Billy Connolly's Route 66_ The Big Yin on the Ultimate American Road Trip - Billy Connolly [95]
‘You say you fight bulls. What does that mean?’
‘When those cowboys hit the ground, I step in and get that bull’s attention and make him come to me.’
‘You do the most impressive job.’
‘They have what we call a freestyle contest, a lot like your Mexican matadors. They turn out a bull without a rider and they judge how well we manoeuvre around the bull.’
‘Just using the barrel?’
‘Just my hands. No weapons, no cape.’
‘No barrel for protection?’
‘Mainly they judge me on how well I run around him and the tricks that I perform. If I run up the fence, I lose points. If he runs me over, I lose points. I won the World Championship five times.’
‘Woah.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I thought your entire job was to protect the bull rider.’
‘It is. But back in the day, for twenty years, Wrangler Jeans put on the Freestyle Bull Fighting Contest and they turned a bull out for seventy seconds. You were judged on how well you could manoeuvre around him, if you could jump over him, the tricks that you could do.’
I thought it was extraordinary. I’d never seen anything like that. Then Rob told me something that surprised me even more.
‘There’s a reason in Mexico they kill those bulls the first time they fight them. They’re not a dumb animal; they get very smart. After a while, if he fights you, he’s seen all the tricks and it’s like climbing in the ring with Muhammad Ali. They get real smart.’
Rob showed me a couple of his moves. The main challenge, he said, was that ‘four legs are going to outrun two legs all day long’. Completely outclassed by the bull for strength, power and speed, the key to surviving was to stay close to the bull’s shoulder, so that he had to turn in a tight circle in order to attack. ‘The closer and tighter you can keep to him, the better. Hopefully, his head is right in your hip pocket and you’re able to just keep circling tight and making good tight rounds. The further he pushes you out, the more he isn’t bent down, then the more room he has to come and gather you. That’s when they knock you as high as a telephone pole.’
Speaking to Rob was a joy, but I didn’t enjoy the rodeo half as much. It went on far too long and was too commercial, with a constant string of interruptions by the announcers plugging ‘our good friends who’ll supply you with all your plumbing needs’ and suchlike. ‘I don’t have any plumbing needs,’ I wanted to yell. ‘Just get on with it. I want to see somebody being flung off a bull.’
The comedy was crap, too. Seriously crap. And I know this might sound ridiculous, but I’d never previously equated rodeos with cruelty to animals. I was horrified by the shabby treatment of the animals and especially by the crowd’s lackadaisical disinterest in their welfare. The bulls and horses were heaved and pulled and thrown to the ground, tied up and kicked and harassed. Nobody else seemed to mind, but I didn’t like it at all.
Worst of all were the mutton busters. These are children who are too small to ride bulls. So, instead, they ride sheep. They wear crash helmets, jump on the backs of the sheep, then hang on for grim death. A lot of them were crying and limping once they’d finished their rides. It reminded me of fox hunters blooding the children after a kill. In the rodeo culture, maybe it all makes perfect sense. But, to me, it was grotesque – with the kids as well as the sheep being mistreated by the adults who arranged the whole thing. Everyone at the rodeo had been really kind to me, so I felt uneasy about criticising their way of life, but my honest opinion was that a lot of it was cruel and unnecessary.
The rodeo was an overly long, cold, unpleasant experience. By halfway through, I knew I would never attend another one in my life. But towards the end, as if I needed any more convincing that I shouldn’t be there, they enacted the most embarrassing patriotic gesture. Some old soldiers