Fried Twinkies, Buckle Bunnies, & Bull Riders Read online

  “Josh Peter really put himself inside the sport of professional bull riding and has done a fantastic job capturing the distinct, hilarious, inspiring, and bizarre personalities of the riders. Which is something that made it enjoyable to me not only as a rider but also as a fan.”

  —Ty Murray, seven-time world all-around champion rodeo cowboy—

  “Josh Peter’s grip on his subject is as sure as that of the extraordinary men atop these astonishing beasts. Come discover an American fiesta: The Riding of the Bulls.”

  —Gary Smith, writer, Sports Illustrated—

  “Peter has thrown the chute open on a wildly entertaining sport…crafting an ambitious, riveting, balls-to-the-wall ride right to the finish. And that’s no bull…”

  —Armen Keteyian, CBS and HBO Sports—

  “Richly detailed and deftly told, Josh Peter’s chronicle of life on the Professional Bull Riders Tour is a rollicking, ribald take on the 8 most dangerous seconds in sport. You come away grateful that Peter has brought his considerable skills to the subject—and relieved that your own workday doesn’t entail trying to stay on top of a bull.”

  —Wayne Coffey, bestselling author of The Boys of Winter—

  For my beloved wife, Vanessa, and my beautiful little Taurus, Norah

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE: MAKE ’EM SHIVER

  (Las Vegas, Nevada)

  CHAPTER TWO: THE MARATHON BEGINS

  (Jacksonville, Florida)

  CHAPTER THREE: HEADS & TAILS

  (Bossier City, Louisiana)

  CHAPTER FOUR: RIDE AT YOUR OWN RISK

  (Greensboro, North Carolina)

  CHAPTER FIVE: DOWN GOES THE CHAMP

  (Atlanta, Georgia)

  CHAPTER SIX: TWO IS THE UGLIEST NUMBER

  (Anaheim, California)

  CHAPTER SEVEN: REVENGE OF THE BULLFIGHTER

  (Indianapolis, Indiana)

  CHAPTER EIGHT: THE FORT WORTH MASSACRE

  (Fort Worth, Texas)

  CHAPTER NINE: WANNABES, WASHUPS & DREAMERS

  (Thibodaux, Louisiana)

  CHAPTER TEN: PROTECTING THE BULLS

  (Kansas City, Missouri)

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: A CRY FOR HELP

  (Nashville, Tennessee)

  CHAPTER TWELVE: DIRT ROAD TO PARADISE

  (Cachoeira Paulista, Brazil)

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TUFF TIMES FOR PBR

  (Colorado Springs, Colorado)

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE BULL THAT SAVED JOE BERGER

  (Mandan, North Dakota)

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RUMBLINGS FROM THE RIDERS

  (Oklahoma City, Oklahoma)

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CONTENDERS & PRETENDERS

  (Reno, Nevada)

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE GRAND RAPIDS JINX

  (Grand Rapids, Michigan)

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SETTING THE STAGE

  (Columbus, Ohio)

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: ADRIANO’S ARMS RACE

  (Las Vegas, Nevada)

  CHAPTER TWENTY: THE DELICIOUS SHOWDOWN

  (Las Vegas, Nevada)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, a big thanks to all of the bull riders, especially those who advised me against getting on a bull. As Adriano Moraes put it, “At your age, you’ll probably die.”

  Simply writing about bulls required an incredible support team that included Frank Scatoni and Greg Dinkin, the best agents a writer could have; Pete Fornatale, my talented and tireless editor; all of the hard-working folks at Rodale, who not only published this book but helped make it something of which I’m especially proud; friends like Phyllis Shnaider and Charles Billings, who provided unyielding optimism; and my entire family, but especially my wife and my mother, who believed in me even when I didn’t. And that’s just the beginning of my gratitude.

  This book could not have been written without the generosity of the PBR; without the support of David Meeks and Doug Tatum, my bosses at the Times-Picayune; or without the help of the Outdoor Life Network—especially Matt Vinick, who must have spent half of the year responding to my requests for videotapes. It also would have been much less fun to write without the camaraderie and friendship of people like Todd Pierce, Jinx Clower, Tandy Freeman, Joe Loverro, Leah Garcia, Brett Haber, Brandon Bates, Beiron Andersson, and countless others.

