A Sunday Afternoon in Madrid

Hemingway said that bullfighting was one of the three true sports. But before reading Hemingway I had fought the bull in my backyard as a small boy. I had only that ratty towel from the bathroom to use for a cape but I could hear the crowds yelling, “Ole!”, as I fought the ferocious beast. But now I was in Spain, where bullfighting began and I was to see the real thing.

We got off the Metro at the last stop to see the Madrid bullring within view. There was a crowd waiting for the gates to open the bullring whose architectural details were Moorish. There were the usual vendors selling t-shirts and posters and stuff to eat and drink. Plaza Toros de Las Ventas is the most prestigious bullring in the world. Completed in 1929, the ring is almost 197 feet in diameter and has seating for twenty-five thousand. Claudette bought our tickets online and our seats are on the very first row or about six feet from the ring. I think it’s great but don’t mention to her that I’ve seen a bull jump the wall into the front row of seats in a YouTube video. I had done a bit of research and knew that we would see three matadors kill six bulls during the evening.

The bullfight begins with a great fanfare with the band playing as the matadors and their teams enter the bullring. I half way expected to hear the Tijuana Brass version of the “Lonely Bull”. The matadors enter the ring first in their glittering suits of gold braid and sequins reminiscent of a rhinestone cowboy. Each matador, bullfighter, has a team of assistants to aid him. They include picadors, men on horseback, a sword handler, and other men some dressed like matadors. All ten men are paid by the matador.

The crowd cheers as the matadors enter. The most senior matador is on the right as they face the place of honor in the stands. This is reserved seating for the king, mayor or whatever official to whom the fight is dedicated. Soon only four assistants in the brightly colored matador costumes are left in the ring. From our right the bull enters the ring. He is big and black and weighs about fifteen hundred pounds. He charges each of the men. In front of us the assistants jump behind the fence as the bull charges. We feel the splinters from the fence as the bull hits it. He snorts, paws the earth and charges again. One of the other assistants attracts his attention and he charges him. Other assistants attract the bull to charge them as they wave their brightly colored capes in front of the bull. A picador enters the ring riding a horse which is blindfolded. The horse has heavy padding to protect it from the horns of the bull. The bull immediately charges the horse and lifts the horse and rider off the ground. The lady next to me covers her eyes. The picador stabs the bull in the shoulder with his lance. This is the beginning of the end for the bull as he begins to bleed. The matadors attract the bull away from the picador and stab him with short barbed spears. The bull knocks one of the assistants to the ground and attempts to gore him. The crowd screams. He narrowly escapes as the other men attract the bull away and he crawls behind the protective wall.  The Spanish really love their matadors.  In one instance when a favorite matador was gored to death by a bull, they killed the bull and then, they killed the bull's mother. She was giving birth to "killer" bulls they said.

The bull’s movements begin to slow. His charges are no longer vigorous. Now the assistants have left the ring and there is only the matador with the bull. He continues to tempt the bull into charging with the movement of his cape. The crowd shouts, “Ole!” with each of his ballet like moves inches from the deadly horns. At one point he turns his back on the bull who is staring at his back. He confidently walks to the side of the ring near us and selects a sword from his sword handler. Walking back into the ring he tempts the bull to come in very close with his head near the ground. The matador thrusts the sword into the between the shoulders of the bull. The thrust is deadly for the bull and he falls instantly to the ground. The matador doffs his hat and bows to the cheers of the crowd. The crowd also cheers for the bull that has fought a good fight as he is dragged from the ring by a team of three mules.

We watched three more bulls killed. One of the bulls would not fight and booed from the ring. I found out later much to my chagrin that the great fighters fought in the spring. Maybe, the next time I’ll be here in the spring.