Draped across the bars of chute No. 3 at the National Finals Rodeo in Dallas, the cowpoke stared coldly at a mottled grey bronc, puffed an inch-long butt, and spat contemptuously into the dirt. "Keep your eyes open," warned a bystander. "That Blue Boy's a rank old s.o.b." Nodding brusquely, Kenny Mc Lean hiked up his scuffed leather chaps, swung over the rail, settled gingerly into the saddle, and in the awkward tradition of rodeo riding, he dug his spurs hard into Blue Boy's neck.
Like a merry-go-round pony suddenly gone berserk, Blue Boy bellowed with rage and bucketed across the arena....
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