marksouthbend (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} marksouthbend) wrote,@ 2007-07-12 12:00:00 |
|
In the arena
It was a thrill as well to stand in a stadium packed with bloodthirsty fans decked out in white and red and cheering me on as a competitor in their favorite sport--the timeless sport of antagonizing an animal and hoping it doesn´t seriously hurt you.
I couldn´t enjoy it, though, or soak it in, or any of that nonsense. I thought about all that sentimental stuff only afterwards. The only celebration or exultation I allowed myself were a high-five and a pat for Carl, who I found first in the stadium, and then hugs and such for Johnny and Shane, who Carl and I found just a minute later. Shane had been escorted out of the race roughly, but then released, at which time he promptly escorted himself right back in. I didn´t celebrate much, because I had no way to realistically gauge how much danger I would now be facing in the arena, or how long I would be facing it. If I was to believe the guy on the train, I was up against likely impalement, or, at the very least, lifelong Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
When the first bull was let out, I knew I had a lot to learn, and I believed my survival depended on learning it quickly, so I got right down to work. I tried very hard to keep an eye on the bull, but when I couldn´t, I did my best at reading the body language of 100 people at a time. I got visually acquainted with the first bull right after it was released, while it was at its fastest, most energetic, and least predictable. It was black, snotty, and huge, and it was spraying sand behind it as it ran. I tried to stay back and observe, but I found I wasn´t entirely able to control the distance between myself and the animal. It changed direction too suddenly, and it could cover ground quickly when it took a notion to. This was about the time I renewed my commitment not to let my guard down for a second. At the same time, though, I noted the bull´s inability to single out a target for very long, and the ease with which it was distracted, and its limited agility from side to side. ¨Ah, so these are the innate weaknesses that keep this bull from killing us all. Excellent.¨ I was also happy and relieved to see the bull slowing down after a minute or two. Bulls aren´t wise budgeters of energy, they generally go for broke from the start. And then finally, I was glad to find out that one thing we were all worried about--the prospect of haivng two bulls loose in the arena at once--we were simply misinformed about. the second ¨bull¨was actually a steer, intimidatingly large, but not aggressive. The steer was nothing to be afraid of, as long as you could stay out of its way, because it wasn´t going to chase you, and it was actually going to lead the bull out of the ring, trotting behind the steer like a contented puppy.
Halfway through my 45 minutes in the ring, after 2 or 3 fresh bulls, I had to take off my bandana. Somehow I knew I wasn´t cool enough for it, and seeing myself on video afterwards confirmed it. The other guys commented on my cocksure strut, but you couldn´t help but notice that I was nearly always strutting as far away from the bulls as possible. Also, there was fear in my eyes and face. I wasn´t using my face to send out messages to anybody; no fronting at all. I was using my face and all my senses to detect and avoid danger. I never forgot the danger, for the entire time in the ring. Johnny and Carl were watching the same events I was, but they both took more risks and put themselves closer to the action, especially Johnny.
7/22/07 18:00 Johnny in the arena
I know a story that I haven´t told yet. I was with Johnny in the arena that day, and I saw his encounter with the bull with my own eyes. I wasn´t near him the whole time, because I couldn´t do what Johnny did that day, and where Johnny went, I could not go. But I was watching when it mattered.
When Carl and I found Shane and Johnny in the arena right after the run, Johnny already had one up on the rest of us. ¨I touched a bull, and I got smacked with a pole!¨ Johnny had come into the arena with the last of the steer before the gates were closed. He touched or smacked a steer on the way in, and one of the people responsible for guiding the steer hit Johnny with his cow-spanking pole. It might have been accidentally, or it could have been on purpose, to reprimand Johnny for distracting the steer. I didn´t see this part, but it´s based on Johnny´s testimony and confirmed by Shane, an eye witness.
Very early on in the arena, while I was still on highest alert and trying to get a feel for life in the circle of torment, I ran into Johnny, who once again had ¨touched a bull!¨ It seemed like everytime I turned around Johnny had touched a bull. It was annoying. I think he was raised by bulls or something. And this time, when I ran into him, he said I should try it myself. He said I had to, it was great. And then I only saw the back of him as he purposefully walked back into the fray. This induced me to try to get a closer look at what was going on on the front lines. I got close enough to see that there was an inner circle of people around the bull, and that Johnny was a card-carrying member. The people of the inner circle touched the bull. They talked to it, teased it, taunted it, and smacked it and hollered at it when the bull was roughing someone up, to distract the bull from its target. And when the bull needed a target, more often than not it drew from this inner circle.
One time the bull singled out Johnny. I happened to be watching. It ran toward him, lowered its head and knocked him down, and then kept thrusting at him on the ground and pushed him through the dirt. I didn´t see Johnny turn away and try to run. I saw him put up his hands to soften the blow, scuffle a few steps backwards, then curl up on the ground while the bull stood over him. That´s about all I saw with my own eyes, probably because people ran in to help. But it seemed to take them a long time to get there.
That wasn´t enough for Johnny. I only saw this on video, but after having been bowled over, Johnny ran up behind a different bull, smacked it on the ass, and then ran back to the camera with his arms in the air. He was leaping in excitement, but it was a little more graceful than a quarterback celebrating throwing the winning touchdown. No, he was deeply, emotionally excited, kind of like a figure skater winning gold.
