Grandma's Many Funniest Moments In Sports.

Some people have asked me why my complexion is always so flushed.

It could be due to one of my medical conditions, but for the purposes of this article, just color me florid from continued embarrassment due to my failed athletic endeavors.

In grade school I was one of the tallest girls in my class. I developed breasts very early and honestly believe they led to me being a complete klutz.

Before I "matured" I loved walking to the school grounds and playing a pickup game of baseball with the boys.

I had my own glove, which I oiled with neatsfoot oil and tied a ball in the pocket afterwards with a bright pink neck-scarf to help season the glove's pocket.

What a wonderful pastime this was—until I got boobs.

Damn puberty anyway.

Being big-breasted caused a world of problems, and in more than one sport, a bra strap would give up the battle, go flying skyward, leaving me flopping and mortified whether during basketball, volleyball, or simply performing calisthenics during PE class.

As hysterical as this appeared to others, it certainly was not that amusing to me.

Since I used to blush very easily, being red-faced was not a novelty to me.

One of my worst experiences was being kicked in back of my right leg while unloading my AQHA bay gelding at the Tri-State Rodeo in Fort Madison, Iowa.

I was a rodeo queen contestant sponsored by the Peoria County Sheriff's Posse in early September 1965.

It was the biggest moment of my 19-year-old life and I so wanted to represent the guys in the best manner possible.

My wardrobe was carefully chosen (to minimize and cover my bust), I had a flashy Palomino I had trained myself when he was 2 to ride in the parade, and a professionally trained American Quarter horse gelding who was both beautiful and very powerful to ride in the reining portion of the contest.

Did I mention that this horse hated me?

Well, Red was many things, but a woman's horse was not one of them.

He managed to kick me smartly on the fleshy area behind my right knee and raised an area that was equal in size to the front of my knee.

I was wearing shorts when he kicked me and could scarcely pull them down over the swelling.

Unfortunately, I had both my aunt and mother with me, so I was forced to visit the local hospital.

Nothing was broken, except for my heart, because I really was in love with that horse, his looks and athletic abilities.

I was given pain medicine, which I had never previously experienced, along with muscle relaxers and advised not to ride.

Yeah, right!

Tell any 19-year-old they can't participate in something they have been existing for and just see what happens!

Mostly, the event was a blur.

There was a parade, a luncheon with Doc and Festus from Gunsmoke hosting, and an interview with the judges (after which one of the judges, a rough stock rider asked me for a date; since I was dating Mel I declined.).

Of course, next was the rodeo and after the grand entry, the queen contest itself.

The former queen performed a reining pattern and then each contestant tried to duplicate the pattern to the best of her ability.

I was number nine.

The reining pattern was a piece of cake.

Of course, that was just my opinion, and since I was high as a kite on muscle relaxants and pain pills, I may not have been the best judge of how I performed.

I remember a collage of images of the crowd and can recall one man asking his wife "what on Earth type of bit does she have on that horse?"

Having been a very polite person, I briefly considered riding over to the fence and telling him that it was a grazing bit, but fortunately I continued with the routine, did the sliding stop, backed my horse up as required, and then tried to dismount to approach the judges.

It had not occurred to me how much trouble my deformed leg would give me in dismounting and leading my horse up to the judges.

As my feet hit the ground I concentrated with all my being on not falling down.

Walking the five steps to the judges, I kept thinking left foot, right foot, left foot—don't limp, don't look down, make eye contact keep smiling, walk straight—and then boom!

I hit the end of the reins, realized my horse had put his head down to eat the one blade of grass in the whole dirt filled arena, and was not walking with me!

Although I didn't fall, I might as well have been standing naked in front of the 9,000 people present!

My face must have been redder than my boot cut pant covered injury.

Have I ever been so humiliated?

Yes, absolutely!

The next year at a Fourth of July horse show I was again riding Red and holding the American Flag.

As the Star Spangled Banner began and I sat as straight in my saddle as I could, Red "parked," let "it all hang out" and began to urinate the largest stream of urine he had ever loosed in the whole time that we owned him.

The announcer ran the National Anthem a second time, at the end of which Red finally finished and reeled his equipment back into his sheath.

Was I embarrassed by the wholehearted applause and hearty gale of laughter?

You better bet your britches I was!

Just get out your crayons and color Grandma Dee embarrassed once again!