I still occasionally get my swagger on, always coincides with putting on a pair of cowboy boots.
Boots don’t always make the man but almost always. Boots mean business. And hard work. If you get that you have my respect.
If you don’t well, you can always get waxed and botoxed at Life Time Fitness. Inside the arena there are no hair gels or colognes or spandex, no shaved legs, no fitbits or garmins, no “beast mode”, no “woots” no “Wahoo Hotties.”
Only sweat and dirt and the aroma of manure.
Linda and I doubled dated with Jimmie and Mandy Sue on Friday night. Went to the 21st annual Fremont Bull Riding Classic. They called 30 young men for introductions before the meat of the meet. One youngster only 17 years old. All possessing that Cowboy Confidence called Swagger.
Clad in chaps and boots and Stetsons and armored with instinctive fearlessness, the only accessory a short length of sturdy rope. Dreaming of 8 seconds to fame and fortune. Most lasted between 3 and 4 seconds, those ticking by like an eternity. Then one made the 8. And finally another. Two only before the last rider. And he holding on for almost 5 seconds before being tossed hard. And then a good stomp to the chest to punctuate the danger involved. Necessitating an ambulance, it was hard for the packed Christensen Field to watch.
Give me those same 30 young men and I’d make champion runners out of 5 of them. Tough guys, yeah.
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