The Rose Bowl is over, Vince Young is great, Matthew McConaughey is still passed out somewhere with his arms around Mack Brown, the NFL Playoffs are on tap, and all I really care about is this week's Worcester Classic. That's right, I'm foregoing the first day of the NFL Playoffs for bull riding. What the hell happened to me?

Growing up in a state where cattle outnumber people four to one and tossing their excrement is a sanctioned competition, the bovine is king in "Cattle Country U.S.A." Be it on the grass range or the gas range (1 in 5 steaks served in the US come from Nebraska), I was up to my breast in beef on the high-plains. And with cows come bulls and with bulls come lanky dudes with names like Tater who think it's a good idea to ride them. But despite the omnipresence of the bull, my PBR epiphany didn't come until a few years ago when, faced with another cold, late October night of watching the Celtics play a preseason game in Hartford, my roommate and I settled in with some bourbon and the PBR World Finals.

As the bottle emptied, the already great storylines only got better. In reality, you had the controversy of any judged competition, a nasty foreign coalition for everyone to rally against (the Brazilians, relative newcomers to the sport who are commonly accused of "bleeding" the bulls in the chute), horrific injuries and the classic confrontation of man versus beast. And in our stupor we added the idea that the flank strap was actually attached to the bulls' testicles, a discussion on why the PBR needs Vince McMahon, and how if you're a rider that absolutely has to wear a helmet, it should at least be shaped like a cowboy hat. A fun night all around and we were hooked for the remaining eight days of the competition.

Fast forward to two years later and I finally made it to my first PBR event in person, the Mohegan Sun Invitational in Connecticut. Within the first 15 rides, we had two riders with cracked ribs, one with a dislocated shoulder, an impalement, and four Tommy John surgeries performed right there in the ring by Dr. James Andrews, the surgeon to the stars and man behind the knife for Kerry Wood, Emmitt Smith and, most recently, Drew Brees. While I don't wish misfortune on anyone not named Jim Rome, I'd be lying if I said this wasn't the most entertaining part of the evening.

In that sense, the PBR resembles the NHL and NASCAR...we watch it for the wrecks. Not only does the official website list an injury report for the current event, they also have an entire section devoted to "Common Injuries." According to Dr. Tandy Freeman, the Director of Medical Services for the PBR, the three most common injuries are concussions and injuries to the shoulder and groin. My three favorite quotes from Dr. Freeman's analysis:

1) "There's a difference between hurting and being hurt." Always great to hear from your Director of Medical Services. Rub some dirt on it and get back up there!

2) "...We don't know how serious the cumulative multiple, less severe concussions really are." We haven't figured this out yet? Consult Steve Young.

3) "Every time these guys go out there to ride, there is a realistic chance of being maimed or killed." Sounds like sport to me. Again, consult Steve Young.

You know you're in tough company when it is entirely likely that your head will get bashed, your groin will get stomped and you'll probably need surgery on that trick shoulder. Sounds like a Pistons game. These guys are the closest thing we have to modern-day gladiators, mythological beings with supernatural powers, but this is starting to feel as barbaric as ancient Rome right now, so let's put the injuries aside.

I thought that Vince McMahon could bring a little to the table in terms of bombast, but the PBR does just fine on its own. Ridiculously loud music plays before, during, and after the rides, they light fireworks in the dirt and after it's all over you can go drink at the sponsored after-event party then stay at the same hotel as the riders. (If the Patriots were doing this, there's no way I'm passing up the opportunity to buy Russ Hochstein a Bud and talk about the '97 National Title after their game on Saturday.)

So while the PBR has the visual angle covered, I still think there could be a place for Vince as a lead writer for the tour. Imagine if we learned that Adriano Moraes' (the strength of 30 men) father was killed by the sire of Reindeer Dippin'. Or what if 2004 World Champion Mike Lee's (10-feet tall and bulletproof) wife came out to start the 2006 season and revealed that she's jumped ship and was currently seeing the new champ, Justin "Always a Bridesmaid, Never a" McBride (rumored to have loved 10,000 women and scored 100 points in a single game). I'm telling you, this would work. It might even make NBC a viable option for live sports programming again.

It will be interesting to see the crowd that turns out Saturday in Worcester while going head-to-head with the Patriots play-off game. On the website, the PBR has "Worcester, Mass." superimposed over a photo of the Zakim Bridge. Never mind that Worcester is actually 45 miles west of The Hub and I doubt that many of the Boston Brahmin even know the PBR is around town, I'll be there nonetheless. While the Built Ford Tough Series generally sticks to the Fresnoes, Omahas, and Albuquerques of the world, I think the most engaging cultural conflicts occur right here in New England. Where else can you see an investment banker from Newton turn up his nose at smelling smoke and manure for three hours? God bless the PBR.