I Fell in Love with Bullfighting: A Reflection

Graphic Warning: This post discusses bullfighting, including injuries to toreros and the bulls, and shows a few pictures from the fights.

Last year, when I attended San Fermin in Pamplona, Spain, I opted not to attend a bullfight. For one, I didn't know how to obtain tickets, but, more importantly, I wasn't on board with something I viewed as animal abuse. I had only a cursory understanding of bullfighting, and I hadn't done much research into it at all. This year, Jo and I decided we would attend one if only so we could say we didn't like the sport with some authority. After watching in Pamplona, we both acknowledged that there was a level of skill and art involved that we didn't understand before, and we decided to attend a second in Madrid now that we knew what we were watching. I felt after the first bullfight that my mind had changed on the subject, and the second bullfight confirmed it. I fell in love with the sport, from the tradition to the skill to the toreros and bulls. There was an elegance and draw to it that I have only felt once before when I first visited the Sahara desert. I certainly did not expect this, and I wanted to communicate some of what attracts me to bullfighting as a spectator.

The Ceremony and Tradition

Bullfighting is filled with tradition and ceremony. At my first one, it felt more like pomp and circumstance more than anything, but after doing some reading, attending a second, and paying critical attention to the event, I really came to respect the tradition. For example, upon entering the ring, everyone salutes the President, as do the toreros upon killing the bull. It turns out that the President is actively involved in managing the fight, from progressing from one stage to the next to enforcing bullfighting rules to awarding trophies to bullfighters and laps of honour to bulls. There are also two teams of horses, even though there is only ever one bull. This is because the second team is for horses which are gored while the picadores are lancing the bull, and harkens back to a time before horses wore protective padding. The opening procession, called the Paseillo, is done in a specific order to identify the bullfigghters. To the first-time observer, it seems to be all pomp and circumstance, but to someone who is becoming an aficionado, it all has meaning.

The Crowd

The crowd is an active participant in the bullfight. The crowd whistles its disapproval at the bull and toreros, it waves white hankerchiefs to implore the President to award a trophy, and a standing ovation can entice the matador to do a victory lap around the ring. Even in Madrid, where the stands were much less full than Pamplona, you could feel the crowd's energy as it tried to convince the President to award a trophy to one of the matadors.The progressively louder cries of "Ole!" as the matador completes consecutive passes is just another show of the his bullfighting prowess.

The Fight

There are three stages to a bullfight, each with its own purpose. The opening engagement with the bull to learn its mannerisms and habits, the picadores demonstrating how the bull will respond when provoked, the banderilleros directing and running as close as possible to the bull to weaken it and identify / correct individual bulls' behavour, and finally the matador's engagement with the bull before the final kill each have their own unique styles, requirements, and appeal. Watching the matador's footwork as he subtly changes the bull's positioning looks like fancy artwork at first, but once you learn what they are doing, it really communicates the skill involved. The final kill, known as the estocada, is the true demonstration of skill. When done correctly, the bull dies within seconds. When done incorrectly, the bull can suffer or the sword can simply bounce off the bone. To do it correctly while running straight at an enraged bull is truly a skill in art form.

The Bull

The bull is revered by the bullfighting community. The breeding ranch appears above the toreros' names on posters, they are raised in near-ideal conditions for strong, healthy bulls, and, if especially tenacious in the ring, may be spared at the President's discretion (at the crowd's imploring). If killed in the ring in a valiant fight, the bull may be awarded a lap of honour to the crowds' cheers of approval. And sometimes the bull wins one. I have twice seen a matador carried out of the ring after the bull gored them (both in the leg) and tossed them through the air, and both times the crowd cheered the bull's tenacity in the fight. Occasionally a bull will simply refuse to die, despite having been mortally wounded, and the toreros, try as they might, simply can't put it down. It is as though the bull refused to die on anyone else's terms, despite its wounds.

The Toreros

Toreros, specifically the matadors, are like rock stars. The public reveres them, they fight as though performing for the crowd, and they have cult followings. But it's not just the celebrity that attracts me to the torero; it is also their attitude. The torero is similar to a bullrider in the United States: they just can't wait to get in the ring. One matador that we watched take a horn through the leg, when he awoke from surgery, immediately started asking when he could go back out again. The toreros respect each other, as we saw during one's alternative as the two senior matadors shook his hand and wished him luck and again when one matador swooped in to carry a gored one out of the ring despite the risk to himself. They respect the bulls while also pursuing the thrill of further perfecting their skills, such as when they perform the porta gayola (where they kneel before the gate as the bull runs into the ring) or the gaonera (where the cape is held behind the back and the matador provokes the bull to pass again). Yes, it is all bravado (although there are female toreros), but if Hemingway was right that courage is simply grace under pressure, then the toreros demonstrate exceptional courage in the ring.

The Realism

I am a fan of individual sports, especially those which involve an element of danger. I find them to be a true test of one's skill in their chosen field. When it comes to bullfighting, as one Spanish man told me, there is less than a meter between the matador and certain death with nothing but their honour between them and the bull. You can see the flashes of terror or hesitation from the toreros when something doesn't go quite right, such as when a banderillero can't place a banderilla or a bull bumps a bullfighter on a pass. Jo and I watched an alternative where the graduating torero took the side of a horn hard to the chest, and you could see just how much it rattle him as he straightened his uniform to resume the fight. Later in that same bullfight, a bull badly gored and threw a senior matador. We both noted how, despite being seriously wounded, he had the presence of mind to both protect himself and correctly respond to the bull's charges as the other toreros swooped in to distract the bull and carry him away. To have to have that much presence of mind in the face of a very possible death, to me, is simply a stunning display of professionalism, skill, and bravery.

I understand that bullfighting in controversial, and it can certainly be hard to watch at times, especialy when watching younger matadors who haven't perfected their craft, but it is something that has left a special impression on me. While there are plenty of ethical debates to be had surrounding the sport, I think its place in the history and culture of the communities who practice it is well-earned and greatly misunderstood by its critics (many of whom, especially in the United States, haven't seen a bullfight to inform their impressions). I highly recommend attending one, even if you are opposed to it in principle, because at the very least you will have a better informed impression, or, like me, you may have your mind changed a bit.