"All the riders want? Fairness. Theydemandto be judged for their rides, not their personal lives. It shouldn't matter what race they are, how often they go to church, or if one of us happens to be a woman."
I got the stop motion again, and this time the video was of Cody. This time, it was short clips of her at all her events. Time after time, she rode like she was born up there, but overlaid on top of it were her ever-declining scores.
And I was figuring out this system. When Clay pointed, I picked right back up. "What about the bullfighters? You all love our Deviant Rescue Squad, right? Three brave men willing to jump between a rider and a bull. And this weekend, they're proud to show off their new sponsor, but why did they need one? Well, that was because they were suspended over things that happened outside of the arena: who someone dated. Now, how stupid is that?"
And Clay turned to me with a shit-eating grin. On the big screen, zoomed in so it couldn't be confused, J.D. and Tanner walked toward each other. It took me a second to understand why he was playing this clip, but then I realized it was their kiss! Someone had caught it on camera!
Yet just as they leaned in, a big heart bubbled up, covering their mouths, faces, and then the entire screen.
"Like it or not, we don't get to pick what someone does with their own life. We certainly shouldn't bring that intothe workplace, and this? This is our career. We bull riders have dedicated our lives to being able to do this. We were raised on keeping our nose out of everyone's business and pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. Well, disqualifying and suspending anyone we don't like is the exact opposite of that!"
And pictures started to roll like a well-crafted slideshow. They had riders warming up, friends congratulating each other, and plenty of handshakes or back-thumping hugs down there on the dirt. That? It was the camaraderie we shared, put into a visible form.
But Clay was rolling his hand, making it clear I should keep talking.
"Tonight, one of our own was attacked by another! That crosses a line. Naturally, we expected punishment. We expected the PBR's management to handle it. Instead, thevictimwas blamed. Thevictimwas suspended. The attacker? I have no idea what punishment he's going to face - or if there will be any."
Then Clay pointed down. I was confused until I saw the riders starting to walk out, but this wasn't the normal sort of line we had. No, this was more like a dam bursting and the thing held inside flowing where it wasn't wanted.
They weren't lining up. They were moving to make a mass in the middle of where the bulls bucked for us. Groups, pairs, and more until they were simply one giant blob down there, and the whole time, I kept talking.
"The president of the PBR told us to shut up, line up, and perform for you, our fans, like trained monkeys! We were expected to make sure the show went on, not caring if ourfriendwas hurt. Not knowing what happened to the one who dared to make a friendly competition into something deadly. But we are not cogs in a machine."
I pulled in a breath. "We. Are. Bull riders!"
And down there, every man in the arena lifted his hand to the sky in a show of solidarity.
"So reach out on social media. Pick up the phone. Whatever way you're comfortable with, use it. Tell the PBR if you support this sort of thing - or if, like us, you just want to see good bull riding, fair judging, and to know the winner really is the best of the best, not just the most popular."
The big screen was still going, and it shifted to the bullfighters, which made me realize I was forgetting something.
"Show your love for the men who take the risks that scare even us. Pick your favorite bullfighter. Post under the videos on YouTube. Send a tweet. Tag the PBR on Instagram. Share our TikTok’s, and follow the riders you support. That? It's how you, the fans, can help. That's all we need, because this? This is about the toughest sport on dirt. It's about seeing who's man enough - or woman enough - to last a full eight seconds with a bull. It's about the feeling of invincibility that comes when the lights go off and the music gets loud."
And I made a circle of my own, letting them know I was wrapping up. "This is professional bull riding. We're not here for a popularity contest or to make anyone happy. We're here because we all grew up a little more country than everyone else. Doesn't matter if that was in downtown Nashville or the middle of nowhere, Alberta, Canada. These men have come from all across the world to prove they really do have what it takes, and all we ask is for the chance to prove it. Fairly."
And Clay slashed across his throat.
The lights went dark - all of them. And down there, right in front of the riders, a flame flickered to life. It grew and traveled. Within seconds, the letters P, B, and R were burning, the only illumination in here, just enough to let me see the riders making their way out of the arena.
And then the lights began to come back up. I pulled off the headset, aware that was the end of the show, and held it out.
"You're a natural," the announcer told me. "Let me know when you want to change from riding to announcing."
I just chuckled. "I'm about to be suspended for that, and if Donald Merrill asks, I made all of you do this."
"Nope," the video guy said. "We think this is shit too."
I nodded. "Yeah. Well... thank you."
And I turned for the door, ready to accept my fate, and hopefully with as much grace as Cody had. But just before I reached it, Clay stopped me.
"Jake? Is she ok?"
"Cody?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Austin choked her hard enough she can barely speak," I said. "He tore her shirt open, and her head's bleeding, but yeah, she's ok. She's a bull rider. She's not going to let this stop her."
