Spring Break
Rodeo Clowns: The Cowboy's Cowboy
Maggie Ybarra
Issue date: 9/20/07 Section: Culture
- Page 1 of 2 next >
by Maggie Ybarra
Daily Lobo
Link to Slideshow
Death is just a game to a rodeo clown.
He plays it almost every day, taking calculated risks against his one-ton, Grade A beef opponents.
"In this business, it's not if you get hurt - it's when and how bad," rodeo clown Leon Coffee said. "And you know that when you're dealing with 1,800 pounds of massive beast with baseball bats stuck out of each side of his head and the fear of God in his eye, and he can run 40 miles an hour, and the fastest man in the world can only run 30 - and I ain't him. You know you going to get caught. You know you are. It's inevitable."
In a brightly lit arena where it takes less than eight seconds for a cowboy to lose his grip and fall from the safety of the saddle to the treacherous dirt bed of the floor, the rodeo clown serves as a modern-day matador.
"The deal is that you've got to get good enough to outmaneuver one," Coffee said. "And they're going to tear you up. I've had 14 knee surgeries. I've had - you can't imagine the stuff that's been done to me. It's just when you tear up stuff, you patch up - you go home. There's not an abundance of guys that want to step up and do my job."
Coffee has worked as a rodeo clown since 1969. In the span of three decades, he's collected two wives, five grandchildren and 134 broken bones. If he breaks a leg while on the job, Coffee said he'll wait only four weeks before removing the cast - rather than adhering to the standard six-week doctor's orders.
"I'm not a very good patient," Coffee said. "Besides, when you don't work around here, you
don't eat."
Dressed in a neon yellow Western shirt, black stockings with holes in them, white socks that go up to the knees and a pair of pants cut off to look like a skirt with suspenders to hold them up, Coffee makes sure the audience knows he's there to entertain them.
Daily Lobo
Link to Slideshow
Death is just a game to a rodeo clown.
He plays it almost every day, taking calculated risks against his one-ton, Grade A beef opponents.
"In this business, it's not if you get hurt - it's when and how bad," rodeo clown Leon Coffee said. "And you know that when you're dealing with 1,800 pounds of massive beast with baseball bats stuck out of each side of his head and the fear of God in his eye, and he can run 40 miles an hour, and the fastest man in the world can only run 30 - and I ain't him. You know you going to get caught. You know you are. It's inevitable."
In a brightly lit arena where it takes less than eight seconds for a cowboy to lose his grip and fall from the safety of the saddle to the treacherous dirt bed of the floor, the rodeo clown serves as a modern-day matador.
"The deal is that you've got to get good enough to outmaneuver one," Coffee said. "And they're going to tear you up. I've had 14 knee surgeries. I've had - you can't imagine the stuff that's been done to me. It's just when you tear up stuff, you patch up - you go home. There's not an abundance of guys that want to step up and do my job."
Coffee has worked as a rodeo clown since 1969. In the span of three decades, he's collected two wives, five grandchildren and 134 broken bones. If he breaks a leg while on the job, Coffee said he'll wait only four weeks before removing the cast - rather than adhering to the standard six-week doctor's orders.
"I'm not a very good patient," Coffee said. "Besides, when you don't work around here, you
don't eat."
Dressed in a neon yellow Western shirt, black stockings with holes in them, white socks that go up to the knees and a pair of pants cut off to look like a skirt with suspenders to hold them up, Coffee makes sure the audience knows he's there to entertain them.
Anonymous posts are no longer allowed. They will not show up.
You must be logged in to post!
Be the first to comment on this story