After watching a flesh-and-blood cowboy ripped and jolted around like a flimsy ragdoll in a demon-possessed washing machine, it’s tempting to dismiss rodeo sport as an idiotic spectacle of might and luck. But it ain’t. Cody Hudson, a promising young rider from Camas, Washington, once told me bull riding is a thinking man’s game. Furthermore, Hudson argued, the physical challenge of covering 1,000 pounds of livid, surging beef is a test of cowboy grace more than muscle, ligament or bone. “The bull is bred for this,” Hudson said.