Rebuttal

*This post is best enjoyed a day after reading the previous one.*

Some things go like clockwork. A good shot of espresso runs for 27 seconds, give or take 3. A well produced and coreographed show doesn't have 10 seconds of dead time. Basketball even has a shot clock to force the action.

Other things run at their own pace. Bad espresso goes from 5-45 seconds. The preschool Christmas play, well, kids will do what kids will do. Baseball is our national pastime because it passes a lot of time while batters scratch and pitchers spit.

And then there's the rodeo. You cannot cue a wildly bucking horse to exit the chute now instead of 30 seconds from now. A raging bull will not run the route you hoped. And therein lies the thrill of the rodeo. The unpredictable wildness.

And it's that brief untamed moment that keeps you sitting for hours on end. The knowing that you don't know what will happen. The chute may open and the bronco may decide he's quite happy trying to scrape the cowboy off his back without getting out in the ring. Or the bull, having successfully thrown the rider, may continue his rampage on the spot, trying to pulverize his victim. Then he'll take a few victory laps, ignoring wranglers attempts to direct him back to the corral. And of course, animals don't understand that the horn at 8 seconds means the rider won and the game is over. The animal stops when the animal wants to stop.

Does the same thing happen in other sports? Kinda. We watch cars going around in circles hundreds of times, when the real excitement is the crash. Football teams can grind out yards back and forth for half a game, but it's the 50 yard pass play or the 80 yard punt return that really gets us going. Baseball has its home runs, golf the hole-in-one. But trained athletes and engineered equipment will always be more predictable than untamed animals.

Which may make rodeo riders the bravest, or the craziest athletes out there. Suppose baseball allowed the pitcher to bean the hitter. Or football had no rules protecting the quarterback. And Nascar drivers could throw grenades in passing cars. Heh.

So would I have wanted to be in an artificially cooled theater experiencing a great summer blockbuster? Not on this night, when we sat in the sun without sweating, and long after the sunset without shivering. We were on rodeo time, with nothing to do for the night except enjoy the action, and the lulls between the action. And the sometimes groan-inducing jokes of the clown. And the little Amish boy roping a toddler girl. And the patriotism and prayers. And all the people who dressed their western best for the show.

This is the rodeo, and I tip my ten-gallon hat to Nelson the bull-rider, and all the cowboys who try for an 8 second ride and end up with a face full of dirt.