The Bull Who Would Be Friends

The mighty bull will not fight. Although seriously wounded, the bull still does not attack the matador. Before long, Torero Munera becomes an avid opponent against bullfights.

                                                                          Bullfight
Torero Alvaro Munera collapses in despair … his career is over.

Today bullfights are done professionally. The matadors spend long hours at school to learn formal moves and style. They have an intense desire for flare, are driven to achieve their own technique, feel it is essential to create a special connection with the crowd.

Once a matador steps into the arena everything comes together. He entices the bull with precise moves of the cape and the dance begins.

The master studies the bull until it’s time to heighten the game. The mighty animal charges and feels the pain as the lance is plunged deep into his hide.

The bull stops sharply. He steps back once, twice, three times. His head lowers, his eyes turn red and angry, he paws at the ground, bring on the red cape … he is ready.  

The dance continues until the bull is tired and weak. Barbs and lances dangle from his thick, muscular neck. There are no loud snorts now. His breath is slow and soft.

The matador moves in close, his life on the line. He twirls and spins the cape with dramatic fanfare. His technique is crisp and sharp. His footwork smooth and flawless. Cheers fill the arena. The crowd is on their feet. He is their hero.

Yet, it is the bull who must die.

This is the culture of some countries. It is a tradition, an art, right up there with painting and dancing.

The bull used to be an old friend who Torero Munera fought in the arena. Now the bull is a new friend and…

Torero Munera fights to save his life.

May Your Glass Always Be Half Full

My buddies at the LBC have their own tales to tell:
Blackwatertown, Maxi, Gaelikaa, Padmum,
Ramana, Shackman speaks, The Old Fossil

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About Maxi Malone

Hi … I'm Maxi, a retiree with an addiction. I have quit: raising kids, cleaning house, cooking, doing laundry—there is no end the list—everything is done on "have to." The addiction? Writing to my last breath.
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