HOW TO TELL IF YOU WATCH TOO MUCH BULL RIDING
You do everything in 8-second bursts. And you expect to hear the buzzer at the end. And get a score.
(This does not make your Significant Other happy.)
You don’t start work until you have the exact right seat in your desk chair. And sometimes it takes more than 30 seconds. But that’s okay, because you might get another 20 seconds before your boss disqualifies you. Then you’ll have to hit the challenge button.
When you see a newly seeded or pesticided lawn, you wonder why it’s surrounded by re-ride flags.
When you hear the opening bars of “Bad to the Bone,” you rush to the nearest TV to see JB Mauney wrap.
You know all the bulls’ names, even if you don’t recognize the rider.
You’ve never seen a cow, but you can identify muleys, longhorns, and Brahmas.
You’ve taken to wearing only one glove, and it has nothing to do with Michael Jackson.
You’re studying Portuguese but you live in Greece.
You yell at riders to break at the hips and stay out of the well—from your couch.
You carry pictures of Ty Murray’s and JW Hart’s kids in your wallet next to photos of your own kids. Sometimes you forget which is which.
You consider hiring Flint Rasmussen as a clown for your kid’s birthday party.
You decide against it, because Flint might make them cry.
You schedule your vacation during the PBR’s summer break, because there’s nothing else to do.