It was an unusually hot day in February when I went to see a bull fight in Mexico City. Tickets in the open air stadium were priced according to how close the seats were to the front and how much shade they got.I went with several other OSU students. The tickets cost us the equivalent of $8 – what we got were seats about ten rows from the front, but not in the shade.As soon as I sat down I was anxious for it to begin. I looked through the program, and read the biographies of the fighters, but after every other line, I looked up to see if it had started yet.It started out as a pageant, with both the men and the horses in brightly colored and elaborate costumes. Shortly after they left the ring, a door was opened and the bull ran out.It was not the matador who first went out with the bull, but several other men, all unarmed. They taunted the bull, coming out from behind another door, attracting its attention, and then darting back in again before it could reach them. This went on for what seemed like five minutes, until another door opened and two horsemen came out. They looked like knights that came from one of those dreams that have no plot, make no sense, and have no meaning. The horses especially looked queer. They wore armor over the whole of their bodies, but it was not of metal, but thick, heavily padded cloth. They looked twice as wide as a normal horse.The bull charged at the horse closest to it and tried to gore it. The rider then used the blunt tip of the pole he was carrying to poke the bull on the top of its back. Incensed, the bull kept trying to gore the horse, but then switched strategies and bent its head lower, under the horse`s belly, trying to topple it over. While the horse lost its balance a few times, it always managed to stay up.After the horsemen left the ring, three new men entered the ring, each carrying two long objects. They were brightly colored, striped, about six inches in circumference, and a yard long. The tip was a long, thin, sharp piece of metal, like a really long needle. The men carried them one in each hand. They raced toward the bull as he charged at them and at the last moment they would swerve to the side and toss them onto the bull`s back, then run back behind the wall.The objects stuck in the bull’s back, waving back and forth as he ran.Finally the matador came out. He wore a purple and gold vest, a hat like a rolled-up black quilt and tight black pants. The crowd cheered, then became quiet. The bull charged at the matador, who stood behind his cape. At the last moment, he stepped to the left and swung his cape to the right and then upward. Then, in perfect unison, the crowd shouted “OlÈ!” The bull came at him again and again, and each time the matador let him come a little closer before he stepped away. Then he drew his sword, but did not attack the bull with it, instead using it to hold up his cape so it was not in front of him, but to his right.The bull continued to come at him and the matador spun slowly around in a small circle with the bull less than a foot away, charging at the always moving cape. Then, suddenly, the matador took the sword from his cape and raised it up in the air. He stepped toward the bull, and standing six inches from his horns, plunged it into his back. The bull reared up and came at him. The matador had not yet killed him.Defenseless, the matador stepped back and waited for the bull to charge. He did, and the matador stepped forward and to the side and pulled his sword back out of the bull. The bull twisted its body toward the matador and prepared to gore him as he was greeted by another wound. This time the sword found its place, right between the shoulder blades and near the neck. The bull stopped for two seconds, then stepped forward, then stopped, then stiffened, and then fell onto its side, dead.The matador bowed ever so gracefully, and most of the crowd cheered, but the American girl sitting next to me was crying. “It’s so sad,” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. In the ring the matador had left and various other personal were taking the sword back out of the bull, covering over the bull’s blood, and tying the bull to a team of horses. The bull, still on its side, was then dragged from the stadium. Now that he could no longer be used to entertain the prosperous, he would be used to feed Mexico City`s poor.
Greg Weston is a senior majoring in economics from Dayton.