It was an emotional afternoon of male bullfighters -Sebastián Castella and Paco Ureña- without matching them, very truthful, strong and ugly bulls, tame and a square in Madrid that was ultimately redirected and initially converted into a flagship of idiocy. A crowd of ignorant people began a rant of protests because the gigantic room – well built for its XXL size – behaved as if there were no tomorrow. What they were protesting only God knows. Meekness? Oh really?
The ridicule reached astronomical dimensions when the meek who was not so meek – named Devoto, perhaps a relative of Beato – began to attack the work of a very focused Sebastián Castella from the categorical opening doubloons. Always with the crutch in place and ready, he put together a work worthy of his resume in Las Ventas, which is the most important of the 21st century. Boundless, bossy, tremendously temperate and superbly intelligent to take it very hard. Right after right went the cathedral of Castella, the bells came in the form of infinite changes of hands. Madrid roared, covering his petard. Le Coq jammed his sword and lost a great triumph, perhaps his seventh gate. The return to the ring to which they pushed him was an outcry.
The other important chapter occurred in the fifth, starting with the forgotten fact of condemning a bull to black banderillas. Andaluz deserved them much sooner than President Eutimio took. Paco Ureña exposed an enormity with his ranger enemy, barely bleeding, so whole. Ureña’s integrity was H-bomb proof. A stark, painful truth he would say. When he had to be killed, the wave of the meek took away the vest of a python as if it were the shock wave of Hiroshima. He finally caught him in his flight with a thrust that, due to his journey, required madness, and that was another warlike feat.
The tough bullfight had been opened by a brown bull, short, flexible, with a broad face and good class, especially on the left side, where he always sealed his style. A better beginning than the end of the journey and, in the end, a better beginning than the end. Well it didn’t last. His left-handed attack was made evident in the extremely long shot of Sebastián Castella’s brooch in response to Paco Ureña’s intervention against Veronica. That, after leaving a meaningless throw and closing with the stocking, he lost his footing and escaped by a miracle. There is no trance without drama in this man.
Castella began the task with statues, a pass exchanged for the back (?) and another of contempt caressed, which was what he asked for. He soon felt distressed already in the early morning left of SC, who had seen him. He tried to give him rhythm on his right without achieving it. So stopped to repeat, so still to flirt. But as the afternoon went by he would do it, with Devoto’s permission, I don’t know if the good one, but without a doubt the handsome guy from the movie. [Viotti y Chacón formaron en las dos bregas alternando papeles un dúo inalcanzable]