Bull Rider’s Limp

Edgar's picture
When I was a kid we had what we called the ‘bull rider’s limp.’ If you were entered up the Saturday before, you could develop a limp and make it last for a week! When a good lookin’ sweetheart asked what happened, you kinda shuffled and shrugged it off. “Got hurt,” you’d say. “How?” she’d ask on cue. “Ridin’ bulls,” you’d explain nonchalantly. Images of John Wayne, stoic and brave, filled the air. The dragon slayer uninjured saving the damsel. The concerned female dabbin’ peroxide in the bullet wound creasing your shoulder. “It’s nuthin’,” you’d say, wincing in pain. If only you had a saber slash across the cheek.


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