Monday, September 30, 2013

Shameless Plug

Well, I've always wanted to have a newspaper article written about me, me, me, all about me...wait, did I type that out loud?  Did I post this?  Hopefully, with this cute little introductory narrative, everyone will know that I am  really, deep down, quite humble, thankful, and self-involved...shoot, I did it again!

Oh, well, you know me by now, anyway...

http://newssun.suntimes.com/search/19120846-423/blog-log-constant-yammerin-terry-wiesen.html

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Yes, It's My First Rodeo


I recently visited a friend in Texas who treated me to a favorite local pastime - going to a rodeo.  I am going to let you in on a little secret.  Rodeos are apparently the last bastion of a tough-minded, earn-your-own-way, pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps philosophy.  No liberal, mamby pamby, everyone-gets-a-trophy decline of the American way of life here, no ma'am.

The fact that the arena was air conditioned was the only concession to modern cushiness I could find.

Our announcer started off by invoking his freedom of religion rights and praying fervently like no preacher I have every seen for the cowboys and various types of bovines involved.  This was followed by the Star Spangled Banner and a patriotic montage of our military personnel around the globe.  So far, so good, I thought.   These are all activities guaranteed by our constitution and it does the heart good to see everyone here united in a cause.

Then things got a little rougher.

My first clue this was a little more demanding sport than, let's say t-ball, were the 10 to 12-year-old boys who started off the events by trying to ride slightly smaller steer than their adult counterparts.  Some (only some?) had vests and helmets on which attested to the dangers and unforgiving nature of this sport.

But then it got a little more rigorous.

The equivalent of an Easter Egg Hunt on steroids followed with approximately 100 children chasing down two steer with ribbons on their tails.  Much face planting and trampling ensued after which the two lucky winners who scored the ribbons were awarded basically the equivalent of a Happy Meal.  Tough way to earn a cheeseburger.  But this was not the most disturbing aspect, oh no; when the sometimes crying, aimlessly wandering children tried to exit the arena, some were confused as to which way to find their parents.  No Amber alerts, just the announcer saying, "If ya brought one, pick one up ya'll!"  Yikes.

It was at this point I realized there was to be no 8th place award or participant ribbons for everyone.  This is Texas, folks, we raise 'em tough here.  No sooner had that thought entered my mind but I was enthralled by a DCFS contact worthy event called Mutton Bustin'.  The participants are aged 4 to 7 - yes, that's right, 4-year-old, barely potty-trained, preschoolers.  Most dropped instantly off their sheep right out of the gate.  But they dusted themselves off and toddled off into the sunset.

The finale, of course, is the well-known, hold-on-for-dear-life or 8-seconds (whichever comes first) bull-riding.  Just to spice it up a little, audience members (volunteers?) were "invited" into the ring to sit on folding chairs covered by a plywood box with bars to watch from a bulls-eye position, so to speak.  Had they thrown some Christians and lions in the ring or sacrificed a virgin at this point I would not have been surprised.

Just good, clean fun.

God Bless America and especially Texas!