The San Fermines started with the fearsome demand of the last edition, which raised the curtain after the pandemic with 100% of the tickets sold and, in terms of livestock, it became the roundest fair in Spain. And, without being the one regarding the bull, it has been interesting, varied, important with some resounding gaps and successful -the balance of ears always shot or crazy-, with an exemplary bullfight -Jandilla light years ahead of the others- and three proper names : El Juli -rated with the bull of the fair: the jandilla Torbellino-, Miguel Ángel Perera and the hurricane phenomenon of Roca Rey, the numerical winner, a separate case. The San Fermín fair has posted four afternoons the “no tickets” -two of them to the claim of the Peruvian star- on the average of the daily full house (20,000 spectators). Do we add the 20,000 in the morning for 8 days? Only in the square and without subsidies, eternally Yolanda.
Miura closed the miracle of the Sanfermines, the wall against which the woke culture beats, with an impressive bullfight, with beasts weighing 600-odd kilos; a confinement, as they say in Mexico, which grew in power -from less to more-, scored on the horse as the highest symbol of its bravery, presented its tough difficulties, its deficits -diminishment of power from principle- and also its options : the last miureño was the most outstanding bull. Colombo took advantage of the occasion to prop up his first miurada and knock it down, like the great gate, with the barrel of his sword.
As soon as the last afternoon started, the square was breathless: Rubén Pinar sank to his knees in the third to clear the long change. The imposing 615-kilo miura came across him, laying down by the left piton. RP dodged it, unbalanced, and the thrashing whipped around behind him. He grabbed him by the jacket – with the terrible fright of not knowing how far his horn had entered – and turned him around to smash him against the ground like a doll. The violence of the fall on his neck was frightening: Pinar was left unconscious, face down, inert. When they hoisted it up, only the chalk drawing of the crime scene was missing from the ring. On the way to the infirmary he seemed to open his eyes to hope, to the miracle. The blow refreshed the brain injury that the Albacete suffered years ago due to an accident in the field. While waiting for news from inside the operating room -the bullfighter was transferred to the University Hospital to submit him to a preventive CT scan that ruled out any pathology-, Juan Leal gave an account of the cardeno. As great as free of power and bravery. He defended himself from above, he hardly passed and he only did it on the right. Leal’s effort was spoiled by a low jab and a lunge in the same place. The afternoon went hand in hand.
Jesús Enrique Colombo battled in all the tercios with a 590-kilo miura that did not appear. Nor did he have enough strength. He leaned back on the horse, but moved further. Without humiliating. Colombo, which has two turbines per leg, was abuzz in all thirds. He toasted the mayor with sun, he charmed the rocks, he passed the miura basically to the right and killed him with solvency: an ear.
The bullfight continued to come out, diminishing in power with its great bearing on its back. Leal greeted the third porta gayola, started work on his knees and finished it on his knees. The short time that he was on his feet he walked very courageously. Until he threw himself -literally- to kill with a peculiar style and walked around the ring after a slight request.