The sailor cowboy: a ragged breath escapes his lungs and veins bulge on his forearm, as he wraps the rope around his gloved hand. He flexes his grip one last time

All Hands, July, 2003 by Shane T. McCoy

The gate flies open, and the ton of solid muscle beneath Interior Communications Electrician 3rd Class Billy Don Dempsy lurches out of the stall. He's thrown forward, then back, then forward again amid the cheers of the crowd. The arena is a blur as the bull beneath him spins and bucks.

"Ride him; Ride him, Billy Don!" yells a cowboy standing on top of the chute. Steam and saliva spew from the mouth of the huge animal as he tries to dislodge his unwelcome passenger. The bull leaps and turns, becoming horizontal in the air. As the bull's hooves dig into the earth, Dempsy's leg is thrown high, and he hangs onto the side of the beast, dangerously close to the horns. Another spin and his grip is gone, leaving him in a pile on the ground. A cloud of dust envelops him as the hind legs of the bull kick just over his head. The enraged bull spins to attack his former rider, but a colorfully-painted rodeo clowns-dances before the bull's nose, distracting it, and Dempsy is on his feet, at a full run toward the fence and safety. Once atop the fence, he looks toward the judge to see if he held on for the eight seconds required fur a score. "Seventy-one for Billy Don, the cowboy from Okalahoma," booms the announcer.

"Better than that first bull," says Dempsy, "I paid $55 just to find out he "Better than that first bull," says Dempsy, "I paid $55 just to find out he didn't know how to use those horns."

Dempsy is one of four Sailors who ride in the Southern Rodeo Association (SRA). For them, rodeo is much more than a hobby or a sport. It's a feeling, an urge, a fix, a charge, a need, a way of life. Some people go to the gym to play basketball or to the park to play football. Rodeo cowboys drive for hours, even days, to ride for eight short seconds and then drive home.

"Last year, I hit four different shows in four states in four days," said Hospital Corpsman 2nd Class Christopher Maurer. "The drive between rodeos was about eight hours. The farthest I've gone was 13 hours, to ride one bull for less than eight seconds and get stepped on, then 13 hours back home. The next day I'm always at work. I might not feel too good, but for those of us who rodeo, bumps and bruises are just an everyday occurrence. We don't run to sick call for every little thing. You get a guy who rodeos; you can put him into any situation. He'll do anything to get the job done."

Maurer, son of a rodeo team roper, grew up around rodeo in northern California and got involved about the same time he joined the Navy, l0 years ago. "I started riding bulls [when I was] in "A" school, and have been riding at every command since." After eight years of bull riding, Maurer switched to bareback bronco riding.

Rodeo is truly an American sport, one of the last living chapters of the Old West. It began on the western frontier, at a time when driving cattle was vital to the survival of an expanding nation.

Today's cowboys can trace their roots back to long trail drives and the following round-up. Ranch hands would have friendly contests to see who could rope and tie a calf the quickest, or who could stay on an unbroken horse or bull the longest. From there, it grew to challenges against the best riders and ropers in the area, then the state, and soon the country. Since those first days of rodeo, the sport has gone international. You can now find cowboys in many countries around the world.

Unlike the sports many of us are used to, cowboys are cowboys all the time. It's not a thing they leave behind when they leave the arena. From the cowboy boots, pressed jeans and huge belt buckles, to the "Yes, ma'am" and "Thank you, darlin,'" the cowboy culture runs deep in these men and women.

Why else would they risk injury to ride a bull or horse for eight seconds? Most people wouldn't even contemplate doing it. Dempsy admits he was scared the first time he climbed atop a bull. "My leg was quivering; I thought I was stupid. I was thinking, 'What in the world am I doing?'" After his first ride though, he was hooked. He explained it's a mixture of fear, adrenaline and excitement that make the sport addictive.

"I can't remember what it was like not riding," said Damage Controlman 2nd Class Adam Fisk, one of two SRA cowboys stationed aboard USS Normandy (CG 60). "It's all I think about now--what I've done and how to get better. I'm a rookie still, so for me, it's more losing than winning, but everyone has to pay their dues."

According to Dempsy, it's a big "adrenaline rush" that's over in a flash the first few times you ride, but after you have a few rides under your giant belt buckle, it almost seems to happen in slow motion.

"I can see his shoulder drop, I can see the turn of his head and know I need to be over there. I track him the whole time, and the eight seconds seem forever. I've thought I had been on well over eight seconds, pulled my rope and jumped off just to find out it'd only been six seconds and I didn't get a score. In fact, I've done it more than once."

Fisk also tells stories about just how much can happen in eight seconds. "When you come out, it's just you and him. I don't hear the crowd. I don't hear my buddies on the fence. It's just the two of us; and I'm trying to match him move for move. I get so focused on what he's doing that everything else just goes away."