A rock and roll star halo surrounds Roca Rey in Pamplona. They carried him on their shoulders as they could have carried him like that from the hotel. Such that El Cordobés in towns and gaches. They expected his repertoire and he baited them as they threw it at him with the cuvillada, which will raise a storm with the clumsiness of the sad final creature. But not only. It was an unfortunate sample of lack of brave background, class and quality, which always defined this iron that has lost its identity. The king of the stage devoured her, the bullfight, I mean, fulfilling the expectations of the spirit of a square forged to her measure. Morante, long awaited, watered that thick festival with the pearls of distinction, the drops of bullfighting, unable to go further or further. And then there is the ectoplasm of Alejandro Talavante…
The entrance exceeded the usual crowd to overflow to the tiles, finishing the role in earnest for years… The expectation overflowed from the anesthetized afternoon walked, when RR shook the glanders off with a single blow of his bangs when raising the hat in the toast. He roared across the square as if Elvis had just shaken his pelvis, unleashing hysteria, a very crazy agitation. The sunbathing lines stopped being their own to convulse in a concert shouting, flags in the wind, a wave from top to bottom with arms raised. The absolute predisposition before the absolute owner of the stage. Who knows the master. The task, developed between a constant patriotic chant – “Peru, Peru, Peru!” in the manner of “oé, oé, oé!”, that stadium sound-anchored its success at its extremes. In the explosive prologue of knees for changed and in the epilogue of volcanic arrimón between espaldines, circulars and a clean body rudeness that unleashed a new clamor. As he pushed the pythons away from the silver band of his satchel, he seized the sword and brought him down with a withering rapier. Both of his ears were sensed joining the ends of the rope. And what happened during? Well, he prevailed the determination of a guy over a harmonious bull that, like his brothers, moved by letting go of his face, forgetting the last push, the final stride and, therefore, the rhythm. Therefore, no trace of bullfighting remained.
RR always tried to push it forward, hitch a ride that came but didn’t go away and that, moreover, fell asleep a lot or gazzled to his left. The onslaught spread vulgarity, subjected to the government of the hurricane’s authority: “Peru, Peru, Peru!”
Núñez del Cuvillo’s bullfight, which was interspersed, well done, harmonious with some very nice bulls, others not so much, far from the Trapío Pamplona, reached its zenith with a last unpresentable bullfight. The shark on stage was given a bound calf to feed on. And that is not despite the fact that his cleverness and mastery of the scene pushed him to take him under the sunbathing lines to, in turn, bait them: “Peru, Peru, Peru!” Already. He cut off an ear that he could have bitten off, they asked for another one and they carried it on their shoulders. Like they could have brought it from the hotel. Which is already written.
Morante de la Puebla did this with his damaged hand, as the Popes greet, and the bandage showing the injury appeared. The bulls have beaten his forty-year-old body, when his bones hurt the most. And sometimes the spirit… His first slaughter to the ugliest bull of the sextet -doesn’t fail-, the only cinqueño, who fell asleep, obedient to pass to his height, splashed beauties like the beginning of helped by high, a pinwheel left-handed portrait of Belmonte, sketches of naturals losing steps, that series of packing right hands with a bad hand -oh, if he ever has a good one!-, a little trench and that walk with the bulls that is a rare thing to see. She dismissed him with a half lunge in the sure place and greeted an ovation. To the fourth soapmaker, a croissant ahead, he blew half a dozen speedwells to the beat that were already worth the afternoon. A rhythm that the bull would not have later, more uncertain than it seemed above, with those parades and looks, without delivery and those headbutts that led to a couple of disarmaments. Mdlp stood firm, even more spirited than what seems to be apparent in him.