The American male needs a new hero.

Traditionally, America has chosen its heroes from the green fields and reverberant arenas of our nationally syndicated sports teams. Occasionally, we have found them in the ring or the golf course. We have regularly worshipped individuals and squads of athletes, mighty warriors and gentlemen, one and all. As youngsters, we would choose whom of them we wished to grow up to become. And rarely was there a battle among us for proprietary hero-worship claims; there were enough heroes to go around. My favorite sport as a young boy back in Philly during the 50’s and 60’s, was baseball. I wanted to be Robin Roberts. That was very long ago.

The young American male must pick his hero from what seems to be a fetid sea of choices. There are small tidepools of clear water; there is Jeter, there is Shaq. They are few and far between. Boxing has become an insult to the greatness of Ali, and, let’s face it, The PGA, rife with “good guys” in spiffy slacks, is not exactly adrenaline inducing to much of our American male preteen population. They’ve got Tony Hawk, that’s okay, but poor Tony, having to bear all that worship-weight! That brings us back to the Pro Leagues; Baseball, Football, Basketball, Ice Hockey. To avoid an insult on your knowledge of Current Events, I will not proceed further regarding their validity as bastions of sports heroes.

I think, pardon my hubris, I have found him; the new American Hero.

Liz, my wife Sheri, Liz’s husband Paul and I went to the book signing party for “Fried Twinkies, Buckle Bunnies, and Bull Riders: A Year Inside the Professional Bull Rider’s Tour” , an incredibly immersive and engrossing book by Josh Peter. Liz, animator David Reedy, artist Cindy Lightford and I have recently created a VidLit™ for Rodale Press as part of the promotion for this book, and through the process Liz, Josh and I had become email buddies. We all wanted to meet face-to-face, and the book signing was the perfect place. (Josh, his wife Vanessa and their wanna-eat-with-a-spoon adorable baby daughter , Norah, were heroes of mine of sorts already, being New Orleans residents at Katrina's knell, the period we all got to know one another.)

The VidLit™ we created for Josh was a joy. It’s one of our best ones to date. It was as if it may have been predetermined. Cindy , our illustrator on the piece, was already into PBR for her own reasons, as were Sheri and I; a close friend of ours is co-owner of one of the Baddest- of-the-Bad Buckin’ Bulls. We’d watch PBR on cable, heck, we have it Tivo’ed.

But I never met a Bull Rider. Not before last Sunday. At Dutton’s Bookstore. In Beverly Hills. Amidst Vietnamese spring rolls and coconut shrimp, chardonnay and literati, I met the new American Hero.

He is tall as an oak. He is shorter than I. His skin is black. Brown. White. He’s from upstate California. Fort Worth Texas. Brisbane, Australia .He is from Brazil. Brazil? He wears a Wrangler shirt, dress snakeskin boots. He is well groomed. To inane questions asked by clueless cityfolk, he politely responds with a “yes, sir” and “no ma’m”. And he means it. And, when introduced to, or excused from a woman, his right index finger and thumb unconsciously, unerringly reach for the brim of his dress black Stetson for the respectful tip.

We meet Adriano Moraes, a multiple championship titleholder in tyhe PBR, whose reputation as a Bull Rider proceeds him, at least for Liz, Sheri and me. He is showing us where his eye socket has just been fused with titanium pins and that his nose has been broken countless times during his career. He is movie-star handsome, his wife Flavia, movie-star gorgeous. He is gracious and engaging. He waves, and chats with us later as we gather to listen to Josh, Shortie, a Stunt Rider, and eventually Adriano himself discuss the dirt-for-diamonds world of the PBR. We listen to him discuss with great knowledge and intelligence (and with an admirable command of English, a language he barely spoke a few years ago) regarding that which he loved so much. That, after the love of his God, and the adoration and respect for his wife, he emphasizes. He enlightens a crowd made wary through ignorance with simple mathematics; An average 1,800 pound bull is worth about 1,500 dollars at the slaughterhouse. A Prize Bull is worth millions. Riders are the first to report (or mete out “Cowboy Justice” to) animal abusers, should they be discovered. The Bull’s testicles are not cinched; why destroy the very thing that will continue to make this animal profitable at stud time? We learn finally that his greatest goal at this point in his life is to be the best Bull Rider in the history of the sport. And with his family, his faith, along with a superhuman focus on the target, I have no doubt his goal will be achieved.

He is my new American Hero. There are plenty of Bull Riders for you.

P

An Update: Adriano Moraes won the million dollar first prize at the 2006 PBR finals in Las Vegas, Nevada. Bravo, Adriano!