Then a notion of celebration floated in the air this saturday, as a headline act in a familiar cattle game afternoon drew the crowd: “What a birria de toros!” And that’s the essence. The record of yesterday can be brief, because sometimes the arena feels empty when the main figure falls short in front of the spectators.
Yet there are always subtle layers, nuances, and moments in a bullfight worth closer inspection. A discerning eye and a critical mind are valuable, especially when noting a stumble in the opening lines. Official figures show fewer than six thousand paid attendees. Certain unique circumstances certainly add to the confusion: the first announcement of a siege with six bulls centered on Manzanares, the fair’s focal point, and its later cancellation—circumstances that discouraged more than a few. The health of the torero, and the challenge of assembling a last‑minute list for a calendar already crowded with bullfighting events, deserved more attention. Still, considering the imperfect outcome, fairness should prevail.
power of rulers
Before the celebration, the descendants of Jaime Sellés—children and grandchildren who had dedicated their lives to the arena—were recognized, with Mari Carmen and Nacho Lloret presenting a keepsake from Spain. Through the doorway Jaime once opened so many times, a sequence of humility followed, capable of unsettling the group entirely.
That cattle taming and peeling catalog carried the farmer from Albacete’s blunt remarks. When the raw material fails so miserably, remedies vanish. If, as expected, this sextet is chosen for the Manzanarista tribute, speculation becomes unwise, since the outcomes can sting. The truth remains: the plan did not unfold as hoped because Manzanares did not appear, and the mismatched magic clashed with the intentions of the outcasts. Three spare swords could not salvage the moment.
Cayetano presented a paradoxical duality, showing a contradiction in form. The crutch work—unseen in prior cape work—was ambitious, delivering long, measured natural movements in the first sequence. In the third pass, doubt crept in; timidity returned, the lines lacked resonance, and the voice of the performance faltered.
The fourth act showcased a controlled approach to the horse in two entrances, followed by the third figure tied to the boards who plunged into the arena. The torero lifted him, turning a clearly painful moment into a plea for calm and a push for three more laps before a fading animal. The reputation of bullfighting would suffer if such moments were tolerated. The crowd urged restraint after the escalation, and the event became a test of endurance. Yesterday stood as a challenging afternoon for the arena’s heraldic torero.
Emilio de Justo captured several peak moments of the day. In a land of heightened risk, the one who seizes opportunity stands tall. The second bull moved with restraint, inviting the torero to test boundaries with calculated touches. Montera in hand, Morenito de Arles and Pérez Valcarce acknowledged the public’s cheers, while de Justo intensified from the opening passes, executing precise, deliberate strokes with the right hand. He used controlled provocations to guide the animal toward natural, quiet angles, tightening the chest hits to create impact. The moment of contact resonated through the crowd, turning the exchange into a measured drama.
The condemnation of mediocrity and the praise of good taste
The fifth bull offered resistance, wavering in refusal and retreat. A struggle waged between human desire and instinct, the animal’s self‑defense, and the harsh chorus of spectators judging every gesture. Then came the figure with the sword, two strikes, and four furious reactions. To add a touch of humor to the trance, a local onlooker hardly blinked when the horned animal rattled De Justo on the fourth attempt: “You have to see it: he always lands the last one.” The moment spoke for itself.
There was little room for mercy with Juan Ortega, who followed last year’s fatigue in this square. The afternoon brightened a touch, yet the grandeur of the riding and feints did not fully deliver a fulfilling spectacle. The third torero of the day, lifting his gaze at the end of the crutches, seemed uncertain and far from convinced.
There was always a sense that the crutches had momentum until the embrok arrived, prompting the bull to enter the torero’s space and retreat a few inches from the muzzle. The scene unraveled with less anger than anticipated, and the overall ascent never fully lifted off. A sense of cold calculation persisted, favoring lighter, quicker movements over brute force.
The sixth bull showed more spirit, perhaps, or perhaps it was merely the torero’s longing. Yet the outcome remained disappointing, with the crutch injury to the left hand underscoring the fragile balance of the performance. The verónicas ended in a stumble, and the capotero’s touch barely steadied the rhythm.
And with that, the end arrived. It did not feel abrupt, but the tally added up to a day that would be remembered as challenging and difficult to justify. A sense of weariness clung to the arena, and the crowd left with a weighted impression of a performance that struggled to find its footing.