| 24th Annual Cowboy Downhill – Steamboat Springs, Colorado
1.20.98
portions of this story have been altered to protect me. other parts have been embellished and/or exaggerated. Some names have been changed due to poor memory skills.
NEWS FLASH ++++ 1.20.98
(Steamboat Springs, CO) - Yes, the 428th Annual Western Stock Show has
hit Denver and, as in years past, Steamboat has had to brace itself for
the inevitable repercussions... The resulting shock wave has
reached all the way up to 6,700 feet as this sleepy little cow town in
NW Colorado is invaded by hard-drinkin, bronco-bustin, cow-pokin, real-life
rodeo stars... and it doesn't appear as if our bountiful River Yampa (which
flows, as all Colorado rivers do, with the cool refreshing taste of Coors
Beer) will be able to satiate the giant beast. Our only relief this season may be the fact that most of the cowboys pussied out. I guess the thrill of being in the burgeoning city of Denver was too much to handle for the boys... plentiful 7-11 Smokie Joes, ample tire outlets and cheap-ass hookers (it is a well-known fact that Steamboat hookers are just way too expensive... well out of the league of those on a boot-strap budget). But it does appear as if 68 hardy souls made the trek over threatening “Rabbit Ears Pass” to join us in our silly little event this year... willing to risk life and limb for an unfamiliar sport and a well known beverage.
For those of you who have not yet experienced Steamboat's Cowboy Downhill, take a day off from test driving hay bailers at the Stock Show and make your way north and west, to Steamboat Springs – where hats are welcome and absurdity reigns supreme. If you missed the coverage on CNN, MSNBC, C-SPAN, etc. The final results were, and we apologize in advance for any mistaken/misspelled nicknames... 1. Richie “Rump Roasting” Hamilton ................. 33.92 seconds
+ Nobody won “The Stampede”... just like with
the Kennedy's...
Back
|
Drunken
Cowboys Invade Sleepy Little Cow Town for Steamboat's “24th Annual Cowboy
Downhill”
The first event
is a skiing/barrel racing hybrid that pits each cowpoke against his pokin
peer. They race, hat-to-hat, down the Headwall slope in a dual slalom
format, and the crafty slope maintenance folks here at Steamboat have thrown
a nice little jump in the middle of the course for the already struggling
skiers to negotiate. For some, it is a simple dip in the path to
glory, for others an uncrossable puma-filled crevasse spelling destruction.
The cowboys line up at the top, two-by-two, first shotgunning a tin of
cool, refreshing Coors Beer, then bursting out of the starting gate like
crazed Tasmanian Devils. Foaming at the mouth and careening out of
control, they push themselves downhill with the reckless abandon of a teenager
out in his parents pick-up for the first time. Charging willy-nilly
through a gauntlet of cheering and jeering fans, many crash, a few survive.
Those who do make it over the jump and to the bottom must then lasso a
mountain hostess-in-distress and saddle a horse, waiting patiently, before
crossing the finish line to stop the clock. A few lose skis and attempt
to finish on one... it doesn't aid their cause. The best bet for
most is to abandon the offending hardware and bolt southward toward the
finish line, legs windmilling, skipping gates. It is hard to know
whether to laugh or to cry. I end up doing both.
The second and
final event is basically a “Chinese Downhill,” the ski area marketing department
calls it “The Stampede,” I call it a “Gala Game of Football with The Kennedy's
– Winner Takes All.” This is where all our beloved wranglers line
up at the top of the slope and, at the drop of a hat, hurl their bodies
downhill toward victory and eternal glory. The tanked-up cowboys
begin their kamikaze course of destruction with only one goal in mind...
winning. With a “take-no-prisoner” attitude and a blatant disregard
for safety, the cowboys turned Olympic Downhillers careen, completely out-of-control,
toward the bottom and, as the dust settles, it is clear that just a few
of the participants actually made it to the finish. Bodies litter
the slopes; broken, moaning cowboys lie twisted and twitching in the newly
fallen snow, and as the victor pumps his fists in a show of bravado, he
gets the privilege of being gang banged by all who cross the line in his
wake, resulting in an even more grotesque pile forming at the finish.