The 13th annual PBR event in Marwayne, Alta., a Friday night rodeo, was a bit of a culture shock for me.
Read more: Column: Have we been forgotten?
Being more than 3,000 km’s from my hometown was never more apparent than sitting ring side for the event.
Friday’s in Midwestern Ontario growing up, depending on the season, meant hockey, curling or baseball/softball. Fall brought your local fair, where all the farmers got together and showed their successes from the growing season.
Fridays did not involve gathering to watch people get launched 10 feet into the air for fun. The idea of watching 1,500 lbs. of all muscle, pure rage and no patience toss people like rag-dolls wasn’t even on my radar.
Communities out here celebrate rodeo and chuckwagon races as proud, lasting traditions.
So I was looking forward to the experience, having only ever seen it done on TV before that night.
Let me tell you, watching a PBR event on television is nothing like watching it in person.
Producers chase flash, but lose the danger, heart and respect that make rodeo real.
The rodeo brought people from all over together to celebrate the roots of western Canada. The wide eyes of young kids ringside watching their heroes, reminded me of my Friday’s rinkside. Lanny McDonald and Darryl Sitter came to town once a year with the Toronto Maple Leafs’ alumni to play the police association in a fundraiser.
I’ve had the experience now of seeing both in person. Boy, did I miss some cool things growing up. Garth Brooks hooked me at four, and today, his words ring truer than ever.
Bulls and blood, it’s dust and mud, It’s the roar of a Sunday crowd. It’s the white in his knuckles, the gold in the buckle, He’ll win the next go ‘round.
It’s boots and chaps, it’s cowboy hats, It’s spurs and latigo.
It’s the ropes and the reins, and the joy and the pain, And they call the thing rodeo.
Read more: Column: Memories from the Civic
