Charreadas, or Mexican rodeos, have 200 official teams in 12 states in the United States. A precision riding team of women, above, tipped their hats.

Nebraska banned an event known as steer tailing.

By PATRICIA LEIGH BROWN

TURLOCK, California - It always begins at noon in a dusty arena, with brisk salutes on the brims of glittering sombreros and mustachioed horsemen in threepiece suits.
Here in the Central Valley of California, and in Winnemucca, Nevada, and Joliet, Illinois, a growing number of middleclass Mexican-Americans spend lazy summer afternoons at the charreada - part rodeo, part fiesta and one of Mexico’s most revered sporting events, dating to the 17th century.
“We don’t live and then go to the charreada,’’ said Marcos Franco, a 51-year-old flooring contractor from Tracy, California, who is the United States representative for the Federacion Mexicana de Charreria. “We live for the charreada.
At family-owned arenas, where the scent of fried pork hangs in the air and preschool charros, or riders, practice their roping tricks beneath almond trees, the tradition is flourishing, with 200 official teams in 12 states - including 40 all-female precision riding teams, the escaramuzas charras, whose intricate maneuvers at full gallop resemble equestrian ballet.
But now the charreada, which is strictly amateur, is facing its biggest challenge. After criticism from animal rights and anti-rodeo activists, eight states over the last decade have cracked down on several events, most notably horse tripping, a centuries- old tradition that involves roping and snaring the front legs of a running mare and that can cause serious injury. As a result, no charros in the federation practice horse tripping.
In a law that took effect in July, Nebraska also banned steer tailing, in which a charro grabs a steer’s tail, wraps it beneath his stirrup and flips the animal to the ground.
For those who spend their weekends on the dusty rails, these new laws seem to be singling out their culture unfairly. They argue that other sports involving potential injury to animals, like dressage, polo and thoroughbred racing, continue relatively uninterrupted .
“I sometimes feel like we’re the witches in Massachusetts, said Mr. Franco, whose federation sets the rules and regulations for the charreadas.
For many of the riders, the sense of history is everything.
“You get really emotional, because everyone is looking at you representing Mexican tradition,’’ said Elizabeth Solis, a sophomore at San Joaquin Delta College who practices with her escaramuza charra team twice a week (the results are posted in Spanish at charrousa.com). “It’s different than going shopping at Nordstrom’s, going to the movies and being constantly broke, like my friends.
Whereas American rodeo riders emphasize speed, charros are primarily judged on their finesse and flourishes with the rope. The horse plays the central role, symbolized by the grand finale, the paso de la muerte (“pass of death’’), in which a charro leaps from the bare back of his galloping steed onto a wild mare.
Both events spotlight bronc riding, bull riding and team roping, with a noticeable difference in style. Rodeos in the United States do not have riders in elaborate three-piece suits in the sweltering heat, or women riding sidesaddle in crinolines. American rodeo regulations also do not decree the amount of starch required for women’s petticoats (and forget mascara). Many charros are middle-aged men who struggle to hitch a richly embroidered leather belt around their paunches. The sport does not come cheap: a sombrero alone can cost $200 to $2,500.
Collectively, the charreadas stand in marked contrast to the sport’s elite past: during the 1930s, it was promoted as Mexican polo by wealthy urbanites displaced from their haciendas in the Mexican Revolution.
The yearning for the charro life can strike non-Mexicans, too. Larry Holmes, a 54-year-old African-American police officer in San Jose, has a Pancho Villalike moustache and a tell-tale rope in his squad car. “That’s my part-time job, Mr. Holmes said of policing. “My full-time job is being a charro.