This is an exciting headline that greeted readers one recent day in the local newspaper.
Eventually, it became somewhat clearer what the two words were intended to mean.
At first, nothing came to mind so much as those 80’s cars with robot voices that announced to occupants with annoying regularity, “A Door is A Jar.”
No, I still insist. A door is not a jar. And, a woman is not a chair.
But you see, women’s lib has backed the poor newspaper into a corner, and the editors can no longer find the politically correct English words to announce this astonishing fact: A person of feminine gender has been selected to lead the local rodeo committee for the next year.
Woman Chair! They couldn’t, or didn’t dare, report, “Woman Selected Chairman.” That would be almost as bad as saying “Water department workers found the problem as soon as they opened the manhole cover.”
Manhole cover. Perish the thought. Nowadays that has to be “Personhole Cover.” It does lose something in the translation, doesn’t it?
Woman Chair!
Apparently, this is big news in the local scandal sheet because it proves that after nearly 100 years, the rodeo has finally become progressive enough to permit a female to be the Big Kahuna.
Which brings us, at long last, to the true purpose of this particular diatribe: The phrase “progressive rodeo” seems quite poignant in its mutual exclusivity.
The concept of a rodeo as a “progressive event” simply boggles the mind. It’s actually quite the opposite. Here are some cases in point.
At The Greeley Stampede the biggest draw, the biggest ticket seller, far and away the best moneymaker is a grotesque, crude, destructive, violent, noisy, dusty, smoky, unhealthy event known as “demolition derby.”
In this competition, buffoons in beefed-up heavy older automobiles drive around in circles bashing into each other until only one is left running.
Now hey Bubba, don’t that sound like fun. Which is more disgusting, the young men who build and drive the automobiles – or the slobbering fools who pay for admission and sit there cheering while watching the destruction?
Lest you think this is the worst thing about the local rodeo, keep on reading, folks.
For years, to make money, church youth groups have participated in the “stadium cleanup” project. Here’s how it works: First, the young folks are allowed free show admission, so they can hear lots of live music, much of it focusing on marital infidelity.
Then, in this little-known underbelly of the popular rodeo, our impressionable young people get to stay afterwards to use shovels, buckets, rakes, brooms, mops and strong stomachs to clean up after the filthy dregs of humanity who have attended.
Truckloads of garbage are collected and hauled off at the end of each day. Imagine – you buy a hot dog for $8, you eat part of it, and throw the rest anywhere in the stadium, for someone else to step on, or sit on, for someone else to clean up.
What a stellar object lesson for the young.
Woman Chair!
What self-respecting individual of either gender would be driven by what unseen ambition to become the “chair” of this event?
Well here’s how that goes: Society at the rodeo has its zenith among the crumbs who make up the upper crust.
Its nadir is found in the infestation of pond scum that oozes into town every summer. People who pay for admission are sprinkled in the middle there somewhere.
Yes, folks actually aspire to “serve” in this absurd annual event. It is perceived as an indicator of status if one rises to the lofty level of Committee Member, Woman Chair or Man Chair.
If you have arrived in this prestigious category, you get to drive a specially-marked new white pickup truck for a while, and you can haughtily thumb your nose all over town at the rest of us underlings. This is the ultimate in snob appeal, the highest point to which one can rise in society here locally – unless you could become Rodeo Queen.
Man Queen!
Just imagine a headline another year: “Man Queen!” Then the rodeo would truly become a progressive event. However, let us save any laborious descriptions of the Rodeo Queen Contest for another time. The poor babies.
Barrel Racing!
Now here is an event that will stop the most staunch women’s libber right in her tracks.
Separate but equal! There’s not much evidence that men actually want to enter the barrel racing.
It’s an event that was invented to give the girls something to do during rodeos, because sooner or later you know they are going to want to ride the bulls.
There is a rumor that next year, the Barrels are planning a strike, threatening to refuse to participate. They have a point. What would a barrel race be without Barrels?
The real rodeo itself? Think of yourself as a calf. Suddenly, you are chased out into a brightly lighted sandy field, and some genius on a tall horse loops a bristly, stiff rope tightly around your neck.
People cheer while you are jerked ingloriously upside-down to the ground. We’re told repeatedly how this doesn’t actually hurt the calf. Sure.
How entertaining can life be? Enough said about the rodeo itself? Didn’t get to see enough violence and bloodshed at the rodeo or the demo derby? Hey. Maybe next year.
Perhaps someone should suggest to the Woman Chair a new motto for next summer:
“The Greeley Stampede. Entertaining the public by dominating domestic beasts for 91 years!”
