by Julie Carter
Every cowboy has a
"secret weapon" that gives them a competing edge. Their arsenal for
the illusion, or delusion, of luck runs the gamut of superstitions.
With rodeo and roping
season moving into the heat of the year, both by thermometer and by calendar, cowboys
are plotting, planning, driving and surviving while taking their best shots at
making the finals.
A cowboy's belief in
what brings him success, while often falling short on factual verification,
will never lack in creativity.
Jim was a calf roper who
carried a gallon jug of water in his camper in which to wash his lucky rodeo
shirt, never pouring the water out all summer.
"Don't want to wash
out the luck so you have to keep it in the water," he'd say.
By the end of a long
rodeo season he was noticeably a loner. Apparently, the smell of luck was not
as socially rewarding as the possession of it.
As a team roper, Walker
always believed that hard work paid off and he endorsed the theory that
"perfect practice makes perfect." But lately, he'd begun to wonder if
he wasn't standing in the wrong line.
A similar "wrong
line" feeling had occurred to him when he was in college. Walker recalled
that incident landed him erroneously in the military corps. Repeating that
lesson, even hypothetically, was not a good plan. Walker had spent his entire
adult life pasture roping in all kinds of weather, most often riding a green
colt with no one around to help. Every loop had to count.
When
he reached a point in life where he could rope for fun, he built a good arena,
kept a supply of fresh Corriente steers, bought exceptional horses and ropes by
the boxcar full. And, he practiced non-stop.
He was dedicated to
eating right, exercising, regular strength training and of course, took his
vitamins. He was selective about the ropings he entered and even more
discriminating in choosing his roping partners.
Most of the time, the
results were as favorable as the game of team roping ever allows. Win some,
lose some.
In his good-natured way,
Walker made a lot of friends and was gradually making his way into that elite
club of the ropers labeled as "wolves."
Wolves are just ropers
too, but ones with impressive, inarguable winning records. Walker's new
partner, Les, drives down the highway in the proof of his skill with a rope.
Les' trophy truck has
advertising on all four corners that declares him to be a champion. He proves
his dedication to the sport by practicing late into the night and would stay at
it until it was time to go to work if needed.
Les consistently catches
two feet on his end of the steer, keeping his success percentage impressively
high. On the rare occasion that he misses, you hear none of the usual litany of
excuses --bad cattle, bad flagger, bad barrier, the header's fault, it rained
in Brazil, the neighbor's mother's cousin's dog died - you've heard them
before.
After watching the duo
stop the clock time after time in the practice pen in 100 degree heat with
humidity to match, Walker's wife thought she'd ask Les what his secret to
success was.
Too late to take it
back, Les' answer made her wish she hadn't been so inquisitive.
Proudly Les told her,
"Absolutely every bit of ability and success I have, I attribute to my
lucky polka dot under drawers."
With that tidbit of
information out to the general population, there is likely to be a run on polka
dotted BVDs down at the mercantile. A particular color wasn't detailed as
necessary.
Although, I do wonder if
a trendy zebra stripe or leopard print would be as effective.
Julie can be reached for
comment at jcarternm@gmail.com
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