boots coming down the stairs, toward our booth where we were sitting. The soft padded chairs we had were a scarcity; there never seemed to be enough to go around for all that were joining us in that box. But when we saw that the Colonel and his crew were standing before us, everyone gave up their chairs on the spot. We did it without even thinking about it. That's the kind of respect, and then some, that our military deserves. If they can risk their life for me, I can give up my chair for them. I only wished I could do more. As they were mouthing 'thank you' to me, I was mouthing 'thank you' to them. At last a chance to tell them.
Every night there is some critter that doesn't want to go back through the gate after he's had his run. They were struggling with one as we watched from our new seats. And of course the announcers couldn't resist comment:
"It's like trying to get my wife out of Dillard's!"
The lady sitting next to me cracked up, so I imagined that she could relate. Her male counterpart reacted to the statement, as well.
When it was time for the steer wrestling, I realized with a grin that this had, over the past three days of rodeo, become one of my very favorite events. I wasn't alone; when my sixteen-year-old son attended on Wednesday night, he'd later told the family that he'd like to try his hand at the sport. I actually think I could support him in that.
One cowboy was ready to wrestle, and the announcers let us in on the fact that he had a hairline fracture on his femur. After he performed, he limped away and we were once again reminded to applaud.
"He's not limpin' for sympathy, folks, that boy's got a broken femur. Cheer him on for being tough!" We did.
As I watched, one of the Idaho Center staff that were carting beverages back and forth to us was standing by with a tray and notepad, just in case we needed anything. They were so good to us, especially Jennifer who was in our booth that night. While we were watching, Jennifer couldn't resist saying to me, "You know, you just have to wonder who got drunk and dreamed up this sport? Whatever made them think of that?"
This got me laughing, because another person had said the very same thing to me, nearly word for word, just the night before. I had to agree. It's a crazy sport. And my son wants to do it. You may have to be drunk to think it up (I'll have to learn the history on steer wrestling, because now I'm curious, too), but apparently you don't have to be drinking to want to give it a try.
When a baby-faced roper rode out in front of us, both myself and the lady next to me reacted, saying the same thing, "That guy looks like he's twelve!"
I wondered what the minimum age was to be a participant in the Stampede. Because I think this cowboy might have fibbed.
I noticed that the two people sitting right next to the railing were getting peppered with dirt clods, and had 'protective eyewear' on. One man had his prescription glasses, and the woman beside him just wore her sunglasses. Clever. I myself had found a dirt particle lodged in my lower eyelid just that morning. I considered it a souvenir.
Jess Jones must've not thought his bronc was that challenging, because he rode right past us and waved to the cameras with a big smile on his face. With the announcers prodding, we all began to chant, "Re-ride, re-ride!" Which he got. On the next ride, he wasn't waving quite so much, but the bronc just about threw him into the crowd. The announcers then proclaimed a new rule: If the horse throws him into the stands, you get to keep him.
When a tie-down roper went to stand back up, it was obvious that something was very, very wrong with his leg, and that the only thing holding that leg upright was his boot. With a pained expression on his face, he was escorted down the stairs and out of the arena. I understood now that an injury in July is a financial blow; the rodeos were so closely scheduled, July provided the bulk of their annual paycheck. This was not good.
Radical Rudy Rodriguez decided to give the Queen, who was helping to round up stock, a hard time. He pretended like she'd almost mowed him over with her horse.
"Hey,Lady! Use your horn! That makes TWICE you almost ran me down!"
When the announcers came to Stran Smith, they did so with no small amount of reverence. A brother-in-law to the famous Roy Cooper, and an uncle to the 'young Coopers', who were also competing in the Stampede.
"This man's word, his walk, his talk, and his gold buckle all make him an exceptional person."
When it came time for the barrel racing, the audience gave an audible 'Awwww!' as barrels got knocked over. We hated to see it almost as much as the riders. Tonight they were absolutely twirling around those things.
A bull rider, Clayton Savage, after a rough ride, got down on one knee, took his hat off, put it over his heart and looked upwards. I was beginning to understand the pattern, here: they pray.
I have to think that almost anyone would wax religious when riding or coming anywhere near one of those devils. One of them named, "Zombie Zoo" threw his back end around, the announcers said, 'like a wiener dog on steroids'. But no matter what the bulls were doing, those hero-clowns got right in there, touching their horns with their hands, doing whatever it took to distract the bulls from their thrown riders, in order to keep them safe. Plain and simple bravery.
As usual, one of the bulls didn't want to go back through the gate. So a clown went into the gate first, putting himself in a lot of danger. The announcers tried to lighten it up by saying, "When you use live bait...it just never works out that well for the bait!"
Exactly what we were all worried about.
The man sitting in front of us, the one with the prescription glasses, was our own personal entertainment. Whenever the announcers would say, "If you're from Eagle, make yourself known!" He'd holler. When they did that for the Kuna people; same thing. Same thing with Nevada, Texas, and Utah. Our 'entertainer' cheered for every state and town, as if he were from there. He only missed one, and then we wondered why he didn't cheer.
"I'm not from there," he said simply.
But when the bull chased the clown and nearly got him with a horn in the backside, the 'entertainer' had a lot to say.
"That's the ultimate goose!" and "Say 'goodbye' to constipation!"
Radical Rudy stood behind his clown's barrel with what looked like a shaker for an alcoholic beverage. When the announcers asked him what he was holding, he declared that it was 'bull mace'.
Each night, after the bull riding is over, the audience is asked to stay seated for a special treat. For the past two nights, three beautiful specimens of horses came galloping out into the arena, in spotlight. They were glorious creatures. The announcers usually say something that has to do with their respect for the livestock, and how the animals are doing what they were born to do, always ending with the phrase:
"They are God's gift to us."
And then adding:
"What we are is God's gift to us---and what we become is our gift to God."
The Stampede was over for another night, but not for all of us. I noticed one little boy, who must have been about six or seven, making his way down to the railings. It looked like he was just hoping to catch the eye of a cowboy or two; maybe get to shake some hands, and possibly even talk to them a little, if he was really lucky. He stood there for quite a few minutes, looking hopeful.
Then finally: pay dirt.
The lady sitting next to me and I were watching the scene, our hearts melting a little as this big tough guy stopped and took some time with an adoring young fan. The woman beside me seemed to know who this cowboy was; she rattled off a name, and some titles that I didn't quite catch. Sufficeth it to say that he was the real deal, and that meeting him would be an honor for anyone. The cowboy spent a lot of time with this boy, giving him tips and encouraging him. What a moment for that kid.
The praying, the toughness, the showmanship, and the tenderness of these people never ceases to amaze me. I'm won over.
I'm a rodeo fan.
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