  Additional thanks to Chris McManes, for his friendship and keen eye; Gail Woerner, for her dedication to rodeo history; Sharon Mahrley, for her stewardship of the Lane Frost Web site; and to all of the other men and women dedicated to giving bull riding and rodeo the attention and publicity they so richly deserve.

  ONE

  MAKE ’EM SHIVER

  “If the PBR don’t get your fire going, your wood is wet.”

  —Larry Seamans, Texan and ardent bull riding fan

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Saturday & Sunday, November 8 & 9, 2003

  Climbing into the 6-foot-deep, coffin-shaped metal chute, Chris Shivers lowered himself onto the back of Silver Select, a 1,600-pound bull. He wrapped a custom-made bull rope around his left hand and with his right hand pounded closed his gloved fist. Then he tightened his legs against the bull and called for the gate with a shout of “Go.”

  The chute gate swung open, and out they burst, man and beast.

  Ropes of saliva shot from Silver Select’s nostrils as he bucked and whirled and leapt and shook. The crowd of more than 16,000 inside the Thomas & Mack Center loved it, all the more because the rider aboard the furious bull at the Professional Bull Riders’ World Finals was Shivers, a baby-faced 24-year-old from Louisiana and the reigning hero and heartthrob of the PBR. “Make us Shiver!” read a handmade sign. That’s exactly what happened as the crowd cheered, shouted, and . . . gasped.

  Shivers was hung up.

  He’d tumbled off the right side of Silver Select with his hand caught in the bull rope. As Silver Select twisted and spun, Shivers looked like he was caught in a blender. What happened next was a blur.

  His left hand ripped free of the bull rope, the bull knocked him face-first into the dirt, Shivers crawled away, reaching his feet and staggering for safety.

  Out of danger, Shivers grimaced as he clutched his right arm. The medical staff hustled to his aid. Wincing as he walked out of the arena with the assistance of a trainer, he managed to tip his cowboy hat as if to assure the fans he was okay. Tentative applause rippled through the crowd.

  Bull riders are no ordinary men. To see that, one need look no further than the beasts they attempt to stay on for 8 seconds. The bulls, weighing up to 2,200 pounds, go by names like Dippin’ Rampage, Tombstone, and McNasty—and have dispositions to match. The baddest of the lot was Little Yellow Jacket, a 1,700-pound monster who’d been voted Bull of the Year for the second straight season. But the riders, if not as strong as the bulls, were just as tough.

  At the 2003 finals, one rider was competing with a partially collapsed lung; another was back less than 4 weeks after suffering a broken rib and punctured lung; yet another was climbing aboard bulls 5 months after suffering a skull fracture that required emergency brain surgery. Now, on the eve of the last day of the finals, Silver Select had pounded Shivers’s back, strained his left arm, and stomped on his right arm.

  Less than 24 hours later, Shivers returned to the arena, ignored the pain, and climbed onto Tar Baby. He felt every bit of Tar Baby’s 2,000 pounds beneath him as the bull leaned against the back of the chute. The bull thrashed and reared as Shivers made his wrap, weaving the rope between the ring finger and pinkie of his left hand—a “suicide wrap,” they call it, because running the rope between the two fingers makes it harder for the bull to p
ull it out of a rider’s hand but also harder for the cowboy to let go. About half of the PBR’s riders use the suicide wrap and risk dangerous hang-ups.

  Shivers fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on the anxious bull; and with Tar Baby still wriggling, he called for the gate.

  “Go.”

  The bull lunged forward with a savage buck, his massive head plunging down and his hind legs kicking high into the air. Shivers stayed centered. And when Tar Baby cut hard to the right, Shivers cut with him. At the last instant, the bull reversed directions. But Shivers anticipated the move, and . . . Yes.

  The buzzer had sounded. Shivers, pulling the tail of his rope and easing out of the suicide wrap, had ridden the 2,000-pound beast.

  Bailing out to the right, Shivers landed on all fours, popped to his feet, and broke into a huge grin as he jogged away from the bull. Then he threw his cowboy hat into the air, an exclamation point following the ride that clinched the 2003 season championship. In the world of bull riding, his financial reward would be unprecedented.

