Life and Death in This Sport: 15 Minutes

For a moment, matador Juan Mora and the bull were one, both in the center of the ring with their heads bowed as the crowd at the Plaza de Toros jeered.

Neither had fought well. Mora dared not raise his head; he was mildly humiliated. The bull could not; he was about to die.

And so went one of the regular six Sunday bullfights so close in distance, so far in temperament from the Olympics being played out in other sections of the city.

Here, in the still-hot evenings, the sound of “ole” comes low and infrequent from the usually sparse crowds made up of demanding die-hards, distracted yuppies and daring tourists.

Just as many Catalonians think of themselves as separate from Spain, bullfighting aficionados say the lust for the kill in this region does not approach that to the south, especially in Madrid and Seville.

“I have been to one bullfight in my life, when I was 6 years old,” said 30-year-old Mireia Canal, who lives across the street from the bullfighting arena. “Most people of Barcelona do not like it. It’s for tourists and for a few others.”

A middle-age man who has come every week since he was 14 said “it is a political thing. These people think of it as Spanish and that they are not Spanish.”

Barcelona has long been considered a minor league circuit, but for tourists who want a taste of bullfighting, it is the only game around.

“It’s a novelty sport. We felt we were here, we had to see one. And we’ve heard a lot of gore stories about the matador getting hurt,” said Mike Maschmyer of St. Louis, in Barcelona mainly to see the Olympics.

Many do not seem to know what to expect. But seeing the magnificent fury of a 1,200-pound animal crumble into a heap in only a few minutes is poignant no matter the level of appreciation.

Toppie Dutoit of Capetown, South Africa, who came to Barcelona to see his country compete in the Olympics for the first time in 32 years, had one word of immediate reaction to the first kill.

“Disgusting,” he said.

“Why do they have to kill it?” asked his wife.

There are regular, knowledgeable fans, not unlike the railbirds at horse or dog tracks. And in recent years a small group of yuppies with some understanding usually can be found seated in the $70 to $90 boxes in the shade, said to have decided bullfighting was fashionable after seeing Pedro Almodovar’s film “Matador.”

Jesus Rivas, an executive at the Plaza de Toros, said, not suprisingly, that bullfighting is as good in Barcelona as it is anywhere else, and that it should appeal to all comers.

“It’s a unique spectacle. There’s nothing else like it,” he said.

It takes but 15 minutes for each of the evening’s six bulls to come raging onto the scene, be weakened, die and then be drawn off by horses for slaughtering right outside the gates.

It is more a tragedy than a sport, the passes of the bull at the red capes of the matador and his assistants played out in three major acts.

The climax of the first part comes when the mounted picadors weaken the bull by lunging a lance, or pic, into the big tossing muscle on the back of its neck. The bull has a chance here to throw the horse, protected by dense mats, and possibly get at or crush the picador.

Then the banderilleros confront the bull, adding to the taunt by plunging their short pairs of spears into the neck. They have no cape with which to distract the bull, and they thereby run the risk of being gored.

The matador then is called upon to live up to his name, reaching over the horns to plunge in the sword. If he makes a close pass, as is expected, it is the bull’s best chance for a sudden, potentially deadly strike.

Some bulls who do not seem to have enough fight are “retired,” let out of the ring. But their respite lasts for only the short walk to the slaughterer. And, like all the others, they show up the next day in La Boqueria, or market, on the famous Las Ramblas.

If the matador wavers, as Mora did because the bull had become unpredictable, the crowd is likely to jeer, and the killing is likely to be extended a few minutes.

Deep emotions are stirred in almost any case, as was the case with Toppie Dutoit and his wife after the first kill.

“I’m rooting for the bull,” Mrs. Dutoit said.