Fried Twinkies, Buckle Bunnies, & Bull Riders Read online

  With his broken rope, Turnbow boarded Little Yellow Jacket and tried to maneuver him off the back of the chute. The bull never bucked or thrashed in the chute before the gate opened, but he did lean, making it hard for a rider to slide down one of his boots. Surrendering to the bull’s strength, Turnbow called for the gate. Little Yellow Jacket turned back to the left, shook Turnbow’s feet from his sides, and hurled him headfirst into a metal post. Blood poured down the rider’s face.

  After the medical team helped Turnbow out of the arena, Joe Berger lifted his white cowboy hat, acknowledging the crowd’s cheers.

  On night two, Rogerio Ferreira, the long-legged Brazilian, advanced to the championship round and found himself matched up with Little Yellow Jacket. This was Ferreira’s fourth full season on the PBR and his first shot at riding Little Yellow Jacket. He was so excited he could barely wait. When the gate opened, Little Yellow Jacket took one jump, hop-skipped to the left, and slammed Ferreira to the ground. The Brazilian left the arena with his head bowed, and again Berger lifted his cowboy hat to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers.

  North Dakota’s favorite bull was at his best, but the 2-day event was compelling for other reasons, too. Only a week after resigning as president of the PBR, Hedeman made his first public appearance, hired by the Bergers to help promote the event. “So I hear you quit on me,” Bobby “Jinx” Clower, a member of the PBR’s traveling crew, said by way of greeting Hedeman.

  “I guess so,” Hedeman said.

  Normally surrounded by fans, Hedeman at first kept his distance while nursing a Bud Light at the Lonesome Dove bar. He talked quietly with a few friends. To others he offered cryptic answers as to why he’d resigned.

  “I’m a cowboy,” he said. “I’m looking out for the best interests of the cowboy. I’m no politician. Some people on the board think things are better off without me. We’ll see.”

  Watching from afar were Bill and Peggy Duvall, the die-hard fans with the matching PBR jackets who already had attended 13 of the 23 BFTS events during the 2004 season. They’d come to Mandan to see the home of Little Yellow Jacket, but they looked just as pleased to see Hedeman and enjoyed the gossip stemming from his presence. Later, Hedeman joined the crowd and regained his form, drinking beer until the wee hours of the morning and getting up by 5:45, in time to fulfill his promotional obligation of TV and radio interviews.

  The lineup of riders on night one included James White, the star-crossed rookie returning to action just 2 weeks after a bull had flipped him three times, chipped his front tooth, and split his lip. He arrived looking uncharacteristically dull eyed and distracted.

  Five weeks after his BFTS debut in Anaheim, he was one of three riders who had landed an endorsement deal with the US Army. But soon after, White broke his hand, which kept him out for 3 weeks. Then came tragedy.

  On May 24, a drunk driver swerved across a highway and collided with the car White’s mother was driving. She was killed instantly, while the two other passengers in her car survived. White had lost not only his mother but also his biggest supporter. Since then, he’d fallen out of the top 45 and needed to win on the minor-league circuit to get back on the BFTS. But in the first round at Bismarck, White got bucked off again. He packed up his equipment bag and headed for the next minor-league stop.

  Later that night, in the hallway, someone asked a passing rider, “How’s the leg?”

  “We’ll know when I get on.”

  The rider was Jody Newberry, who’d been out 11 weeks after having knee surgery to repair torn ligaments. His June 5 wedding and honeymoon in Hawaii kept him preoccupied only so long. In seventh place in the BFTS standings and with an outside shot at a $1 million bonus, Newberry was itching to get back. “I hope I haven’t forgotten how to ride,” he said before getting aboard Huskers Red against the advice of his doctors, who told him he needed to rest his knee for several more weeks. By riding, he risked another trip to the operating room. But risking more surgery struck Newberry’s family members as typical Jody.

  As a 6-year-old, after watching a movie called Rad—which featured teenagers on motocross bicycles doing tricks such as backflips off of ramps—Newberry found two cinderblocks and a wooden board and assembled his own ramp. Helmetless, he pedaled furiously down the driveway, up the ramp, pulled back on the handlebars, flipped in the air and . . . landed square on his back.

