The Rodeo...?

Uncle Gerry, no imitation snakeskin cowboy hat for him!
As some of you may have noticed, I choose to blog about the things I like, particularly the books I like and great family experiences. After all, if I wanted to blog about things that make me feel crappy and jaded, this would be a blog about politics or global warming. But maybe, I should make room for the big, the bad and the hideous, three apt descriptors for last Sunday's rodeo at Jarry Park. In fact, before we actually stepped onto the fairgrounds, I noticed a pair of underwear in the middle of the road, which had been run over a half dozen times. I pointed this out to my daughter, who exclaimed, "That's embarrassing!" And strangely enough that's how I felt after spending 20 minutes at the "rodeo."

If I had to say one nice thing about this Sunday afternoon outing, I could say that the flowers smelled beautiful as we approached the ticket sales and shelled out $9.00 for admission.

The first exhibit was for some rather large motor homes and trailers, which were next to a wide selection of hideous cowboy hats that were all made in China. I couldn't help but notice the pastel pink and powder blue camouflage variety. Then we came to a motionless Shetland pony, one of only two horses we would see. The pony was penned in with a lama and a bunch of sleeping rabbits, which left me scratching my head. The John Deere representative was on hand to sell riding lawn mowers, which my 3-year-old son found fascinating. The pi├Ęce de resistance was a bull stationed at the centre of the exhibition. Children were permitted to sit on top for a mere $5. We walked around a little more to some rip-off carnival games with uber cheap stuffed animals to the headache-inducing twang of country music that echoed off the Jarry Park tennis courts. The cowgirls' attire involved tight pastel t-shirts and sequins, while cowboy hats and a beer buzz were the only unifying characteristics among the men.

This was one of the strangest events I have ever been to. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why we had to pay an admission fee to see a man selling hardware supplies or to view the Dukes of Hazard's AMC Charger. What did either one of them have to do with a rodeo? This two-bit dog-and-pony show could not decide what it was. Was it a swap meet, a motor home salon, a country fair or a carny convention?

Disappointment is the result of unfulfilled expectations. "So what was I expecting?" asked my husband. Well, I thought I'd see a few nice horses, maybe a makeshift coral, cows and other barnyard animals and some cowboys and girls with "high-quality" hats and boots, possibly sporting gingham shirts with hicky smiles slapped on their faces. I was not expecting to see "a herd of bison stampeding across the prairie," as my husband sarcastically suggested.

Was there more to this show? I'm not sure. The damn music got on my nerves and I insisted we leave before bitchiness set in.

Montreal, you do so many urban things so well, but when it comes to rodeos, you suck!

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