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Youth. Present tense, past.
He's a goddamn stubborn son of a bitch, ain't he? The best way to get him to do anything is to try and tell him he can't, so when some redneck, small town, simpleton asshole bets 14 year old Keith Radigan $100 that he can't ride the mechanical bull at Jubilee Day, he sets out to prove the fucker wrong.

Keith trains. He listens and studies, talks to cowboys and rodeo clowns and his father, even, and like hell if he doesn't work his ass off. Eight seconds is all it takes - that's less time than it takes to heat an english muffin, and how hard can it possibly be, really? Pretty fucking hard, in reality, but he's a damned quick learner if nothing else. It's bruises and blood and sweat, and there's so many times he wants to just say 'fuck it'. Pride stands in the way.

So it is that the summer before he turns 16, he wades through a sea of taunting peers, and steps up to ride Buck, the Mechanical Bull. He can hear them plain as day, making fun of him, calling him a faggot, the usual. Fuck 'em. Keith hoists himself onto the machine and gets his grip on the rope, borrowing his dad's lucky glove. 1...2... - the bull is just warming up - but then it bucks faster and harder and physics kick in; 3... 4...the rope digs through his palm even with the glove, but he holds on. His other arm is held straight in the air and he keeps his eyes closed, centering his body and trying to move fluidly, keep his balance. 5... He's dizzy now, and nausea kicks in. Keith swallows hard, gripping tighter. 6...7...

Victory. The buzzer sounds, and the bull slows down. Gradually, Keith loosens his grip and lowers his arm until the machine is at a full stop. He slides down, and finds that kid. Gary Wexler - a real fuckin' shit kicker. The money is offered, but refused.

It was never about that, anyway.