Performance 7.9

I was born and raised in Salinas, California, a town known for precisely three things: an overabundance of lettuce, being the birthplace of John Steinbeck and being the home of the California Rodeo. As the son of a cowboy, former Western store proprietor, former champion paint horse owner and eventual muleskinner, I was intimately familiar with "Big Week," which would overtake Salinas every July.

So when I have cause to say, "This ain't my first rodeo," that's literal.

The first thing about the rodeo -- other than the pronunciation issue (it's real simple: the actual assemblage of sporting events is the "ROADIE-oh," whereas the pageantry and celebration associated with those events is the "roe-DAY-oh") -- is that what you're about to sit down and watch can be a real mixed bag. And that doesn't even take into account where you fall on the animal cruelty side of the equation.

In the pre-Internet age, you bought a ticket for the day of the rodeo you could attend and hoped you got the day where all the best events happened. The rodeo is a multi-day affair, so you aren't going to see it all. You might see roping events, riding events, or "rough stock" competitions, which actually involves about as much leather as you'd expect from something called "rough stock." So you may show up amped for some steer wrestling, but be subject to an hour or so of barrel riding. Nothing against barrel riding, of course, but it's not a guy plummeting off a horse at full speed onto a pair of horns and trying to assert his will over a steer that is just thinking IF I GET TO THAT OTHER CHUTE I GET TO LEAVE.

The events that comprise the competitive sports range from "thrilling with a chance of grievous bodily injury" to "slightly boring with a slightly lower chance of grievous bodily injury. They include the following:

Barrel racing: In many large rodeos, this is almost exclusively the chance for women to shine, although there are of course men's barrel-racing events. You must weave your horse in between a designated number of barrels in the shortest possible time. Fairly straightforward. It's like a horse slalom. I encourage you to call it that.

Calf roping: A calf is released from a chute, followed by a rider on horseback from a separate chute. On a run, the rider must rope the calf about the horns, arrest its forward momentum by stopping his horse, then leap down from the horse, FLIP THE CALF ONTO ITS BACK and tie three of its legs together in a specific fashion. This is also done for time. This is the oldest rodeo event and takes its origins from when unwashed ranch hands had to do this on the regular in order to scar their employers' cattle with a designated piece of flaming-hot iron, otherwise they wouldn't get paid. The West was weird.

Team roping: A frantic steer is again released from a chute, followed by TWO riders. One rider must rope the steer around the horns while the other ropes the calf by the hind legs. The second part of that equation is spectacularly difficult. Again, this is done for time, with the clock stopped once the calf is tugged at by either angle until it falls over, which seems like an unnecessarily cruel endpoint for the game. This event, while requiring impeccable skill, is shockingly boring compared to the rest of the events.

Steer wrestling: It's exactly what it says on the tin. Falling off a horse onto a steer's pointy head, you are required to USE YOUR BARE HANDS to twist this animal into the dirt. Again: for time. My father once attempted this in a small Northern California rodeo. He failed to bring the steer to the ground, lost his grip and was summarily trampled by the beast as it fled for safety. My father placed third in that competition, owing to the fact that there were only three entrants.

Bronc riding: The first of the "rough stock" competitions, there are two entirely different competitions here: bareback and saddle bronc riding. The difference in the two events is tantamount to the difference between the American League and the National League, but let's not begrudge anyone wanting to watch people get flung off an irate horse as many times as possible. Nowadays many rough stock competitors wear helmets, but that's a pretty new fad. Everyone used to just wear a hat. Some people still just wear a hat. In an event where even if you win, you are going to be flung through the air. Did I mention there are clowns? Yeah: there are clowns.

Riders must remain on the horse for eight seconds; only then are they scored, based on style. To the untrained eye, rough stock riders all look like they're doing about the same, but believe me, there is a definite difference between someone who has control of the animal and someone who is just praying to sweet baby Jesus that he doesn't get flung ass over teakettle before the siren sounds. Contrary to popular belief, the bucking strap on the broncs and bulls does not go around the animal's dick. That's not what makes them buck. It's still funny to tell people that, though.

Bull riding: Likely the most poetic of all the rodeo events and easily the most dangerous. The rules are exactly the same as bronc riding, but with one key difference: you are on a fucking bull. Imagine yourself. Now imagine a bull. Imagine sitting on that bull. Now imagine that bull doesn't want you sitting on it. Oh hey, look, you're lying in the dirt with a punctured lung. Please don't try this, ever. Feel free to watch it, though. Watching it is awesome.

Your average rodeo is also going to have a bunch of freak-show side events, like getting all the drunkest guys who signed a waiver together in one corral and having them try to put pants on a cow. Or having some kids rope goats. Or some good old-fashioned trick riding. No one can really win a buckle for any of this, but it sure beats guessing which computer-generated hat has a computer-generated ball underneath it.

Style 9.3

For pageantry, it's pretty hard to beat the week of a major rodeo. Everyone tucks their snap-front shirts into their finest jeans, cinches up their most braided belts, plops their Stetsons on their heads and trades stories about the times they were stepped on by livestock. (My personal story: when I was learning to ride at the age of eight or so, a pony named Honeysuckle bucked me off into a pile of manure, then trampled me for effect. It was the first time an animal ever taunted me, which is never easy.)

The rodeo is nothing if not ostentatious. There will be parades, there will be evenings of "cowboy poetry" and there will be barbecues. Oh lord, how there will be barbecues. The air will be redolent with charred tri-tip for seven straight days and you'll have your fill of beans, by gum. At the actual rodeo grounds, you'll see so many flags, both American and Confederate, that you'll think Ted Nugent's house exploded. Women in sequined and fringed jackets (always both; always both) will ride on majestic steeds while carrying flags on long poles while "God Bless the USA" blares out of a PA system and 60-something men alternate between weeping and catcalling.

Cowboy style isn't like anything else, but it's certainly not lacking. In addition to the hats and the shirts and the Ariat and Justin boots, you'll see lifted trucks with "COWBOY UP" or "SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY" full-rear-window decals. You'll see NRA stickers. You'll see truck nuts. Style is about signaling, and there's no crowd like a rodeo crowd to be unashamed about who they are or what they're into.

And keep in mind: the prize that all these bowlegged Marlboro men are competing for, after all, is a shiny gold belt buckle. Check out this bad boy. These people risk life and limb for accessories. Now that's style.

Overall 8.6

The rodeo, as mentioned before, will not be your thing if you are concerned about being kind to livestock. But as a monument to itself -- as an anachronistic anomaly -- it's a spectacle that cannot be equalled or surpassed. Get a ticket to the competition. Watch a parade. Eat some grilled corn on the cob. Watch a man dig his heels into the dirt and try to drag a 650-pound animal to the ground by the top of its head. And maybe work on your own story about the last animal that ran over you. You're probably gonna need it.

Previously on SB Nation Reviews:
Willie McGee | The Vinces | Michael Chang | Vince McMahon | Dale and Antonio Davis | Cats | Bill Walsh College Football | The World Cup | Eric Dickerson