Blood and Gore in Mexico

I must start the following with a disclaimer. I have never been confused with an animal rights activist. I believe stray dogs and cats should be killed if an adopted owner cannot be found. I have helped butcher an injured cow to save the meat and you are not going to find many people who enjoy a good cut of meat more than me… That said.

We attended a bullfight tonight in Mexico City. What an eye-opener that was…
Our driver got us some great tickets. He said they were, “Close enough to see everything not so close as to smell the blood.” Huh? Smell the what?

So we find our slab of worn concrete in the world's biggest bullfighting arena. At the stroke of 4, the live band starts playing and cast of characters come marching out. It was a nice little parade but the clothes all look a little girly to me. Honestly, what self-respecting guy wears pink knee high tights and black slippers with bows. Everyone clears out and in runs the bull. Now I don’t know what they did to this thing to make it run out but it is ANGRY. A group of 5 guys taunt the bull into running in big circles by flashing pink capes in succession and then running behind thick walls when it gets close. (More pink?!) This serves to tire the poor dumb animal.

When the bull gets too tired, out ride two fat guys on padded blindfolded horses. I don’t know if they have to be fat or if the guys who are too fat to hide behind the walls get this job. Either way, you have to pity the horses. Not only do they have to carry the fats guys, blindfolded in a ring of screaming people and near a bull with a bad attitude, but we saw 5 fights and 3 times the horses were knocked over by the bull. The horses were so padded they couldn’t even get back up. It took a team of 6 to right the poor blind thing.

However given the choice, I would rather be the horse than the bull. The fat guys job is to take a 12 ft spear and jab it repeatedly into the bull’s back. Before long the bull is winded, bleeding like someone in a teen horror flick and pretty well confused. Once the horses leave, the two guys come out with sticks. On the ends of the sticks are barbs. The guys then provoke the bull into charging. Then run laterally to ensure they avoid being gored and push the barbs into the bulls back. By the end of this, there is a thick, wide, stream of blood down both sides of the animal and 6 brightly colored sticks, coated in blood, standing on the bulls back. At this point the bull is getting pretty weak and is too winded to run much.

Another song is played and in struts the matador, literally “killer” in Spanish. The matador is the real man in the ring. You know that because he gets a red cape instead of the girly pink and he gets a cool sword. His buddies have already tired and bled the bull to the point of exhaustion. The point of the matador seems to be to get as close to the bull as he can without being gored and prove his manhood by turning his back to the bull and strike a pose. He then teases and taunts the bull until it is so tired and confused that it no long charges. Once its spirit is broken, the matador takes out the sword and attempts to kill the bull by plunging the sword fully into the body through the back. His girly buddies then come out and tease the animal into turning left and right, allowing the sword to hara-kiri the bull’s innards, hopefully hitting an artery. If the bull collapses, another gent comes out with a dagger and severs the spinal cord. If the animal isn’t lucky enough to die quickly, they tease him into exhaustion then go for the dagger. Regardless, the matador then does a kind of weird machismo peacock strut around the arena.

With blood draining everywhere, hundreds of cigars are lit, beers are drunk, grown men throw hats to the matador and wave white hankies to signal approval. All the while the dying bull is chained by its horns and drug from the arena by a pair of horses and the arena is prepared for the next bull. It is an orgy of blood, gore, and testosterone.

I am sure for many, it is tradition, art, and a visceral thrill all rolled into one. As for me, I was in shock. Some combination of guilt, sadness… I felt dirty having watched it. Again, I have never been one to worry too much about animals, but this was different. This felt more like a ritualistic torture of a beast for thrills… kind of like drowning kittens to hear there little cries.

That said, it is hard to judge it too harshly, they do after all eat the bull. Dog and cock fighting are common all over the world. The good old USA has Ultimate Fighting Championship a.k.a. human cockfighting, as good an argument against human evolution as I have ever seen. Every once in a while the bull even gets a draw. In the fights we saw, one bull was spared, but probably died later from the sword driven through his back, a tough injury to overcome. Another bull was able to gore the matador.

The first bullfights were a chance for knights to stay sharp by fighting something back in the time of the crusades… goring a bull doesn’t hold a candle to the carnage of wars fought with dull spears. The first historic bullfight was in 1133, almost 900 years ago. So it may be a gruesome spectacle but it is rooted in history.
So is it worth seeing… regrettably yes. But once is enough for this gringo.