  Holding her breath, Jody’s mother, June, watched the fiasco through her bedroom window. Relieved to see her son standing up and dusting himself off, June shouted, “Jody, you can’t do these things just because they did it in the movie. You don’t have the right ramp. And they practiced.”

  Ignoring the lecture, Jody pounded one fist into the palm of his hand.

  “I know where I went wrong,” he muttered, then told his brother to get another cinderblock. They readjusted the ramp, making it even steeper.

  June ran outside. Too late.

  Back down the driveway he sped. Up and off the ramp he flew, sailing into the air as he pulled back on the handlebars and . . . landed on his head. When his mother emerged from the house, Jody, elbows bleeding, was lining up for a third attempt. His mother ordered him to stop. But she knew it was only temporary. He tried and tried and tried again and eventually executed a backflip. He failed to land on his bicycle, however, and finally came inside skinned up from head to toe. Of course, this was the same kid who would run into a wall, fall, rub his head, grin, and take off running again.

  Another time, when the husband of Jody’s older sister regaled the twin brothers with how his cousins used to ride their bikes off the barn roof, there went Jody, tying his bike to a rope and . . . his mother emerged from the house just in time to see Jody and his bike on top of the barn roof.

  Ten feet above the ground.

  “Jody, what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted.

  “Gonna ride my bike off the roof,” he answered.

  “Get down here!”

  Grudgingly, bike in hand, Newberry rappelled down the side of the barn. What the brother-in-law had neglected to mention was that the barn was built against a hill.

  So, almost two decades later and now inside the Bismarck Civic Center, here was Newberry climbing onto Huskers Red instead of his motocross bike.

  Two jumps and a turn to the left by the bull, and off Newberry fell. But he walked out of the arena smiling. His surgically repaired knee felt fine. He felt ready for the rest of the season.

  Then there was Eathan Graves, the pint-size rider who’d outridden McBride and three other regular riders on the BFTS at the Humps N’ Horns event in Thibodaux. Still carrying the fake $1 million bill, he would have settled for a lot less than that in recent weeks. In nine events since Thibodaux, Graves had failed to win any money. He also left Bismarck without any money after getting bucked off Western Wishes. But he did leave with some consolation after Hedeman walked by and said, “Man, you really did a good job. He bucked you off like he bucks off some of the best.”

  Adriano Moraes competed, and so did several other regular riders on the BFTS. But the biggest draw that weekend was Little Yellow Jacket. It was the sole reason Michael Axt drove with his wife and their three children 65 miles from their home in McClusky, North Dakota. Axt said they wanted to watch “the greatest athlete in the state of North Dakota.”

  Of course, he meant Little Yellow Jacket.

  And before night two, Axt was among the fans swarming Darlene Berger’s merchandise stand. He inspected one of the ball caps and announced, “This is going to be obsolete next year.”

  A woman helping with the sales looked startled. “Why’s that?” she asked.

  Axt pointed to the side of the cap and the embroidery that read Two-Time PBR Bull of the Year. “Because he’ll be a three-time champion.”

  That remained to be seen. Little Yellow Jacket had effortlessly bucked off both of his riders at that weekend’s event. But Pandora’s Box had been spectacular, bucking off his two riders—including veteran J.W. Hart
—with dynamic force. On Little Yellow Jacket’s home turf, it was Pandora’s Box who earned Bull of the Event honors.

  As the fans filed out of the Civic Center, Winston Loe, an oil-field consultant from Texas who had bought Pandora’s Box in 2001 for $13,000, accepted the buckle awarded to the owner of the Bull of the Event. But Loe wanted more. He wanted the gold championship buckle won by the man who owned the Bull of the Year. So far, Pandora’s Box had gone unridden in 13 attempts on the BFTS. Little Yellow Jacket had been ridden once in 13 attempts, by former world champ Michael Gaffney.

  Saturday night in Bismarck, Joe and Nevada Berger were among the first to congratulate Loe, a husky man whose beard concealed his double chin and whose stoic nature concealed any excitement. He allowed a smile only after the Bergers had moved out of sight.

  “Everybody’s pretty high on him,” Loe said, looking at Pandora’s Box. “But again, you’ve got the Little Yellow Jacket problem. You’ve got to knock the champion out. In my opinion, that hasn’t happened yet.”