  In the beginning, the reward was bragging rights. Rodeo sprung up in the Southwest, an outgrowth from the men on horseback who appeared on the dusty plains after the Civil War ended in 1865. Fueled by liquor and pride, the cowboys boasted about their skills, and arguments led to exhibitions. In full swing by the 1930s, organized rodeos featured calf roping, steer wrestling, bareback riding, and saddle bronc riding. The bull riding always came last, because promoters knew the most dangerous event would hold the crowds for the entire show. Yet the top bull riders competed for just enough money to stay on a circuit replete with liquor, gambling, and accommodating women. That began to change in 1992, when 20 riders seeking more money and input broke away from the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA), which for 50 years had controlled pro rodeo. The riders pitched in $1,000 apiece with the idea of starting their own tour—the Professional Bull Riders, Inc. A decade later, at the 2003 finals, came a watershed moment: Shivers, the newly crowned champion, taking home a $1 million bonus, the first in rodeo history.

  In addition to the fans watching that last day of the 2003 finals inside the Thomas & Mack Center, more than two million television viewers watched on NBC, certifying bull riding as one of America’s fastest-growing spectator sports. The sport appealed to those who loved to watch danger and the accompanying wrecks. In fact, some saw the PBR as the next NASCAR. But PBR executives still felt they needed a superstar. On November 9, 2003, inside the Thomas & Mack Center, it looked as if they’d found him.

  With his pale blue eyes, light brown hair, and stubble-free face, Chris Shivers looked closer to 18 than 24. He stood only 5 feet 5 inches tall. But in the world of bull riding, he was a giant. “The Tiger Woods of our sport” is what the PBR’s chief executive officer called him.

  Shivers grew up in the two-stoplight farming community of Jonesville in central Louisiana. Every year his father, Glynn, took him to the Black River Roundup, the town’s annual rodeo, and every year Chris waited for the bulls. What a sight: cowboys sitting astride bulls built like railroad cars, the tough men gripping their braided ropes and holding on for dear life as the 1-ton animals bucked and the crowd frantically cheered. From the day he watched his first rodeo, Shivers wanted to ride a bull and make the crowd cheer.

  When he was 12, he and a friend used rope to rig a metal barrel to four trees, and presto—they had their own bull. One boy sat on the barrel while the other pulled on the rope to simulate bucking action. They spent hours riding that barrel; and when Shivers turned 13, his father let him ride the real thing.

  It was a spring night in 1992. They drove 2 hours and pulled into the dirt parking lot at the wooden bullring in Bastrop, Louisiana. Glynn Shivers signed the liability waiver, and Chris climbed aboard M1, a black and white bull. The chute gate opened. M1 lunged forward. Almost as soon as the ride started, it ended, with Shivers tumbling to the ground.

  But he stood up, dusted off his jeans, and grinned. The adrenaline that shot through his body had produced a sensation he’d never experienced, the greatest sensation imaginable. Some riders said it made them feel more alive. For little Chris Shivers, it made him feel like a man.

  He continued to ride despite his parents’ fears, and he rode with flair—small carriage upright, free hand whipping high and hard, spurring with his right foot. At 16, he won the Louisiana state high school bull riding championship. He also competed on a professional rodeo circuit in Louisiana and won a $17,000 truck. Soon Shivers was making $30,000 to $40,000 a year, about as much as his father made operating a backhoe.

  The day he turned 18, he joined the PBR as one of more than 500 riders vying for a spot on the Built Ford Tough Series (BFTS). They were coveted spots, awarded to the riders ranked in the top 45 based on total earnings in PBR events. Shivers climbed behind the wheel of his truck and set out for the PBR’s minor leagues, a two-tier circuit spread out across America’s back roads.

  In less than a month, he’d won enough money to crack the top 45.

  Three years later, Shivers had an agent, a Web site, endorsement deals, and, after winning the 2000 PBR title, the prized gold buckle encrusted with diamonds that’s awarded to the world champion. He was profiled in Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, and USA Today and inducted into Rolling Stone magazine’s Sports Hall of Fame. Yet he was a reluctant star, dreading media appearances or being away from home for more than a few days at a time. He felt most comfortable on his ranch in Jonesville and passed the time roping calves and hunting wild hogs. But after he won his second PBR championship on November 9, 2003, it seemed as though there was no place Shivers would rather be than on center stage in the Thomas & Mack Center. He stared at the oversize winner’s check and the numbers in black marker that, next to “Amount,” read: “$1,000,000.”

