Toro, toro!!
A Spanish bullfight is something that you can’t quite put into words.
. . .it seems to be the ultimate symbol of mans´ dominion over the beast.
The atmosphere was like that of any popular sporting event—raucous, thick, exciting.
With the shoes, the matadors reminded me of ballerinas—provided that ballerinas had swords.
It’s a very sensuous dance they do.
It was so disgusting yet fascinating at the same time.
I simply cannot imagine any entertainment value in watching some punk ass kill an animal for fun.
The bullfight, it seems to me, is not so much about morality, but mortality—a celebration—in a very physical sense.
It was good to see it because it is a distinctive part of the Spanish culture afterall, but I wouldn’t pay a fortune to see it again.
The idea of a glorious event with a long and rich tradition sounded appealing, but the idea of watching animals being killed in front of me made me uneasy.
I know they are supposed to be cruel, bloodthirsty, whatever. . . I really enjoy them.
Ears are cut off as souvenirs.
The better bulls are cheered on by the crowd, and given a victory lap upon their death as an homage to their final battle.
My esteemed counterparts could not quit commenting on how torturous and inhumane bullfighting is, yet I would be willing to place money on my assumption that at least one of them is pro-capital punishment and has eaten a steak sometime during his/her life.
Bullfighting in its current state is a joke. Bullbullying would be a more proper term because they cheat so much.
I felt like a Roman watching 2 gladiators fight, one of whom had a leg missing.
It’s rigged from the start.