By Tyler Mayforth

It’s not pretty being a bull fighter.

Imagine you’re Tony Romo and you have the entire defensive line of the Washington Redskins balled into one muscular mass heading your way.

It’s not a blob of humans, rather a 2,100-pound kicking, snarling behemoth hell-bent on destruction — with a human latched to its back.

Once the rider detaches itself from the bull, it’s the rodeo-protection athlete’s crunch time.

The bull fighter must “shoot the gap,” so both rider and fighter live to see another day.

“The biggest satisfaction is shooting a gap six inches wide,” Ace Lloyd, a bull fighter from Stephenville, said. “You save one of those cowboys and when you pick that bull up, you know he’s not going anywhere. You know that cowboy is going to go to another rodeo and maybe you take a shot, but you keep your feet.”

Sometimes that shot knocks a fighter off his/her feet and might break a bone or two.

Well, in Lloyd’s case, it shattered his face.

“Half of my face is metal. This is all titanium,” Lloyd said, pointing to his right cheek. “It’s 14 screws and three plates. I remember looking at the bull, holding his ears and when he hit me, I was looking at the blue sky and then I was out.”

Bull fighters get paid by the rodeo, so for the month Lloyd was out, it was torture.

If Lloyd felt anguished, Chris Hammack must have felt like nails were being pounded into his eyes after shredding his calf.

“I got to spend three months on the couch,” Hammack, who lives in Denton, said. “In our line of work, three months is a lifetime. I’ve broken ribs, fingers and toes, but ripping that calf in half was the one I didn’t think I would come back from.”

Doctors didn’t give him much of a shot either, saying he’d never be able to run again.

They never met a man like Hammack before. He’s a resilient man — all bull fighters are.

Only two rodeo-protection athletes are on the dirt at a time and since there are no back-ups, if one goes on the shelf, it’s detrimental.

“You just can’t leave your partner out there since there’s only two of us at a time,” Hammack said. “There’s been times where I got knocked out and five bulls later, I’m back out there.”

Injuries are part of any sport, but wounds are magnified when inflicted by a 2,100-pound animal. Sometimes it’s not the actual injury that gets to the bull fighters, but the fear.

Hammack and Lloyd said they can deal with broken bones. Yet, they draw the line when damage occurs to their head and chest.

“I was scared to death,” Lloyd said of his first rodeo after the injury. “I was shaking looking at bulls I know would eat out of the palm of my hand.”

While bull fighters have other career options, many wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

For Hammack and Lloyd, the fear and uncertainty is what keeps them coming back.

“I’m scared to death out there,” Lloyd said. “Anybody who tells you they aren’t scared is lying to you.

“You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you know, that’s what makes it fun.”