It leaves a bittersweet residue on the palate in the afternoon like yesterday. There is hardly any excessive hope in anything anymore, the years pass and the illusion that everything can change for the better as the various actors and roles follow one another fades. As the preacher said, “nihil novum subbase.” Come on, even El Tato doesn’t change that with a more bullfighting reference, referring to the famous 19th century Sevillian bullfighter. Announcing the Juan Pedro Domecq bullfight means signing a non-aggression pact: good bulls are good, bad bulls are good because they don’t bother you. And the loser in the end is the admirer who has practically no emotion. In a bullfight, listen. The presentation of yesterday’s juampedros is no longer uneven and little fear (he shouldn’t even have jumped into the sixth ring). Worst of all, most of them walked without salt on the scruffy line that separates minimal valor from stubborn stupidity. It’s utterly lethargic to see three prestigious bullfighters trying to sell a bland and sometimes annoying commute as creepy.
And bittersweet he said, for he gave thirty extraordinary, long-distance journeys among the prevailing mediocrity, at work, at the quarter of the afternoon, planning the overflowing pythons under the name Zafador at the exit of the attack. And such exquisite delicacy ended up in the mouth of El Fandi, who always portrayed himself as a tyrant and whose surrender no one could deny. He marked the film and his famous skill, including the violin. But these syrupy attack horns sometimes discover some delicate deficiencies in the fabrics. It may seem paradoxical, but the most modest thing was done by Fandila on her knees in the receipt with flannel. This is where the longest and most temperate crutches originate. Already steep passes were plentiful on both sides, some predictably natural and others stumbled. And as a greater sin, he smothered Zafador’s mighty attack. There’s been public applause, kneeling rounds and bragging, yes. The President did not give the second ear (the statute allows) and put some pleasure and criteria in front of the ridiculous beggar. Of course, if it is continued in other festivals, it has set a very consistent bar.
The Granada man had cut off one more ear of the person who broke the frame, another bull with a buoyant charge, unable to focus fully, searching too hard for the bull’s kidneys to shorten the piles. She had bought a cape with long knee-lengths and elegant veronicas, and she took off for tight chicuelinas (Zafador was caught by one for zapopinas). As a bullfighter in the Banderillas, he worried that he hadn’t finished breaking the ring. Very difficult.
The best moments of the afternoon were experienced in Daniel Luque’s dolls in the third act. It is a pity that the horned nobleman with the iron from Veragua lacks the bellows to repeat the attacks and add the primary sense of combat to the beauty of Luque’s bullfight. Gerena already shone at the reception with her rocking air and finished off with a packed sock. The crutch start was excellent, more stroking than control. The bullfighter’s state of grace was evident, and the bull’s lack of vitality was felt. A magnificent shield, three harmonious right hands, formed a set that looked more like jewellery. Then, the gentle naturals, without forcing too much, to strike where the noble beast’s zeal required and where his strength undermined him. This lack of enthusiasm has prevented what could have been a real success, oh well, but sadly. And when you feel sad…
Added to the ear from the third was the sixth, a muddy soap dish with little movement and poor quality. Luque (knee turns and ojedistas closes) was smitten by bragging about securing the front door with a spectacular move that ended in beef.
Sebastián Castella, who generally had a good flock in the draw, drew the wrong piece of paper this time. His two opponents moved, but without showing any grace. He emphasized the cheerful take of the cloak to the former, as well as the statue of the beginning of the crutch business. Then he tried to shoot ex officio and pull out some more natural worthwhile batches, which didn’t discourage him. The bull shortened the voyages and prevented him from showing off. His failure to wield a sword deprived him of an ear that Alicante’s generous care would demand.
The fifth suffered equally from quality. The Frenchman withdrew ex officio once more, placing crutches in the bull’s face, causing him to repeat his attacks. The two parties on the right had a lot of value. He was seen hugging while changing hands. He pressed to drain the water from a well and back where he was almost never in a suburban bullfight, and it’s hard not to pull a trophy and go empty-handed in this arena, let’s be honest.