This past Saturday night, I took advantage of an opportunity to get out to a rodeo at the Hippodrome in North Augusta with my fiancee, Sheila, and her family, which was a rewarding experience in many ways.

I think that it goes without saying that I don't get out to the rodeo all that often, as the scene here in the Palmetto State is, shall I say, an acquired taste. But then again, this is me we're talking about here, and we all know the lengths that I have gone and will continue to go to bring local folk the latest and greatest from the world of sports.

Now usually, this is the part of the column where I'd rip right into an extremely entertaining narrative -- depending upon your opinion, of course -- concerning some hairbrained attempt at climbing astride 1,500 to 2,000 snorting pounds of ticked off Texas Tornado. But obviously, since I attended the rodeo Saturday and am still able to type these words in person (and one piece) here in the office on Monday, I kept my rear in the stands where it belonged.

While readily admitting that I won't be busting any broncs anytime soon, I also like to suscribe to the old saying that when in Rome one should do as the Romans do. Translation -- you don't walk into a rodeo in South Carolina with your freshly pressed Gap khakis and crisp, white K-Swiss -- that is unless you plan on making a guest appearance in the ring as the rodeo clown. Think Billy Crystal in the movie "City Slickers" and I think you have an accurate picture of what I likely looked like complete in leather cowhide cowboy hat, cut-off grey t-shirt, Levi blue jeans and boots ... Timberland boots that is. My hypocrisy only goes so far, as ol' Doc Holiday (as played by Val Kilmer -- one of his best performances in my opinion in Tombstone) would say.

I did the best I could on such short notice, and to be honest, I rather enjoyed the feel of a cowboy hat. It had a certain character to it. That, and when you already have every baseball cap known to man (and I do), a change of pace sometimes can be quite refreshing.

If you've never been to an actual rodeo, you really owe it to yourself to try it out at least once. The Hippodrome is a large open air venue that could best be described as a huge carport covering a dirt lawn. A nice, thick, neatly maintained and rich dirt lawn, but a dirt lawn all the same. I just hate mentioning the open air part of it because the words insinuate in some way that there was air, or more specificall moving air, anywhere in a 50 mile radius of the venue.

There wasn't.

Combine the stifling heat with the stagnant air, a grand stands jam packed with all your favorite cowboy and cowgirl buddies fresh from the barn and wandering livestock or "rodeo athletes" as far as the eye can see -- put those olfactory senses to good use, and take a big whiff of ... the rodeo.

Still, while I'm make light of the event all in good fun, I really did have a great time. The rodeo takes one back to a simpler time when the country was still young and free and fresh (really, really fresh). I love the idea of the open country, the sometimes comical nature of the animals even though at the rodeo they seem to be trying to kill you, and appreciate the skills -- not to mention the intestinal fortitude (former WWE superstar Mick Foley or the legendary Mankind would call it by another more entertaining name) -- needed to be a rodeo professional. The rodeo is not a place for the meek or faint of heart, and requires that one look the daily threat of permanent injury square in the eye as simply part of the layout of the job -- no pun intended. Let's put it this way, these guys and gals do work that even AFLAC Insurance won't cover.

Saturday night I saw more cowboys planted as "lawn darts" than last year's local corn crop, (including a T&D Region cowboy from Pelion whose name I didn't catch as he flew by en route to a separated shoulder), as the true athletes of the rodeo had their way with their human competitors. The "last of the singing cowboys", an older gent from up the road in Ridge Spring was great with the rope tricks and yodling, while the barrel racing was also entertaining. I could have done without the calf roping (Sheila hates it), but the steer wrestling was cool and the bronc (bareback and saddle varities) and bull riding were worth the price of admission. It's a tough life on the road for the cowboys and cowgirls of the rodeo, no doubt.

But then again, Garth Brooks didn't shoot into superstardom overnight singing about water polo now did he?

T&D Sports Writer Mike Rosier can be reached by e-mail at mrosier@timesanddemocrat.com or by office phone at 803-533-5529.

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