Wayne Brooks knows his saddles from his stirrups. For more than a quarter century, he has been the voice of events from Florida to Calgary, Canada, collecting a Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association announcer of the year crown along the way. For a full decade he has led packed-house Salinas audiences through all the mutton busting, wild cow milking and bull-riding their rawhide hearts can handle.

Hence the Texas native understands what makes for a grade-A event – and one strong enough to run 100 years from the day an informal club called the Salinas Coyotes added bucking elements to horse races at a West Market Street baseball park (and charged $.25 admission).

“The pride in the community that the people have – to continually carry on a great tradition of the heritage of people that settled the area – is truly special,” he says. “There’s a whole lot of pride in the farmers and ranchers and vaqueros there.”

But pride and a pair of chaps don’t make for a century of excitement by themselves.

A revered rodeo truth helps illuminate how 100 happened: “When you get bucked off,” Brooks says, “you have to get back on.”

When animal rights groups challenged the ethics of all rodeos, CRS initiated their own health study and eliminated the only event veterinarians deemed dangerous to animal health (quarter horse racing) and introduced what’s now known as the livestock welfare unit. “Bucking bulls and broncs live longer on the rodeo circuit than on the ranch,” past rodeo president Doc Etienne says, “thanks to great feed, care and exercise.”

As the wider community wrestled with gangs, it was the rodeo that remained neutral grounds, and its funds that helped a $12 million multi-faceted sports facility rise from the bones of a condemned stadium complex, drawing 1 million youth a year to play football, baseball, softball and soccer, compete in high school rodeo events and motorcycle races, and take in blockbuster concerts including Mary J. Blige and the Eagles.

“It’s an economics thing,” says past president and longtime area car mogul George Richardson, “along with being a great entertainment thing. It’s brought in millions of dollars.”

Richardson got involved in 1947, during the rodeo’s first edition after World War II. He says not much has changed – a good sign for a festival with a stated mission of preserving Western traditions. Other vital (and unavoidable lessons), beyond getting back up after getting bucked off, have emerged along the way. Here the Weekly corrals a handful:

Don’t swing dance with a cowboy who’s been in a fistfight: “I ruined my pink rodeo shirt that way,” says Dana Arvig, a member of the rodeo marketing team and longtime Salinas cowgirl. “Blood is really hard to get out of light pink cotton.”

Tell it how it is: After meeting cavalries of rodeo cowboys, current member of the board of directors and past president Doc Etienne has identified a common quality among them. “They are straight shooters,” he says. “Good people. Whether in roping or timing or rough stock, they’re folks you like to see and say howdy to, who are nice to have around town.”

Spend time with friends: Brandi Phillips loves doing the dynamic things she does, from hanging off the sides of horse to standing on two trotting steeds simultaneously. “But the actual trick-riding’s not my favorite part,” she says. “I really love the friendships we make on the road.” Past president Sam Eastman is one of many who cites the friendships formed in organizing the rodeo as the primary reason he does it.

A little perspective always helps: Insiders have learned that allowing some distance from the subject sacrifices none of the excitement of the horse races – and helps folks avoid splattered manure shrapnel on their boots.

Remember your roots: The rodeo tradition hails from a time when vaqueros would spend up to a week gathering wild horse and cattle, often having to chase, wrestle and rope rogue animals. Since neighbors would gather from miles off, the roundup also served as a social event, with barbecues, fandangos and friendly riding competitions.

Good hygiene is good policy: You know you have a veteran cowgirl on your hands when she produces a tissue between events to get the dirt out of her nasal passage. “Gross but true,” one insider says.

Share the love: “Without the rodeo, Salinas would lose a lot,” says board director Doc Etienne. “Not just a wonderful show, but the consumer impact creates a very positive effect. The numbers show these people occupy motel rooms and are going out to eat.”

Keep your chaps on: One year an organizer who will remain anonymous commissioned a cowboy to streak the stadium in nothing but his boots and spurs. “Nobody knew who it was,” says past president Sam Eastman. “I do, though – wasn’t me.” Nevertheless, that was the last coming of the bare buckaroo.

Don’t get too competitive: One of the things that distinguishes the California Rodeo from dozens of others is the fact that there are two events going on at once, often a competitive event and an entertaining element. Trick rider Phillips reminds folks that one helps make the much-hyped competition possible. “If you take the entertainment out of the rodeo,” she says, “it loses its color.”

Break in your boots: Buying new kickers well in advance of the rodeo allows for a chance to break them in. “I know someone who wore a new pair of boots and ended up at the bar late and walked home several miles and had some major blisters,” Arvig says, “though I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be named.”

It takes a herd: Without the initial gift of the 69.4 acres from the Sherwood family to the city, and the city’s ongoing allegiance with the rodeo, the biggest rodeo in the state would be hamburger meat. Some 1,500 committee people and almost five dozen members of the board of directors and still more advisors, collaborate to bring the Big Week to Monterey County, and millions to local charities. In a word: yeehaw.