Bronc riding was the closest thing a human can get to riding a tornado. Besides bull riding. Roger could have become a rodeo rider after playing hockey to gain some control in his life. Either way, it became his new passion.

The lights shine down onto the makeshift arena. The crowd was buzzing with excitement from the show and the beer. Roger was suited up for his bronc riding. A pare of leather chaps over his jeans and a protective vest over his button-up shirt. Roger put his tan cowboy hat on his head. Over the speakers, his name was announced for the event. He was next up in the competition.

To see how long he could last on the bucking bronco. He tugged his gloves on his hands and walked to the cage. A chestnut brown steed was struggling against the bars. He lifted himself into the bars, climbing up until he was over the horse. He positioned himself on the horse's back. One hand grabbed the reins and his boots slipped into the stirrups of the saddle. Roger signaled that he was ready with a nod of his head. His face was etched into the usual intense expression.

The moment the bell rings, the gate is pulled open. Judges stand by the fences. Watching both Roger and the horse to score for both of them. Roger’s hand tightened around the reins as the horse began to buck. He keeps his body behind the swell of the saddle. He used his heels to spur the horses at his shoulders.

When Roger was bucked off, he managed to catch himself before getting too injured. He got back to his feet, the crowd hootin’ and hollerin’. The rodeo hands reign in the horse. Roger took his hat off his head and ran his gloved hand through his hair, pushing it back.

It took a few minutes before the judges concluded the score. And Roger is known for his high scores. “Roger McQueen with a score of 94!” The announcer says over the speakers. “Highest score of the night!”

Roger couldn’t help but pump his fists in excitement. He always pushed himself and the horse to get a better and better score.