  “I just can’t get my eyes off all them zeros,” Shivers said.

  But eventually he would turn his attention to the ’04 season and the riders who stood in the way of his becoming the first three-time PBR champion. The only other rider capable of doing it first was Adriano Moraes, but the notion of the 33-year-old Brazilian’s winning another title looked remote at best. During the 2003 season, Moraes’s gift had all but vanished.

  He’d fallen off so many bulls in a row that he’d lost count. During one televised event, a commentator declared that Moraes should retire. Not just any commentator, mind you, but Tuff Hedeman—the four-time world champion and bull riding icon.

  The charismatic Brazilian turned combustible. After getting bucked off one bull, he punched a sponsorship sign and broke his hand. He snapped at his wife and their three young sons. Despite having won PBR championships in 1994 and 2001, he began to wonder whether maybe it really was time to quit. And Shivers thought his main competition would come from the rider who’d chased him throughout 2003.

  No one eyed the PBR throne more hungrily than Justin McBride, the lean Oklahoman who had finished runner-up to Shivers as the PBR’s reserve world champion. Having finished in the top five in each of the past three seasons yet with no world championship to show for it, Justin McBride had become Justin McBridesmaid—and in some ways the perfect foil to Shivers.

  Shivers spoke in a reserved, quiet tone, while McBride’s foghorn voice served as the regular soundtrack inside the PBR’s locker room. McBride expressed pride in not having brushed his hair for 2 years and, depending on the occasion, used the expression “fart stick” as an insult or a term of endearment. He was 24, with a narrow face and deep blue eyes, and was pure cowboy: a drinker, a gambler, and a chronic cusser.

  On the road he brought his acoustic guitar and entertained his buddies with crude songs. Some riders worked with coaching gurus, studied videotape, and talked ceaselessly about technique. McBride broke down the nuances of his sport like this: “All it is, is holding on for 8 seconds.”

  It was only a matter of time, veteran riders told him, and that time looked imminent on October 5, 2003.

  That day in Atlantic City, with three regu
lar-season events left before the finals, he overtook Shivers in the standings. The race was on. In Grand Rapids, Michigan, the next week, entering the championship round, Shivers had slipped back in front of McBride by the thinnest of margins—a single point. But now McBride was settling on top of Mission Pack with a chance to regain the lead. He’d never heard of the bull but, once out of the chute, realized the sucker was a fierce bucker. After a few straight-ahead jumps, Mission Pack kicked up his hindquarters and gave them a twist, spinning McBride over the right side. McBride slammed to the dirt, and an instant later Mission Pack’s right hind hoof slammed McBride.

  X-rays showed he had a broken rib and punctured right lung. Laid up in a hospital bed, McBride wept out of frustration.

  Back home in Elk City, Oklahoma, where he had moved with his parents, he was too sore to brush his teeth or dress himself. His girlfriend, Michelle Beadle, bathed him for 2½ weeks. But when x-rays showed the hole in his punctured lung had closed, the pain was irrelevant. Shivers had widened his lead, but McBride still had a shot at the championship. With his ribs heavily wrapped, he headed to Las Vegas.

  On the first night of the 2003 finals, McBride not only stayed on Moody Blues for the required 8 seconds but also rode him for the highest score of the round. Two days later, on the last day of the finals, McBride was within striking distance of Shivers. But in the final round, he got bucked off Mossy Oak Mudslinger; and Shivers, riding Tar Baby earlier that day, clinched the championship.

  If only McBride had been healthy, the experts said, surely he would have captured the elusive gold buckle, making him a clear top contender for the 2004 championship. But during the 2003 season, everybody—Shivers, McBride, and Moraes included—had taken note of Mike Lee. He was a 20-year-old Texan with undeniable talent and the unmistakable air of an outsider. One of the things that set him apart was the protective helmet with a titanium face guard he wore in a culture where most riders frowned upon the headgear and wore only cowboy hats. Yet the headgear may have saved Lee’s life.