Eventually, it became somewhat clearer what the two words were intended to mean.
At first, nothing came to mind so much as those 80’s cars with robot voices that announced to occupants with annoying regularity, “A Door is A Jar.”
No, I still insist. A door is not a jar. And, a woman is not a chair.
But you see, women’s lib has backed the poor newspaper into a corner, and the editors can no longer find the politically correct English words to announce this astonishing fact: A person of feminine gender has been selected to lead the local rodeo committee for the next year.
Woman Chair! They couldn’t, or didn’t dare, report, “Woman Selected Chairman.” That would be almost as bad as saying “Water department workers found the problem as soon as they opened the manhole cover.”
Manhole cover. Perish the thought. Nowadays that has to be “Personhole Cover.” It does lose something in the translation, doesn’t it?
Woman Chair!
Apparently, this is big news in the local scandal sheet because it proves that after nearly 100 years, the rodeo has finally become progressive enough to permit a female to be the Big Kahuna.
Which brings us, at long last, to the true purpose of this particular diatribe: The phrase “progressive rodeo” seems quite poignant in its mutual exclusivity.
The concept of a rodeo as a “progressive event” simply boggles the mind. It’s actually quite the opposite. Here are some cases in point.
At The Greeley Stampede the biggest draw, the biggest ticket seller, far and away the best moneymaker is a grotesque, crude, destructive, violent, noisy, dusty, smoky, unhealthy event known as “demolition derby.”
In this competition, buffoons in beefed-up heavy older automobiles drive around in circles bashing into each other until only one is left running.
Now hey Bubba, don’t that sound like fun. Which is more disgusting, the young men who build and drive the automobiles – or the slobbering fools who pay for admission and sit there cheering while watching the destruction?
Lest you think this is the worst thing about the local rodeo, keep on reading, folks.
For years, to make money, church youth groups have participated in the “stadium cleanup” project. Here’s how it works: First, the young folks are allowed free show admission, so they can hear lots of live music, much of it focusing on marital infidelity.
Then, in this little-known underbelly of the popular rodeo, our impressionable young people get to stay afterwards to use shovels, buckets, rakes, brooms, mops and strong stomachs to clean up after the filthy dregs of humanity who have attended.
Truckloads of garbage are collected and hauled off at the end of each day. Imagine – you buy a hot dog for $8, you eat part of it, and throw the rest anywhere in the stadium, for someone else to step on, or sit on, for someone else to clean up.
What a stellar object lesson for the young.
Woman Chair!
What self-respecting individual of either gender would be driven by what unseen ambition to become the “chair” of this event?
Well here’s how that goes: Society at the rodeo has its zenith among the crumbs who make up the upper crust.
Its nadir is found in the infestation of pond scum that oozes into town every summer. People who pay for admission are sprinkled in the middle there somewhere.
Yes, folks actually aspire to “serve” in this absurd annual event. It is perceived as an indicator of status if one rises to the lofty level of Committee Member, Woman Chair or Man Chair.
If you have arrived in this prestigious category, you get to drive a specially-marked new white pickup truck for a while, and you can haughtily thumb your nose all over town at the rest of us underlings. This is the ultimate in snob appeal, the highest point to which one can rise in society here locally – unless you could become Rodeo Queen.
Man Queen!
Just imagine a headline another year: “Man Queen!” Then the rodeo would truly become a progressive event. However, let us save any laborious descriptions of the Rodeo Queen Contest for another time. The poor babies.
Barrel Racing!
Now here is an event that will stop the most staunch women’s libber right in her tracks.
Separate but equal! There’s not much evidence that men actually want to enter the barrel racing.
It’s an event that was invented to give the girls something to do during rodeos, because sooner or later you know they are going to want to ride the bulls.
There is a rumor that next year, the Barrels are planning a strike, threatening to refuse to participate. They have a point. What would a barrel race be without Barrels?
The real rodeo itself? Think of yourself as a calf. Suddenly, you are chased out into a brightly lighted sandy field, and some genius on a tall horse loops a bristly, stiff rope tightly around your neck.
People cheer while you are jerked ingloriously upside-down to the ground. We’re told repeatedly how this doesn’t actually hurt the calf. Sure.
How entertaining can life be? Enough said about the rodeo itself? Didn’t get to see enough violence and bloodshed at the rodeo or the demo derby? Hey. Maybe next year.
Perhaps someone should suggest to the Woman Chair a new motto for next summer:
“The Greeley Stampede. Entertaining the public by dominating domestic beasts for 91 years!”
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