I hate to follow up Bear’s blog with a blog of my own. Its like hooking up with Vacek’s sister after she already went for a ride with Mazur. You want to brag about it, but in the end nobody really wants to hear what you have to say. All you can do is watch your friends high five Mazur and wish you were first. (I won’t name names but you know who you are)

So my assignment is to report on stupid behavior, primarily by yours truly. Yes, I did go to a bull riding school, and yes I am glad I did. However, the permanently blue right butt cheek will never let me live it down, nor will the look of utter disbelief and glances of disapproval when people ask me about it.

So why would I try it? Was it the lack of satisfaction and pure boredom I get from going to work everyday? Possibly…Was it to prove to myself that I could beat one of my biggest fears? Maybe….Was it for the adrenaline rush? Not likely…I guess I just wanted to say that I had done it once and cross it off my list.

I should have seen the utter stupidity in riding bulls a long time ago, however, there is no excuse for not taking a cue from the owner who tried to stand up to introduce himself, but couldn’t do so without the help of his permanent cane. When he asked me if I wanted a helmet and I actually debated the matter, I knew the stupid voice would be hounding me all weekend.

I had hoped to warm up on a junior steer, cow, or even an angry mutton. Unfortunately, they gave me Red Bronc, the actual bull from 8 seconds who had never been ridden. I had flashes of a hardened bone or horn entering my stomach, much like Williams worried over a hardened bone entering him when sleeping at the McCaro house.

The first bull, Red Bronc, tossed me in about 3 seconds (which is a generous estimate). It did create a feeling of euphoria and a sense that I could accomplish anything. No lie, I really felt like no task was too hard or challenging. I loved it for that. However, it quickly faded when it was my turn to ride again.

My mind kept telling me to walk away. You really have nothing left to accomplish. You have ridden a big f*cking bull, why would you want to do it again? Even my heart was starting to listen. I had made up my mind to tell the pro riders I was through…until my name was shouted to ride again. Instead of having the courage to walk away, I pussied out on pussying out. Quite extraordinary, really.

The second, and soon to be last bull, must have recently seen his children, wife, and mistress slaughtered before his eyes. When I stepped on him in the chute, he went apeshit. Thundering pain rolled through my ankles and legs as he slammed me against both sides of the gate. I wanted to cry out in pain, but the instructors kept telling me to be calm and “cowboy up.” Well you know what, fuck you! Open up the chutes.

The bull burst out and immediately started spinning. I did my best impression of superman but couldn’t help but land right on my ass. Once again, thundering pain shot through my body. Luckily, I became distracted by the 1,500 pound bull charging at me. Just when I finished watching my life flash before my eyes, a bullfighter ran in between the bull and myself and slapped him across the face. He veered off about three feet from my torso. (I subsequently gave the fighter a hand job to show appreciation)

A pro rider came to critique me. His words were, “Great ride! Awesome job…but you have to get mad, get angry. This is what it is all about. This is what life is about.” I momentarily thought on his point and realized I am a stock analyst. This might not be what life is about for me.

Two riders later, a bull gored a guy in the face and he had to be airlifted to Tyler. Needless to say, I turned in my equipment shortly thereafter.