Mechanical bulls and me

Estimated reading time: 3 minutes, 34 seconds

Perhaps it was because my first question was "Do they have a mechanical bull?"

But for whatever reason, when it was confirmed by sight that a mechanical bull was indeed in operation at the Stockyards in Fort Worth, Texas, it was instantly assumed that I would ride it.

No one else in our group of five even hinted at or entertained the slightest thought of they themselves taking a wild albeit unnecessary spin on the mechanical beast. But everyone questioned not if I should ride, but would the ride come immediately or after having given the ¾-lbs. burrito I had just eaten time to hit the bottom of my stomach.

I, of course, wouldn't have it any other way, this being my first encounter with a mechanical bull. And given the amount of thought I have given to the subject of mechanical bulls – talking about them, writing about them, joking about them – to not ride when given the opportunity would be unspeakable.

To me, mechanical bulls are inherently funny. For one, the honky tonk atmosphere of silly, skinny white guys in clownish shirts, funny hats and cowboy boots is a good start. Getting these fellers to ride a bucking machine based on the actions of an erratic and aggressive animal to the point of covering the contraption with the hide of a real bull and you have created something legendarily humorous.

The idea of riding a real bull is absurd enough. Take a powerful, angry, volatile, unpredictable animal and tie an ungodly strap around its private parts, making it more angry, volatile and unpredictable. Then, for the dumb witted, yee-haw fun of it, get on its back and stay on for as long as possible before getting tossed off like you were made of hay and held together by a pair of discarded overalls. Too easy? Well, you can only hold on with one hand. Oh yeah, and to make some sense out of this whole rigamaroll, once you get bucked off the dangerous beast, clowns shall run out to serve as distraction as you pick up your goofy hat and scamper off over some bleachers.

But with a mechanical bull, an absurd and, face it, idiotic event is replicated as entertainment for people who want to ride the bull but don't want the risk of being a) stomped b) disemboweled or c) having their neck snapped as they tumble to an unforgiving dirt surface.

An amusement ride is born. But unlike a normal thrill ride, which undoubtedly buckles you to your seat using straps and belts with the goal of keeping you safely attached to the vessel, a mechanical bull hopes for just the opposite. Its goal is to get you to fall off, and the more violently spectacular you are tossed aside, the better.

For the life of me I can't figure out why the idea of this activity is attractive to people. It is so avoidable, so bizarre, so funny.

To me, a mechanical bull is part absurd, part surreal, part volatile, wholly unnecessary and totally random. Which is almost exactly how I would describe my sense of humor.

And maybe that's the connection I feel with mechanical bulls. Perhaps the mechanical bull is the embodiment of my personality, representing a trait of mine that I value the most.

Perhaps that's why my friends didn't question if I would ride. It all seemed so natural.

So yes I rode. I rode because I would never forgive myself otherwise. Five dollars per ride? I had no choice, you see? Sign a release saying I can't sue regardless of how mangled I become after getting flipped off a mechanical animal? Saying no would be denying the essence of my being.

OK maybe that pushed it too far. But of course I rode.

My ride wasn't as spectacular as how I had planned it in my mind. I didn't cartwheel off the bull in a haphazardly fantastic style. I didn't lie in the mangled, crumpled heap on the ground as I had hoped.

But at least I rode. And at the same time, was able to cross a lifelong goal off my list.

And for the record, moving up on that list of goals were:

1. Learning to yodel
2. Developing a jaw-dropping tap dance routine to bust out at parties and small gatherings.