I started on sheep. I was just a kid — small boots, big dreams, and no fear. Worked my way up through steers and junior bulls like a lot of us did. Took a break in high school, then found my way back while I was on active duty in the Marine Corps. That’s when I went pro — in 2003 — riding bulls on weekends while serving full-time. Different kind of uniform, same kind of grit.

A Moment That Stuck with Me

There was one night that stuck with me more than most. It wasn’t about the ride. I had just gotten my knee slammed hard against the gate on the way out of the chute. Could barely put weight on it. My buddy was helping me hobble across the grounds when this little kid walked up and asked for my autograph. Then another. Then more. I stood there hurting like hell, signing hats and smiling because I remembered being that kid. That’s what a lot of these younger riders don’t get.
We used to make time for the fans. These days? Too many walk around like they’re better than everyone else.

Why I Still Ride

I ride with the National Senior Pro Rodeo Association now. Not for trophies. Not for money. Just because I love it. Still do. Always will. There’s nothing like it. Man versus beast — no backups, no redos, no hiding. Just raw instinct, grit, and eight seconds to prove you’ve still got it.

The Sport Is Growing — But What Are We Losing?

The sport’s bigger now than ever before. Bigger crowds. More sponsors. Flashier production. And I’m glad folks are paying attention — the sport deserves it. But somewhere in all that spotlight, we’ve lost a little humility. A little of the tradition. This isn’t just about holding on. It’s about how you carry yourself — in the chute, in the locker room, and after the ride.

These Bulls Aren’t Abused — They’re Respected

Let’s be real about the bulls. They’re not mistreated — far from it. These animals are athletes. They’re bred to buck and taken care of like royalty. Fed right. Monitored. Respected. Anyone who’s actually spent time in the sport knows that. Without the bulls, we’re nothing. We owe them that respect.

Cowboy Up — Then and Now

There’s a phrase that’s followed me since the beginning — through the Corps, through the wrecks, through the wins: Cowboy Up.
You don’t just say it. You live it. It means get back on. Ride hurt. Show up. Stand tall. Don’t complain. Do your job and tip your hat when it’s done.

I’ve been in this sport most of my life. My body’s not what it used to be, and I’ll be the first to admit it. But when that chute swings open, and I feel that bull explode beneath me, I remember exactly why I’m still here.

It’s not the eight seconds that matter.
It’s everything it took to earn them.