I have so many of ’em, I just give ’em to dudes.” “That’s the Guts and Glory buckle, 2010,” he explains, a wide smile flashing from his mouth to the corners of his eyes. A pristine silver and gold belt buckle glints at his waist. He has the wide, triangular jawline of an earthmover, with a wispy patch of beard on his chin, and his hair is cropped short. He looks young for a man who’s been locked up 15 years, with a thick neck and sturdy, compact build that suggest he’d be hell to bring down in the secondary. At the northern edge of the rodeo grounds, within spitting distance of the perimeter fence, Marlon “Tank” Brown keeps warm in the 12✬ cold, bouncing from one foot to the other.
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