Insurrection Night
Growing up, Saturday morning was my favorite time of the week. After spending Monday through Friday flooding my brain with thoughts of Otto von Bismark unifying Germany or my locker combination or the 11 girls I had crushes on—Saturday morning I could turn my brain off and mindlessly sit in front of the TV to watch Spider-Man or later, the same highlights on ESPN over and over again.
And every Saturday morning TV session was stuffed with commercials for two events I never in my life thought I would attend: Monster Truck rallies and bull riding rodeos. Not a lot of people that look like me over there.
But it was an instant yes when I got the 2pm text this past Saturday asking if I wanted to see the Professional Bull Riders at Madison Square Garden at 7pm.
It also happened to be the 3rd anniversary of a bunch of emotionally manipulated weirdos cosplaying as Braveheart freedom fighters convinced themselves they were valiantly storming the Bastille to save America from the evil pedophiles who stole an election from their messiah.
In reality, it was mostly folks who had the day off and wanted to wear funny costumes and hang out with some of the people they’ve been hitting it off with in the lamest Facebook Groups and when they all arrived at the Capitol, they had no real plan or desire to actually get their hands dirty.
I think people want to feel special and important so going to DC for what you believe is a monumental, historical moment where you can perceive yourself as some sort of hero worthy of medals of honor.
Anyway, I assumed the Venn diagram between January 6th dorks and rodeo attendees was a perfect oval. I thought I was going to stroll into the opening scene of Bad Boys II.
Turns out, bull riding competitions are LIT.
You know you’re about to see some FIRE when the event starts with the DJ blasting Run DMC and the stage hands LITERALLY lighting the floor on fire to spell out “PBR”.
Basically, every like, two minutes or so, a 20-year-old from Texas named Cody Halverson Jr. The Third has his trainer/manager/alcoholic father strap them onto the back of a 1,500-pound bull whose sole desire is to get the tobacco-smelling masochist off its back as soon as they’re let out of their gate while thousands of people in cowboy hats (and me) cheer for both the rider to last the full 8 seconds without getting dropped on their necks and for the bull to hurl the rider into Bryant Park so we can ice skate in his blood.
It’s a sporting event where you’re rooting for everyone involved. There is something satisfying about watching a middle-aged Brazilian caballero successfully maintain his balance on a raging bull over 10 times his size. Like, you know he spent his entire life perfecting this hyper-specific skill that could easily land him in a gravesite next to his ancestors. One mistake and a cow will turn you into a vegetable. There’s almost no room for error.
I recommend everyone go to at least one Professional Bull Riding event lifetime. Or just watch it on TV so you won’t be surrounded by people whose only excuse for not going to the January 6th riots was not being able to get the day off from work.
Thanks for reading. All typos are jokes you just don’t understand.