Death in the afternoon 2018

It is a cool evening in Madrid.

A horn blows.

A sign tells the crowd the bull weighs 483 kilos.

The bull enters the ring.  It is a foreign place and he scans his surroundings.  He is not intimidated, he is master of his world.  No body fucks with a bull.  He knows this.

The horns are sharp and wide.  His body is pure muscle. 

He trots with confidence.  There are several matadors around the perimeter of the ring.  They pop out of their protected wall slots in the ring and waive a pink cape at the bull.

There are six quick young matadors in the ring armed with capes and dressed in ornate outfits with bold colors.  He charges the men.  The matadors, like gladiators before them, take turns drawing the bull to them.  They wave their capes and the bull charges. They seek the safety of their slots in the wall when it gets too intense.

The bull is pissed off but has no fear. He charges, they draw him into their cape.  They retreat.  They repeat. 

A bull has a strange fascination with the cape.  The matador is standing inches away from the cape but the bull declines to avert his attention from the cape.  If his focus was to change the matador would be gored.  The danger that bull will realize his enemy is not the cape and attack the matador makes some compelling viewing. 

The bull is annoyed but strong and proud.  He charges again and again.  Part of me is rooting for the bull.

 

A horn blows.

Two large horses and riders enter the ring.  The horses wear padding.  The men carry spears.

The bull takes aim at one of the horses.  The horse is blindfolded and does not react to the charge.   The bull blasts the horse broadside sticking his horns into the padding.  The horse adjusts its balance but barely moves.  The bull plows into the side again.  The rider moves his foot forward to avoid a horn and stabs his spear into the back of the bull.  He leans into the spear driving it deeper in the bulls’ back.  The bull pushes again against the horse.  The rider removes his spear and blood seeps down the side of the bull. 

The bull may be bleeding but he is still strong, proud and pissed off.  A matador approaches the bull and diverts his attention.  The bull make a run at the matador’s cape.  The matador easily steps aside.  

A matador slips into the protected slots in the wall and grabs two small spears decorated with colorful ribbons.  His mission is to stick these into the bulls back.  The matador inches towards the bull which is being distracted by two other matadors and their capes.  He is wary and exposed.  When the time is right he lunges to the bull, avoiding the horns, and stabs the bull in the back with these spears.  This seems like the most dangerous part of the ritual as he is not protected by a cape to distract the bull.  At points he is directly in front of the angry bull.

After stabbing the bull they grab two more spears and repeat the procedure.

A horn blows.

The bull is bleeding and the muscles in his back have been damaged.  He is breathing heavier yet still is capable of goring anyone or anything in his way.

It is time to finish off the bull.

A lone matador remains in the ring with his cape.  It is now one man against one bull.

He attracts the bull.  The bull runs at the cape which is pulled over his body.  The bull turns and they do it again.  The bull charges the cape and gets its horn momentarily stuck in the ground which almost causes the bull to cartwheel.

The matador is getting closer to the bull and showing his control over the more frustrated bull.  The bull passes inches from the matador.  The matador stands in front of the tired bull with his cape at his side.  When the bull charges it still goes for the cape and not the man.

The bull is breathing hard and has lost some of his energy.  After displaying his dominance the matador goes to the wall and collects his long thin sword.

A few more passes by the bull through the cape.  The matador is sizing him up.  He lets the bull come close and spears the bulls behind the head with his sword.

The bull takes a few steps and collapses.  Another sword is placed into his spine. 

He is dead.

A horn blows.

A team of mules come out and they hook up a harness to the bull and drag him out of the arena. 

Ernest Hemmingway once said:  “There are only three sports: bullfighting, motor racing, and mountaineering; all the rest are merely games.”

It is perilous old-school entertainment.  Matadors are routinely gored.  A wrong move can result in death or injury. 

The bull has a shot to inflict pain or death on the matador.  It rarely succeeds and ultimately dies.   It is a perhaps a better death than being electrocuted in a slaughter house. 

Hemmingway is correct that this is not a game.  The same can be said for motorsports, the insane feats on You Tube or the increasing amount of X games that push the danger with higher jumps and more flips.  These “sports” are unnecessary, but get millions of views.

These unnecessary acts of death defying bravery is an ancient tradition.  Humans have been entertaining themselves with death since the gladiators. 

I watched motorsports this weekend.  I would go to a bullfight again.