Three toreros carried the weight of spectators and financiers alike, and the sense that much had happened in the stands lingered. The celebration was vibrant and varied, at times stirring anger, at others utterly captivating. Today’s joy cast a shadow tomorrow, and there was no simple answer to the question of continuity.
And things certainly unfolded with Victoriano del Río facing bull after bull, displaying a spectrum of courage, discipline, and even moments of restraint. His history showed he could blend the arguments of the three swords, drawing out the fullest brilliance each time. The only real flaw was a scattered presentation. Moments saved only by the face, and a strong sixth that should have set a higher standard. It is written plainly: a certain disorganization persisted beneath the surface, as if sardines inside the grouper’s shell were to be pushed back in again by the crowd’s appetite.
While every matador lives with contradictions and so does the bullfighter, Julián López revealed both sides of the same paradox. He understood his two adversaries from start to finish. To the first who opened the fiesta, he offered a measured veronica bouquet for the public, used a sock to frame the moment, then displayed the por chicuelinas and tafalleras from within the family line of the good son, saluted the crowd, bent to soften the horn, and settled into a measured pulse. He favored the right hand over the natural, allowing the animal’s hide to yield in a refined technique known for its restrained flair, embellished with turns and measured flurries. Perhaps cool, but nearly flawless. After advancing with a half thrust that produced a swift impact, he pressed the tip gently against the animal’s nose with careful taps, and when the audience whistled in impatience, he attempted to coax a false round of applause to acknowledge the animal’s brave suffering. A task that deserved reward remained only in the air, as the third encounter greeted the crowd with an icy reception. It is unusual for El Juli to be swayed by crude outbursts.
No one paid a penny for the room. Abanto, a stand-in from the first third, Julián began to balance at mid height to manage the animal’s distance and approach. The first half of the session yielded little reaction, but then a rightward bend dropped the matador’s scarf over the face, pairing long right hands with a hammer, a capstan, and two chest strikes that electrified the audience. The crowd savored the unfolding drama. A series of long, deep passes followed, along with circular moves near the animal and the decisive luquesinas that preceded a sword strike, sometimes called a julipié, and finally a double touch that opened the door wide for him.
Tomás Rufo demonstrated the value of the team he commands from the outset. Two-thirds of the banderillas were curled and rounded with purpose. Fernando Sánchez stood out as a performer with undeniable presence. When asked where the secret of bullfighting lies, the answer is clear: observe how he moves in the arena, how he handles the bulls, his commitment to exist wherever he is. No empty gestures, no irritating slurs. He is effective and trustworthy, classic yet distinct, pure bullfighting.
Rufo used the flames his crew lit with banderillas to place Victoriano del Río’s bull under firm control, guiding the bull with a dominant right-hand lap toward the knee. A long, connected, deep sequence of passes maintained the tempo. The first series stood tall, but soon the horn began to flag. Some locals maintained a pulse of rhythm, yet the resonance in the lines came through luquesinas and a final display of grit. The crowd called for a second ear, but the presidency held firm, judging the move as insufficiently decisive. Luck, some would say, simply rewarded patience with a favorable outcome.
The matador from Talavera de la Reina handled the black legume with calm precision in sixth place. He already had control of the horse and did not seek unnecessary confrontation. What remained was close work without creating tension, followed by another stroke that was disproportionate yet effective, earning an ear and a large doorway to finish.
Why was Roca Rey saved for last? Among those who took the arena’s sacred soil, none could move with such power. The second performance carried the same daring as the earlier pythons but was so exhausted that it required extra effort to pace his rhythm. A privileged skull, as one critic phrased it in Valle-Inclán’s verses, marked his step as he prepared to strike again. He swung three great right hands with a controlled low wrist, showing why he dominates the scene and commands the gallery. The horned bull had already searched for an opening and fled the challenge. A vertical move and an authoritative ear of law sealed his stance, a demonstration of the prowess that makes him a defining force on the field.
The fifth, paired with Jara, displayed remarkable enthusiasm and energy as he withdrew from the departure. He offered tight veronicas and a strong finishing touch. Jara pressed with his hips in a single powerful blow, followed by a Peruvian bullfighter’s chicuelinas and tafalleras that drew the crowd’s cry to a new threshold. He faced the respected observer with a bow, kneeling to mark who held the room. Yet the bull did not concede even a single bout. Bravery carries its own risks, and Jara’s effort stood apart from the routine, with Roca Rey responding with his signature restraint, bracing the crutch to the face and waiting for the long journey to complete. There was no pause in the action. The bullfighting world thrives on suspense, epic rhythm, and a lyrical lift that follows moments of danger. That is why performers like Roca Rey shine so brightly, capable of dominating, subduing, and guiding the animal where it would rather not go. The scepter of leadership rests with those who can perform this miracle, a power that endures to this day.
He reminded Jara that even the bravest on Olympus are not guaranteed immunity, and overconfidence can cost dearly when facing a fearless bull. The moment did not worsen, but a single misstep saw a hug of the right arm, a warning before a nearly full, bold movement. The animal trembled, the Peruvian hesitated, and the crowd rose to a chorus of nervous energy. The crew did not help, lifting the bull while it lay. He faced the danger with dignity, managing the moment and letting the bull repay the risk with its life. The death of a brave bull closed the day with a final, fierce testament to the sport’s enduring nerve. [Cited: Bullfighting Review, analysis of the event]