Julie Carter
The approach of spring marks many changes in the world: blooming trees, the hint of green grass, romance for man and beast, high pollen counts and along those same lines, rodeo fever.
Unless you have competed in a sport or done any kind of activity that involved the spirit of competition, or in most cowboy's case, a good reason to get out of town and party, an understanding rodeo fever will come only by example.
Team ropers Robby and Darrel had a bad case of rodeo fever.
It was way late in the rodeo season, but the intensity of the need to rodeo was just as heavy as the late summer humidity.
A Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA) rodeo was coming to Comanche in two weeks and these two hometown heroes decided they needed to enter up and make their friends proud.
Having not spent much, well actually, no time in the practice pen, the duo headed over to a friend's place to tune up their roping skills.
They consumed a remarkable quantity of beer and roped a half dozen steers. Robby hadn't been on his horse in at least a couple of months and Darrel was riding a horse that had served him well in the arena for at least 24 years.
Neither horse had ever been behind a barrier, so the cowboys rigged up a practice one out of some hay twine and a jump rope they found in one of the pickups.
By now, darkness was falling and by the time the ropers called it a night, the horses were still jumping over the barrier instead of going through it.
As ready as they would be, they headed off to the rodeo that weekend. Both ropers could head and heel, although any success on either end of the steer was merely a coincidence.
The local rodeo drove that point home as they quickly earned no-time and rode out of the arena with only the crowd's applause for a reward. That in itself was fuel for the fire and the rodeo fever thermometer jumped up seriously.
They disappeared off the practice circuit for a few weeks, perhaps licking their no-time wounds.
Resurfacing in a flurry of phone calls to find a roping arena and cattle they could use, the duo admitted to entering four PRCA rodeos and even they thought they should maybe practice a little.
With the roping chute broke at their usual practice arena and a continued story of "don't have any steers" everywhere else they called, they went to plan B.
The local roping steer contractor told them he had some cattle they could lease. He warned them that the steers were still in shock, having just crossed the border and heard their first words of English since birth.
In their desperation for practice cattle, they heard none of the warning, loaded up and headed down the road to pick up the steers.
On the way back, they ran out of beer and had to stop to get another case, arriving at the roping arena about 11 p.m.
Still needing to practice, they unloaded the steers, herded them into the lead-up alley and just for a dry run, let one out of the chute.
That led to spending the next hour trying to get this wild Corriente through the stripping chute at the other end of arena.
This went on the better part of the night, as long as the beer held out anyway.
The next report from Robby was, "We never caught a one of those little jackrabbit s.o.b.'s."
Nevertheless, they had to get up and leave early that morning to get to Gatesville, the first rodeo of their four-rodeo run.
Friends were taking bets whether they'd even get a time or not.
The final consensus was that there was no telling how many rodeos this pair would enter and how much money they'd spend if they actually accidentally, in a miracle moment, won something.
The big-name ropers entering those PRCA rodeos wouldn't have a clue who Robby and Darrel were when they showed up, but their buddies were certain they'd leave with some recognition of the comedy kind.
"Here comes Mo and Larry. Where'd they leave Curly?"
"Curly" was back at home making a living at his honest job.
Having suffered from several bouts of rodeo fever, Curly was taking notes and naming names.
Stay tuned for the continuing saga of the expensive, dangerous disease called "rodeo fever."
No comments:
Post a Comment