  But with five BFTS events left before the finals, there was plenty of time for a knockout punch.

  FIFTEEN

  RUMBLINGS FROM THE RIDERS

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

  Friday & Saturday, August 6 & 7, 2004

  Boycott.

  The ugly word spread through the halls at the Westin Hotel where the PBR riders were staying the weekend of Bullnanza–Oklahoma City. As the war between Tuff Hedeman and the PBR board looked ready to erupt, some riders discussed whether a boycott of a BFTS event, maybe even the finals, would amount to treason or liberation.

  During the 6-week break since Bullnanza–Nashville, the last BFTS event,Hedeman’s resignation had dominated talk in the world of bull riding. A quote that appeared in two newspapers suggested Hedeman had quit at least in part because he thought the PBR board was taking the riders for granted, and some of the riders were looking for a leader to press the board on their behalf.

  They wanted more insurance coverage. They wanted a say in what bulls were picked for events. They wanted to get rid of a rule that subjected riders to a 1-year suspension if they missed a BFTS event without a medical reason or permission from the PBR. It appeared the riders would have a chance to discuss all of that and organize themselves when Hedeman scheduled a riders-only meeting for the day after Bullnanza–Oklahoma City ended. It was no secret.

  Randy Bernard and the board members had caught wind of the meeting and, like many of the riders, wondered why exactly Hedeman had called it. To simply explain why he’d resigned as president of the PBR but stayed on board as a commentator on the OLN telecasts? To announce he was starting his own bull riding tour and attempt to persuade the riders to defect from the PBR? To try to organize the riders into a union and make demands of the PBR board? And if the PBR refused to make any concessions, would Hedeman call for a boycott of a BFTS event or even the finals as some riders had heard he was contemplating?

  Pressing Hedeman for details proved as futile as asking him to trade in his Cinch jeans for Wranglers. J. W. Hart, Michael Gaffney, and Adriano Moraes, active riders who also were members of the PBR board, planned to attend Hedeman’s meeting and report back to Bernard and the rest of the board members. But there were still 2 days of bull riding ahead and an event that kicked off the homestretch of the 2004 season. Only five regular-season events remained until the finals, with Moraes, Justin McBride, and Mike Lee running 1-2-3 in the overall standings and still the top contenders. But a familiar face and a long-shot contender showed up on the scene that weekend.

  Equipment bag slung over his shoulder, the short but muscled rider strode into the locker room and into the path of B. J. Kramps. “Hey, pip-squeak,” Kramps said.

  It was the PBR’s most popular pip-squeak, and the reigning champion. Chris Shivers was back. But it was too early to determine which Shivers—the determined champ from 2003 or the distracted defending champ from 2004. After breaking his right shoulder blade February 6 in Tampa, then having surgery not only on the shoulder but also for a nagging hip injury, he’d been recuperating at his ranch in Jonesville and missed 15 BFTS events. He arrived in Oklahoma City with his wife, Kylie, and their 18-month-old son, Brand. But they parted ways after getting to the Ford Center, knowing Shivers would be in demand.

  First came the well-wishers, then came the TV folks, and off he went for a pre-event interview with OLN’s Leah Garcia. He waited under the hot klieg lights. Garcia welcomed him back and asked about his plans.

  “The goal is always to win the world championship,” he said. Off camera, he added, “I didn’t show up to half-ass it and not win.”

  With the new scoring system at the finals, Shivers had an outside chance at catching Moraes. But first he needed to qualify for the finals. He stood in 55th place in the qualifier standings with $13,286.40 and, riding with an injury exemption, found himself almost $5,000 behind Jason Bennett and the 45th and last spot for the finals, for which he’d qualified for 7 straight years. “I’ll be back,” Shivers promised.

  But to catch Moraes, Shivers needed to rack up points in a hurry. He trailed by more than 7,000 points. Yet he looked unconcerned and carefree.Outside their locker room, he and Mike White, Shivers’s best friend on tour, traded barbs and took turns roping each other as if they were calves. During introductions, White felt the back of his chaps pull tight with each step he took across an elevated ramp. When the arena lights came on, he realized somebody had knotted the fringe on the back of his chaps.

