I went to Madison Square Garden to the Professional Bull Riders 2008 Versus Invitational last night. That’s what the Garden called the event. I referred to it as “the big city rodeo.” I’m definitely no shit-kicking Texan - I have never and will never own Wranglers or a belt buckle larger than my pelvis. I really get nothing out of sunburns, b.b. guns, or suede fringe. Heck, I won’t even use “real” as an adverb.
But watching someone ride a bucking bovine with one hand in the air is just good, clean fun. And when it’s not clean, well, it’s more fun. See also: Why I won’t turn down a free ticket to a hockey game.
Cade got two tickets in a corporate suite from one of the companies he works with at [Big Corporation]. We shared the suite with a few other corporate people and their guests. The accommodations were wonderful, of course, but made the experience less authentic. What kind of rodeo is it if you can’t even smell doody? And you’re eating chocolate covered strawberries while a bull gets lassoed? And servants are massaging your shoulders while Jewel sings “The National Anthem”?
Okay. So there weren’t really servants, beside the people who kept refreshing the foodstuffs, including nachos, hamburgers, fries, Philly cheesesteak fixings, fresh fruit, hot dogs, and guacamole. Jewel was there, as was Jethro. I did watch the whole thing at a bar and ate a lot of chocolate covered strawberries. The suite also had a fancy bathroom, which I frequented. Lots of free beverages, you see.
It was really fun. The people in the suite were fun and not too shy to cheer when the buzzer indicated a rider had managed to stay aboard (abull?) for eight seconds. The crowd went wild whenever an angry bull finally bucked off a rider and then ran to the opposite side of the arena, as if to stomp to death all the audience members it possibly could. This signaled the lone horseman to lasso the bull, the venue erupting into applause.
My favorite moment was when a well-dressed man from ground-level seats suddenly ran into the arena right after the end of a ride. He was so proud of himself with his Banana Republic shirt haphazardly untucked and fresh manure on his loafers. Security was called - they were in pressed jeans and pearl buttoned shirts - and escorted him out. Everyone cheered.
Often, I see the fish out of water dissonance of Southerners in New York, but I dare say this was the opposite. Yee haw!
