In this year’s student rodeo, more than 60 students, novices and experts alike tested their skills and luck against bulls, broncos and goats.
In the end, Tom Kleinpeter won the bull-riding event after two days of competition.
But, Kleinpeter did not just stroll in and win. He had to face fierce opposition from both seasoned veterans and people who had no place in a rodeo – like me, for instance.
I thought since I have been to the rodeo several times in Houston I could ride a bull and probably do pretty well. 
I was completely wrong.
I intelligently waited until the day of the rodeo to even begin to prepare. I spent more time thinking about what to wear than my strategy for not being gored.
To make matters worse, my family also decided this would be a good weekend to come and visit, and my mother was a wreck with worry.
I showed up at the Parker Coliseum about 45 minutes early to register for my event. Catherine Lanaux, the rodeo manager for the Block and Bridle club, showed me where to sign up and where I would have to go to get on my bull. She encouraged me not to be worried.
So, I got signed up and kind of wandered around in my straw cowboy hat.
All the “cowboys” in their Stetson hats looked at me in my New Balance shoes and head full of piercings, and I realized how out of place I was. The hat was not helping.
So, I traded my cowboy hat for my all-black baseball cap. 
I walked around the stadium and introduced myself to the bulls and realized how terrified I was.
The bulls we were riding were not world-champion bulls, but they did have horns and they did not look happy to be in a rodeo.
One rider offered me a piece of advice: riding a bull is like dancing — let the bull lead.
I did not learn anything about which way to “dance” when the bull’s horns came for my face.
While the opening ceremony was going on, I went to the bathroom and tried to decide whether or not I should throw up.
Finally, it was time for all the bull-riders to report to the chutes to get ready to ride, and I found out I was the last rider in the first heat.
While I watched the other riders, I tried to make a mental checklist of things to do and things not to do.
Arthur Smith, an announcer who has been doing rodeos all his life, called for the attention of the audience when it was my turn to ride.
Smith told the audience that I was a writer for the Reveille and I was writing a story about the rodeo. I got the feeling he was mocking me, but before I climbed on the bull I waved to the crowd.
Now, honestly, my bull was not huge. Hollywood’s shoulder was about five feet off the ground and I have no idea what he weighed. But, it was still scary. Really scary. The bull was not happy to have me on his back, nor was he happy to be in the chute, a metal cage that is about six feet by three feet.
But I shoved him over and climbed on. 
The guys who were standing around the chute suggested I hold on for dear life and wished me luck with my story.
  Finally, I was on the bull and holding on to the strap, but just as I was almost ready to go, Hollywood decided it was a good time to lay down in the chute and push my leg against the side of the chute. That felt great.
  The men around the chute tried to pull him up and get him to stand, but he was not budging
  Then, a guy with a cattle prod told me they were going to give the bull a little jolt to get him to stand up.
  Surely, this was a sign that I was not supposed to be riding a bull. Divine intervention was giving me time to back out.
  But before I could voice my concerns the bull jumped up inside the chute from being electrocuted.
  OK, so I was tied down and Hollywood was angry. The guys working the chute asked if I was ready. I do not think they cared if I was ready or not because just then they told me they were opening the door before the bull laid down again.
I tried to reason with them, telling them I needed a few more minutes to compose myself, but as I was making my plea, the gate opened and the bull was shocked with the cattle prod, again.
  The amount of time leading up to my ride was nothing short of terrifying. While I was waiting, I had time to consider what I was doing and to realize that I could die.
  But, once the door to the chute opened and the ride began, I was not as scared anymore. I actually began to enjoy myself.
Once it starts, there is hardly time to be afraid — my ride lasted only about 2.25 seconds.
  Once I was thrown from the bull, however, the fun ceased and the fear returned.
  As soon as I hit the ground, I took off running faster than I have in a long time.
  Thankfully, the brave rodeo clowns distracted Hollywood long enough for me to make my getaway.
So, I rode a bull, and I did not die.
From now on, whenever I watch “8 Seconds,” I will truly be able to sympathize with Luke Perry.