  Shivers flashed a shit-eating grin.

  White’s look said it all: Damn you, Shivers.

  Later, grabbing an electric prod used in emergency cases to move recalcitrant bulls in the back pens, Shivers jolted White on the ass. White shrieked, but he resisted retaliating. He looked happy to see that Shivers was enjoying himself, unlike the vibe he had gotten from his buddy earlier in the season. It wouldn’t take long to see what effect the mood might have on his riding.

  On the second ride of the night, Shivers settled on top of Gator, unridden in nine outs. The bull lunged out of the chute and took a series of long, powerful jumps. Shivers found his rhythm and effortlessly moved with the bull. No flashy spurring. No crowd-pleasing arm whip. Just a solid, mistake-free ride to the 8-second buzzer.

  Lazily, almost contemptuously, he tossed his cowboy hat toward Gator as if to say, “That’s all you got, big bull?”

  In came the judges’ scores—87 points—and up went the cheers.

  Though fans were eager to see Shivers, the riders were waiting almost as eagerly to see somebody else—Jared Farley. In the 6 weeks between Bullnanza–Nashville and Bullnanza–Oklahoma City, Farley had dominated the PBR’s minor-league circuit, winning three of his last five events and prompting a resounding question: “Who the heck is this guy?”

  He was an 18-year-old Aussie and, like NFL quarterbacks Peyton and Eli Manning, had all the requisite genes to be a champion. His father, Paul, had won six Australian national championships and ridden in the Calgary Stampede. But Paul Farley lacked the crowning jewel, a US championship. In fact, Paul Farley never even competed on US soil—the primary place his son intended to compete.

  In a 3-week span, he’d won $35,000, and the total moved him into the top 45 and secured him a spot on the BFTS circuit for the rest of the season. But until Bullnanza–Oklahoma City, Farley had yet to ride in a BFTS event.

  During the first round, when Farley slid onto Camo in the chute, the bull squirmed and wriggled and bucked. He refused to cooperate, and Farley finally hopped out of the chute.

  A couple of riders watching chuckled. “I guess he don’t want to be next,” one of them said, referring to the bull.

  But now Farley was limping as he waited for a reride bull. Twenty minutes later he hopped aboard Armadillo Willie, the gate opened, and the two soared into the arena. The unshakable Farley would not budge, making the 8-second buzzer for a score of 84 points. One bull and it was clear: The Aussie rookie was for real. So, too,
it appeared, was the army of Brazilians.

  There they were, now six strong, yakking away in Portuguese. The group included Adriano Moraes and his two younger brothers, Allan and Andre, who were making history as the first three brothers to qualify for a BFTS event. They also became the first three brothers to get bucked off in the first round. Adriano Moraes was furious.

  Aboard Bomber, Adriano Moraes looked on his way to a 90-point ride before the bull’s last-second belly roll dumped him off the side and onto the dirt. His air of invincibility was gone, and so was that easygoing smile. Later, passing Justin McBride on the chutes, Moraes grumbled about how easy a ride Bomber should have been.

  “The easiest bull here,” Moraes said.

  “Yeah, sure looked like it to me,” said McBride, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as the Brazilian walked away; then he added, “Goofy bastard.”

  Adam Carrillo won the round with an 89-point ride, and McBride trailed by only a half point. But during the postevent autograph session, one never would have known it.

  “Ay-dree-ah-noooo! Ay-dree-ah-nooo!”

  “What?” he barked in jest, signing autographs and chatting up fans.

  “I’m coming to Vegas,” one told him.

  “Coo-ooo-oool. Hopefully I’ll be riding better than I was tonight.”

  Shivers was signing autographs only a few feet behind Moraes.

  “Chris, are you healthy again?” a fan asked.

  Overhearing the question, Moraes answered before Shivers had a chance.

  “I think so,” Moraes said with a wink, and Shivers smiled.

  Without so much as a trace of a smile, Mike Lee returned to the arena. His wife, Jamie, making a rare appearance at a BFTS event, stood next to Pastor Todd Pierce and watched her husband with a look of concern as he joined the autograph session. “He needs to be around people,” she said.