Tippette's brave men -- professional auto racers and rodeo cowboys -- are a rather tedious, conformist lot who relieve the day-in-day-out occupational risks with poker, endless trips to the hospital with a smashed this or a hairline that, brawlin', hard cussin' (this book has to hold the world's record for ""sonofabitches"" and ""goddamits""), equally hard boozin' (they usually say ""gimmee beer""), and. . . back to the ole occupational dingdong -- kicked by a horse (there's a Whump! Whump! sound, then an ""Oh, goddam!"") or driving into a wall at 200 mph (Splat!) -- then more cards, fights, drinkin', swearin' . . . for those still intact. Tippette, who appears to have a minor-league Hemingway complex about physical courage, lamely tries to glorify all of this stomp and stress with comments like ""They are the breed that gives the lie to the frailty of the flesh,"" and ""They are our proof that men can be killed but not defeated."" Miles and miles of nonsense on a highspeed tread-mill.