I love some rodeo action

Growing up, the biggest rodeo for miles around came to Fort Smith, Arkansas via the Arkansas-Oklahoma State Fair. My dad thought it was a funny to own cowboy boots as he was a Cincinnati city man living in a “frontier town.” For me, though, the rodeo was a part of my life. My best friend barrel-raced her horse in competitions all over the damn place. When she wasn’t marching with the high school band, she was flying around steel barrels like a weightless angel. I’d help her load Missy, a kinda’ scary Tennessee Walker, into the trailer and wish them all good luck. I tried racing a couple times but my Mom put a stop to it when I broke my arm.

The first real job I ever had was at a western wear store in the mall. I’m sure my friend Kaia remembers it well. I had a bright yellow cowboy hat and a purple jean jacket. Tony Lama boots it took me six months to save up for. Back then, to be tough in high school meant to ride broncs or bulls. None of this shuffling mean-boy crap kids do now. The guys I knew REALLY were mean sons-of-bitches when it came to handling pain.

There’s a bit of a rodeo here about, up in Williamston, NC. It’s okay…

But the REAL rodeo, the championship, no-holds-barred where I wish I could go RODEO, is in Las Vegas.

The Wrangler National Finals Rodeo. Hot Damn! That looks fun. I am not much on gambling, don’t have a hankering to see a fake Eiffel Tower but shootfire, I wish I could go to Vegas for that rodeo. National Finals Rodeo tickets are affordable. It’s just getting to Nevada from North Carolina that’s hard to do. It’s easier and cheaper to fly to Costa Rica.