Word: steers
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...exasperating day back in 1903, so the story goes, an Oklahoma cowpoke named Bill Pickett was having an infernally tough time persuading an ornery steer to head into a corral He whooped at it and pleaded with it, prodded and battered it, until in furious frustration he leaped from his horse, bit the steer's lip like a bulldog, twisted its neck and brought it to the ground. Pickett's romantic technique was never very handy around the ranch, but it was sort of satisfying, and Pickett kept doing it at Wild West shows around the country. Word...
Long Neck. No one bites steer lips any more, but last week, at the annual rodeo at the Colorado State Fair in Pueblo, one cowboy was far and away the foremost master of the rest of Pickett's technique. James ("Big Jim") Bynum, 38, three times (1954, 1958, 1961) world's champion bulldogger, has dominated the sport with his 250-lb., 6-ft. 4-in. frame for more than a decade. Up until the Pueblo go, Bynum had piled up $12,409 in steer-wrestling competition in 1963. With almost three months left before the National Finals Rodeo...
...chance, as much as strength and skill, is always a part of bulldogging. It begins with the draw, by lot, for the stock, and like a torero with a bad bull, a cowboy with a bum steer is faced with a pointless afternoon. "There's some steers that won't cooperate," drawls Bynum. "The thing you like is a small, long neck, with good horns, not real long, not real short...
Even with a good draw, there can be trouble. The steer starts from a tight chute between two horse pens, one for the bulldogger and the other for the "hazer," the rider who keeps the running steer close to the wrestler. The chute gate rises and the steer churns into the arena; seconds later, a rope attached to its horns trips a string barrier in front of the bulldogger, and the two horsemen race out in pursuit...
...ahead of the world's other ranking apprentice writer, Novelist Mickey Spillane. The crucial difference between the two is that Spillane writes for the paperbacks whereas Silliphant writes for television-a medium that devours prose the way a school of piranha devours a steer. Silliphant, along with four or five other apprentices in his own exalted income bracket, works 13 hours a day, seven days a week, feeding the cathode tube - with such astonishing success that he has become something of a legend in the trade. "Stirling Silliphant," says one producer, "is almost inhuman. He is a writing...