Tribute to Kid Rock

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Tribute to Kid Rock

Wiley Petersen cannot cover Roy Carter’s Kid Rock during the championship round in Ft. Lauderdale during the PBR Built Ford Tough Series event in 2005.

Tribute to Kid Rock
by Sugar Kuhn
The perfect specimen of a world class bucker—big, strong, smart,
athletic and regal. Famous to fans. Respected by riders.

That was 13X Kid Rock. Owned by Roy Carter and the superstar son of the
famous bull, Alligator, Kid Rock sadly closed his reign on bucking bull
perfection when he died Saturday, April 1 in Texas. He was near his
owner’s home and in the back of a trailer, in a familiar place he knew
well, the way he’d start every new road adventure. Pulling away from
the Carter Ranch, in the back of a trailer, rolling down the road. The
only thing missing from the picture was Carter, who was in Albuquerque
at the PBR’s ABBI Classic and Built Ford Tough Series event.
Carter, the proudest and most dedicated owner I’ve ever met, once told
me with a proud grin, “You can say anything you want about me and I
don’t care. But one thing you have to admit is that I have the baddest
bull and the baddest dog in the whole world. Kid Rock and Stormy.”
I couldn’t agree more that day about his bull. As I stood there soaking
up the mural-sized print of Kid Rock in his Texas pasture, I thought to
myself, “Yes, he surely is the epitome of athleticism, power,
structural perfection and pure regalness.” Just his horns and color
pattern alone said “bad bucker.” But what really grabbed me was the
easily readable look on his face and in his eye. It spoke loud and
clear to me.

That day I remembered the many voices I’d heard in the last few years
that said Kid Rock was overrated. My mind rolled his stats like a
movie: Ridden only 8 times in 47 PBR outs; a permanent spot on the
Bucking Bull of the Year ballot; the 2003 Reserve World Title; and
another legitimate shot just around the corner at the upcoming 2005
World Finals. That was impressive alone—then you had to add that he was
a young bucker, and just 7.

I turned around and said to Carter, “I don’t know about your
trouble-makin’ dog that has picked three fights since I showed up, but
I agree on your bull. He is bad.”

Then a huge ruckus broke out. It was Stormy, his “baddest” but still
beloved dog. We ran outside and there was Stormy in a no-contest dog
fight with the biggest dog I’d ever seen, right on Punk Carter’s porch.
When the fight broke up, the entire yard was mad at Stormy. First it
was one dog, then the half-dead chicken, then Punk’s daughter hollering
at him. Then it was the nap of his neck in Roy’s hand as he was
banished to the truckbed which would serve as his jail cell for the
rest of the afternoon. Stormy just sat there with the same darn look on
his face that I just saw on Kid’s. “I’m bad. I know it. Not
conceited—don’t have to be. I’m just bad. I’m Stormy.”
I had to confess. I grabbed Carter’s shoulder and said with a laugh,
“All right Roy, you have the baddest bull and the baddest dog in the
whole world—I admit it.”

Stormy may still be at it, and even Carter for that matter, but Kid
Rock will drift away into the pages of bucking bull history in the same
regal way he’d walk calmly through the lead-up each time he was loaded,
and there that look would be: “I’m bad. I know it. Not conceited—don’t
have to be. I’m just bad. I’m Kid Rock.”

There is no doubt in my mind he was Bucking Bull of the Year material
each time that latch cracked, as well as in his everyday life at
Carter’s ranch. I’m with J.W. and Justin on this one: “If you disagree,
climb on.” Since he’s gone, you’ll just have to imagine looking deep in
Kid’s eye, and saying to yourself, “I’m bad. I know it. Not
conceited—don’t have to be. I’m just bad. I’m Kid Rock.”

Good-bye Kid. You’ll never be replaced, but you’ll be remembered as the
bull who was bad—and knew it.
And because you’re Kid Rock.