Good Ole Boys by Peta

“Thank you folks, thanks a bunch”. Johnnie Parker bowed at the applauding, cheering crowd, a wide grin fixed to his strong handsome face. As he held the Golden Horse trophy high above his head, the fans went wild, hooting and whistling, jumping up and down, beside themselves with excitement. The young groupies near the podium grabbed at his well worn boots. Johnnie soaked it up.

“And folks, I’d just like to add a word of commiseration for my good buddy Dan. Bad luck Dan. Third year in a row you are the bridesmaid again. What can I say. It could have happened to any one but I guess the best man won. Again!” The crowd loved it and whooped some more.

“But Danny Boy, keep on try’n, you never know one of these days maybe it’ll be me that falls off the horse.” Johnnie doubled over with laughter. The crowd laughed with him.

At the back of the throng, Dan Fewings stood dejected and embarrassed. His head hung forward as he stared at the red dirt beneath his well worn boots. He kicked at an imaginary stone.

“Bugger” Dan muttered to himself. “Not again. How can this have happened again?”

Dan had trained hard all season for the King of the Rodeo competition. Every spare moment, when he was not working the farm or jackarooing, he’d be practicing his holds and riding the bulls. Surely if he could stay on a bull he could stay on a horse? The moment of truth had come. He knew his only true rival was Johnnie Parker. It was the same every year. And the result had been the same every year, Johnnie beat him by seconds. Dan had been determined that this year would be different. He was as ready as he could be. He had a good draw and was riding last so he knew exactly what he had to do. Hang on for 28 seconds. That was all it would take. He knew he could do it.

The crowd was silent as he mounted the horse. It was a brumby piebald. 18 hands. A big mother, solid as. Climbing on its back, he took deep breaths, concentrating hard. He carefully wrapped his left hand into the tether. 28 seconds. His confidence was building. Dan sensed the crowd growing restless. It was nearly time.

“Ladies and Gentlemen”, Jock Peters, the master of ceremonies’ voice heralded over the PA system. A hush fell over the crowd.

“Now for our final contestant for the afternoon. That good ole boy, Dan Fewings. Dan comes here today with great expectations. Second in the event for the last few years, Dan told me earlier today that he is a shoe in this year. Riding one of the nastiest brumbies we know, Piebald Pete, he’ll have his work cut out. Can he do it? Can he finally take the Golden Horse from our Johnnie Parker, currently in the lead with a 27 second hold. Well let’s see shall we? What do you say gang?”

The roar was deafening.

Dan cringed. Why did Jock have to lay it on so thick? Dan felt the pressure building. The horn sounded, the gate opened and in an instant Piebald Pete was bucking and turning and bucking. Dan held on for dear life. His right arm extended above his head as a counterbalance. His body hurled this way and that as the mighty beast beneath him did his upmost to throw Dan into oblivion. The clock in Dan’s head ticked slowly over. Faces in the crown rushed in a blur past him as the horse continued its dance. Just a few more seconds he reckoned.

From the corner of his eye he saw an object travelling towards him. Dan grit his teeth and tried to stay focused. His head jolted sideways unexpectedly. He felt a pulling suck on his cheek. Automatically his right hand went to his face and grabbed at the kids toy arrow sticking out. In the same moment his body wiggled to the left then right. His balance lost he slithered down the side of the piebald hitting the deck with an audible thud. The crown moaned in unison, feeling his pain. The big clock stopped at 26.8 seconds.