It takes guts to dance in the midst of a baying arena of alcohol-fuelled Australian farmers wearing an oversized daisy pinned to a Superman shirt and oversized shorts held up by crimson braces.
To do it when a tonne of angry Brahmin bull is charging towards you with lowered horns takes something close to lunacy.
Yet this is how 27-year-old Tom Wreford earns his living and he says he wouldn’t swap it for any nine-to-five job in the world.
Wreford is a clown on the Australian rodeo circuit, charged with distracting huge bulls after they have thrown their riders so the unfortunate cowboys can scramble to safety without getting gored.
”Basically, you’re protection, you’re looking to save the cowboy’s butt because once they hit the ground they’re in a very vulnerable position,” he said at a bull ride in the country town of Deniliquin.
The rodeo clowns are part entertainers, part lifesavers, as they interact with the boisterous rural crowd and come to the rescue of cowboys whose challenge is to stay on the back of a raging bull for eight seconds.
Clowns are in the ring the whole time, but swing into action as soon as the rider hits the ground. They try to distract the beast, mainly by jumping around the ring, but in doing so run the risk of being gored themselves.
If an animal gets too close, they can jump on to the railings.
Wreford’s partner Tim Hughes does not hesitate when asked why he risks his life every weekend, dodging the flying hooves and horns of bulls that have been bred at specialist studs for aggression and speed.
”It’s the adrenalin rush,” he said. ”You have to be alert and push yourself to the absolute limit physically. You can’t let anything go wrong.”
When it all goes wrong
Fortunately for Wreford and Hughes, nothing has gone seriously wrong for them so far as they acrobatically evade bulls with names such as ”Chainsaw”, ”Crunch Time” and ”Knockout”.
Wreford said his worst injury was a dislocated thumb when he misjudged his trademark move of tapping a thrashing bull on the forehead to gain its attention after a rider is thrown.
But rodeo organiser Jen Geddes said many bull riders are not so lucky.
”At the end of the day, it’s an extreme sport and cowboys do get busted up,” she said. ”You see broken legs, hips, any amount of bones — the bulls are huge, they can cause a lot of damage.”
She said at any rodeo there will be a sprinkling of former bull riders with severe limps helping work the gates or offering advice to the latest young bucks aiming to prove themselves on the back of a thrashing beast.
”They just can’t keep away,” she said. ”It’s a special atmosphere at the rodeo and we’re like a big family.”
Financial rewards
Despite the risks, the financial rewards for bull riders in Australia are meagre. Wreford supplements his income by working as a veterinary assistant, while Hughes performs bar work.
Geddes said the bull riders dream of progressing to the professional bull-riding circuit in North America, where they can earn a living from their sport.
”That’s what they’re all working for. Getting a shot at the Calgary Stampede [in Canada] is pretty much the ultimate for these guys,” she said.
The rodeo at the Calgary Stampede has prize money of 1,6-million Canadian dollars ($1,36-million). The prize pool at the average Australian bush rodeo is less than Aus$5 000 ($3 700), to be shared among a dozen riders.
Geddes dismissed concerns from animal-welfare activists about treatment of the bulls, pointing out that they are not harmed during the rodeo — unlike the animals that are put to death in Spanish bullfights.
”You can see when the bulls come out that they revel in it and rise to the challenge,” she said. ”They want to throw the rider and often when they do they’ll strut around in from of the crowd.”
Wreford is in no doubt about the nature of the challenge.
”It’s just you and the bull,” he said. ”There’s no room for complacency because you know if you get lazy, then you’re going to get hit and get hit hard. These bulls are mean and they’ll get you if you let them.” — AFP
