No bull in riding life

Andrew Mathieson
NOTHING is more painful for Lindsay Friend than housework.
Not even falling off a raging bull, nostrils flaring and still kicking the dirt on top of Lindsay’s head.
In his last ride at a Merrijig rodeo, the acclaimed bull rider busted a kneecap into five pieces.
“It was a bull I’ve been on a few times,” Lindsay recounts.
“He threw me off, I fell on a rock and smashed my knee up good.
“It could have been the only rock in the arena, too.”
Alone every day, he’s now recovering slowly on his Winchelsea property.
The injury left him sidelined and bedridden for at least 10 weeks, playing noughts and crosses, for the first three.
Surgeons wired up the knee and left him wearing a cumbersome brace.
Now finally back on his feet, Lindsay has chores to complete.
“I’m cleaning while the missus is at work,” he grins.
“I’ve been doing a bit of vacuuming now. Dishes are mainly my job, too.
“Well, pretty much everything that she used to do.”
Incapacitated, Lindsay cuts a forlorn figure sitting on the couch.
Cowboy hat by his side, his hours are spent watching daytime TV.
“It’s driving me crazy,” he groans.
“Your mind goes numb if you just sit there and stare at one thing all the time.”
The 31-year-old is philosophical about injuries in a sport in which bulls often have the last say.
‘Buck you’ is a colloquial term chuckled a lot at rodeos, he reveals.
Nearly breaking his neck rivalled any injury.
The bull bucked so hard that Lindsay’s head was “pile-driven” into the dirt.
“Me body folded around me head,” he recalls.
“It sickened the doctors when I showed them photos – they couldn’t work out how I didn’t break my neck.
“My head folded up my back. They said, otherwise, I would’ve been pushed around in a chair.”
Now Lindsay is starting to stutter the word retirement.
With his body wearing thin, the stutter is becoming more of a crow call.
A couple of mates in Queensland introduced Lindsay then 15 to bull riding.
The first thing they taught him was to never have fear – and to stay on for at least eight seconds.
Back then he barely stood five feet, or (153cm), and weighed less than 40kg.
The bigger bulls push the 800 kg mark.
“If you hit the ground, the rules are roll and get out,” Lindsay warns novices.
“If you lay there, you’re gonna get stood on, gonna get hooked and gonna get gored.”
Lindsay listened to the advice and a decade later was the 2005 national rodeo champion.
The title earned him a ride at Barretos, the Brazilian rodeo that is arguably the biggest in the world.
The arena routinely holds crowds of around 80,000, much to Lindsay’s shock.
“I felt like Gary Ablett running out onto the MCG,” he smiles.
“It didn’t matter they didn’t know you – they were as proud to watch you as you were competing.”
While the fame is great, the money isn’t. The name Australian Professional Rodeo Association is something of an oxymoron.
The best riders in the country are lucky to earn $20,000 a year.
Despite regular top-five finishes, Geelong’s premier bull rider struggles to find a sponsor to pay for basic expenses.
“You’re looking for, say, $300 for fuel, then $150 for entry fees, then there’s also accommodation and, when it’s worth just $1000 for a win, you’ve already put half back in,” the full-time welder says.
“If you have to fly there and you only come third, it probably costs you $1000 to ride.”
Some things are more important than winning the cash, though. On the rodeo circuit, it’s all about the mateship.
Competitors beat the bulls, not their fellow riders, Lindsay explains.
“If you get the opportunity to help a mate on a bull by pulling the bullrope, they’re always going to shout you three or four cans at the end of the night.”