Rodeo
“First steer ri-i-ider, Joe Camnetti! Joe—nossir, he’s one of the local Jewish boys. Ho-o-old fast! Whap! No, he don’t qualify, except as a high-diver. Look at the cowboy with the pretty shirt! That’s all it takes to make a cowboy these days—gaudy shirts.
“Buck Brady! Look at that Swede ride! No, he didn’t fall off; he tried to save his hat. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! No, he’ll be all right. Rudder twisted a little, tha’sall. Makes him go sideways. The next ri-i-i-ider is Jimmy Gomez, the German mark. A black steer from Oregon! Qualify? What do yuh want him to do? You try it, brother.
“Yes, ma’am—plenty dust. Relay race? Not today. No, ma’am. All steer and bronc ridin’ today. Next ri-i-i-ider is Sam Pope. Not any relation, ma’am. This’n’s got a vacuum. Best rider of the two, though. Bo-o-o-oy, howdy! He’ll qualify.
“That man with the flat hat? Oh, he’s the S.P.C.A. Fact. He’s out here to see that we don’t hurt no dumb brutes. Yuh didn’t see him make any charges agin’ that blue steer that walked all over Camnetti, didja? Who ain’t dumb—Joe? Rides steers, don’t he?
“Ladee-e-e-es and gentl’men! The next e-vent on this program is the bronc ridin’! The first ri-i-i-ider will be Happy Day on Tumbleweed. Ha-a-a-appy Day on— Yes ma’am, he’s a buckin’ horse. No, he won’t come through the fence. Git away from that chute! Whooee-e-e-e! Rake’m, cow-boy!
“Yes ma’am, he reached for the apple and came up with a handful of dirt. No, ma’am, he ain’t hurt—he’s too tired to walk off. Yessir, a parachute would ’a’ helped. Next ri-i-ider will be Hennery Simpson on Rollin’ Stone. Yes ma’am, another horse. Hello. Willyum! Why ain’tcha ridin’? No? Some of you fellers are gettin’ temper’mentil, ain’tcha? How’s all yore folks, Andy? That yore wife with yuh? Hello, Mrs. Smith. You folks still livin’ together? Oh, I see; Andy ain’t got into pitchers yet. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
“No, ma’am; Hennery didn’t do so well. He ort to have a Shetland pony to practise on. Hey! Who’s that fancy rider goin’ over the gate? Oscar what? Blair? Oh, yeah. Next ri-i-i-ider is Oscar Blair on Rockin’ Moon. There goes Oscar! Ride ’m, bo-o-o-oy! Don’t sit—ride! Use yore spurs. No, ma’am, he don’t qualify. Gotta rake ’em to qualify. They ain’t got no rake? That’s right. I’ll speak to ’em about that.
“Next rider is Tom Wilson on Tequila. Sounds like a temperance lecture. Yes’m, he’s that high-pocket person with the baby-blue shirt. He’s a tough hombre. Killed a man in Texas. Ran over him with a mowin’ machine. Ha, ha, ha, ha! No, ma’am, there ain’t a man qualified today—yet. Yuh can’t qualify if yuh don’t stay on, can yuh?
“To-o-o-om Wilson on Tequila! Let’s go-o-o-o-o! There’s a bucker! Climb the moon, bronc! Rake’m, Tommy! Rake ’em! Use yore feet. In the shoulders! The shoulders, Tom! Them two humps jist ahead of yore feet! A-a-a-a-w, pshaw!
“No, ma’am, he didn’t. Good rider? Yes’m—morally. Was I pullin’ for him? Shore was. Look at that shirt he’s wearin’. I didn’t want it. No, ma’am, there ain’t no good riders left. They’re all gettin’ so short-legged that we’ll have to breed stock that have got their shoulders four feet nearer their rump.
“Ladee-e-e-e-es and gentl’men! Next e-event will be the steer wrasslin’. Yes’m, there’ll be dust—plenty. No, ma’am; nobody will git hurt—not even the S.P.C.A.”
