Louisville Magazine

AUG 2015

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

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Page 43 of 140

LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 8.15 41 rows and rows of moos. I watch a brown bull push from the hind, fnd balance, then lift his front. It's like watching rocks shift, that fnal convergence. Te brisket belly hangs large, and on the bull's shoulder, a branding: italicized M. Te calligraphy suggests a gang's stamp, a bowler or electrician's patched initial. I imagine a cow rolling a strike or deep in diesel, and then I read Majestic Meadows on the stall's fag. Te old Maryland man sitting beside it doesn't say much, but tells me Majestic Meadows is his farm's name, that the bull showed on Friday, took a purple banner for Best Anus. Oh, heard him wrong: Best Angus. Royalty tassels gold above the man's head. Damn, didn't expect the BDSM. Dominatrix chains in Broadbent Arena. Te nakedness of horses strapped only in leather. Tis is the Heavyweight Horse Pull. Four men get their horses situated for the "Go!" Behind behinds, ready to make big Fabio-maned Belgians move their hooves over a dirt-flled foor. Te men slide a chain's metal clasp into a hook hole, slap those pony asses, guide the glide to victory. Crowds of camo hats pepper the red arena seats, and the wearers hoot-holler for the horses, who bow and push and struggle and muscle 6,300 pounds of stacked cement blocks a distance of 27½ feet. A "full pull," they call it. Te goal. (Weight started at 3,000 pounds, blocks added to the sled-type thing, upping the ante by 100 pounds each round.) Pair after pair of the beasts do their share. OK, so it ain't exactly sex, but manpower, horsepower. It's control. It's weighty. Tere's bondage, dominance, discipline. For what? Te game of it, the cash prize. Feels like Hercules meets hillbillies. Feels like not knowing how to pull your own, man. Stranger's directions to the Budweiser Music Stage: "Well, if you don't mind going past the cattle, you'll go left through the red doors, then take a right, pass the pigs, take a right, then left, stay along the wall, take a left, then a left." I nod as if I register this. My pointer fnger points left, then right, like a windshield wiper, broken clock ticker, tweaker, nodding. Stranger walks on, glad to have helped, and I stand full of direction but directionless. Right past the what? Something about pigs? Same stranger fnds me in my same spot, says, "Or you could just take a right out of the glass doors to outside, then left. Glad I have a brain." My brain rests on a guardrail. Tells the rest of me I'm hot back in this sunlight, hot as the fryers that fat all those Oreos and Twinkies. Brain feels face begin to burn. Says, "Shoulda brought sunscreen, ya idiot." Brain hears the bah and bleat and thump of some sheep inside the silver trailer in front of me, sees the white of wool through the slats, the door lock dangling unclasped. Brain detects no authority, attendance, attention. Remembers freedom, that scale. Tempted, thinks: Open sesame! Asks the most important question: Why not? Considers the bars it may peer through if caught liberating Lamb Chop. Brain stands but does not walk retinaky.com louisvillerestore.org

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