Bullfighting

I have a philosophy on bullfighting – there is nothing better than a great one and there is nothing worse than a bad one.

My interest in bullfighting began in 1947. I was 17 and a student at Haileybury College in Hertfordshire, England. We had been assigned to read Ernest Hemingway's book Death in the Afternoon. I was fascinated by the subject and read every book I could find on the art of bullfighting.

While I was on spring break in Spain, I ran into a friend from Lake Lotawana. Sue Newcomer was also interested in bullfights and had read that the best ones were in Seville. We went to a travel agency to find out more and were told by the agent that Seville was impossible over Easter and, although he was Spanish, he would not even attempt to go.

Sue, not to be denied, chartered a small plane, and we were off to Seville.  We were lucky and were able to book two dingy hotel rooms knowing we would seldom use them with all the Easter excitement, pageantry, processions, and revelry every day, 24 hours a day.

For a time, we joined the jostling crowd standing three deep along the street for the daily Holy Week procession of over 100 huge wooden floats, creeping toward us, each preceded by dirge music. Every church mounts their image of Christ on a float, carried by as many as 40 men. Even with 40 men, they must continually change bearers due to the weight of the platform. Then off to our first bullfight.

I thought I knew what to expect at a bullfight, but I could not have imagined the thrill of hearing the majestic bugle fanfare and the ebullience of energy and passion from the cheering crowd.

Sue and I saw our first two bullfights in the Maestranza, one of the most beautiful bullrings in Spain. Of course, a bullfight is not a fight at all as the bull is not going to leave the arena alive. It is a beautiful spectacle and an emotional life and death drama that demonstrates the courage of both the matador and the bull. The Seville audience was very knowledgeable and demanding, adding to the excellence of the whole performance. 

Later Robbie and I saw some excellent bullfights in Mexico City, which has the largest bullring in the world, seating 55,000.

One Sunday we were in Mexico City and read that the renowned Spanish bullfighter, El Cortabez, was to fight that afternoon. We paid a scalper an exorbitant amount of money for our tickets only to be terribly disappointed at El Cotabez’s mediocre performance. The next day we read in the paper that he had apologized to his fans and would come back the following Sunday to vindicate himself. He even offered to buy the bulls.

A brave bull that charges straight is an essential part of a great bullfight. If the bull is erratic and hooks his head instead of charging straight and true even the most skillful matador can do little with him.

We were back in the stands the following Sunday to watch El Cortabez execute his graceful cape work and daring. The excitement of the crowd grew with each pass of the bull. Adrenalin was high. The atmosphere intoxicating. We had seen a number of bullfights and occasionally a matador had been awarded an ear for an unusually good performance and once we had seen one awarded two ears but that was very unusual The judges awarded El Cortabez two ears for his performance with the first bull and an unprecedented two ears and the tail for his second bull. There is nothing quite like the sound of 55,000 people shouting Olé! at once.

There were times during that fight that I thought Robbie might have an orgasm right there in the stands.

As the crowd was exiting the Plaza a black limousine with El Cortabez in the backseat came through the crowd and I found my wife pounding on the backseat window trying to get his attention. El Cortabez was truly magnificent.  

I have had the good fortune to see a number of bullfights in Mexico City, San Miguel, Tijuana, and even in the little bullring at Puerto Vallarta, but I have never seen anything to compare with that afternoon in Mexico City.