Interpret all of this as you like. I can´t really help out. I can´t make sense of it. Johnny just wasn´t afraid. I kind of don´t even feel like I ran, now. I can´t get inspired enough about my own performance, after seeing Johnny´s, to even brag. Poor Carl felt like he had to run again the next day, when he compared himself to Matador Jr.
I would have liked to keep up with Johnny. I tried to figure out what he knew that I didn´t know. I´m the first one to do something that looks dangerous if there´s a clever way to minimize the danger. But the only method I could discern in the madness was to wait until the bull was tired, perhaps even wait until the steer was leading the bull out of the ring, and then swoop in and cop your feel. But, in my best judgment, the bull was still strong, relatively fast, and unpredictable, even when tired. These are animals who put up a struggle to the very end, to the bloody death, in the bull fights. I still think it was more madness than method. I think it was dangerous. Johnny either didn´t know or didn´t care.
It was a thrill as well to stand in a stadium packed with bloodthirsty fans decked out in white and red and cheering me on as a competitor in their favorite sport--the timeless sport of antagonizing an animal and hoping it doesn´t seriously hurt you.
I couldn´t enjoy it, though, or soak it in, or any of that nonsense. I thought about all that sentimental stuff only afterwards. The only celebration or exultation I allowed myself were a high-five and a pat for Carl, who I found first in the stadium, and then hugs and such for Johnny and Shane, who Carl and I found just a minute later. Shane had been escorted out of the race roughly, but then released, at which time he promptly escorted himself right back in. I didn´t celebrate much, because I had no way to realistically gauge how much danger I would now be facing in the arena, or how long I would be facing it. If I was to believe the guy on the train, I was up against likely impalement, or, at the very least, lifelong Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
When the first bull was let out, I knew I had a lot to learn, and I believed my survival depended on learning it quickly, so I got right down to work. I tried very hard to keep an eye on the bull, but when I couldn´t, I did my best at reading the body language of 100 people at a time. I got visually acquainted with the first bull right after it was released, while it was at its fastest, most energetic, and least predictable. It was black, snotty, and huge, and it was spraying sand behind it as it ran. I tried to stay back and observe, but I found I wasn´t entirely able to control the distance between myself and the animal. It changed direction too suddenly, and it could cover ground quickly when it took a notion to. This was about the time I renewed my commitment not to let my guard down for a second. At the same time, though, I noted the bull´s inability to single out a target for very long, and the ease with which it was distracted, and its limited agility from side to side. ¨Ah, so these are the innate weaknesses that keep this bull from killing us all. Excellent.¨ I was also happy and relieved to see the bull slowing down after a minute or two. Bulls aren´t wise budgeters of energy, they generally go for broke from the start. And then finally, I was glad to find out that one thing we were all worried about--the prospect of haivng two bulls loose in the arena at once--we were simply misinformed about. the second ¨bull¨was actually a steer, intimidatingly large, but not aggressive. The steer was nothing to be afraid of, as long as you could stay out of its way, because it wasn´t going to chase you, and it was actually going to lead the bull out of the ring, trotting behind the steer like a contented puppy.
Halfway through my 45 minutes in the ring, after 2 or 3 fresh bulls, I had to take off my bandana. Somehow I knew I wasn´t cool enough for it, and seeing myself on video afterwards confirmed it. The other guys commented on my cocksure strut, but you couldn´t help but notice that I was nearly always strutting as far away from the bulls as possible. Also, there was fear in my eyes and face. I wasn´t using my face to send out messages to anybody; no fronting at all. I was using my face and all my senses to detect and avoid danger. I never forgot the danger, for the entire time in the ring. Johnny and Carl were watching the same events I was, but they both took more risks and put themselves closer to the action, especially Johnny.
7/22/07 18:00 Johnny in the arena
I know a story that I haven´t told yet. I was with Johnny in the arena that day, and I saw his encounter with the bull with my own eyes. I wasn´t near him the whole time, because I couldn´t do what Johnny did that day, and where Johnny went, I could not go. But I was watching when it mattered.
When Carl and I found Shane and Johnny in the arena right after the run, Johnny already had one up on the rest of us. ¨I touched a bull, and I got smacked with a pole!¨ Johnny had come into the arena with the last of the steer before the gates were closed. He touched or smacked a steer on the way in, and one of the people responsible for guiding the steer hit Johnny with his cow-spanking pole. It might have been accidentally, or it could have been on purpose, to reprimand Johnny for distracting the steer. I didn´t see this part, but it´s based on Johnny´s testimony and confirmed by Shane, an eye witness.
Very early on in the arena, while I was still on highest alert and trying to get a feel for life in the circle of torment, I ran into Johnny, who once again had ¨touched a bull!¨ It seemed like everytime I turned around Johnny had touched a bull. It was annoying. I think he was raised by bulls or something. And this time, when I ran into him, he said I should try it myself. He said I had to, it was great. And then I only saw the back of him as he purposefully walked back into the fray. This induced me to try to get a closer look at what was going on on the front lines. I got close enough to see that there was an inner circle of people around the bull, and that Johnny was a card-carrying member. The people of the inner circle touched the bull. They talked to it, teased it, taunted it, and smacked it and hollered at it when the bull was roughing someone up, to distract the bull from its target. And when the bull needed a target, more often than not it drew from this inner circle.
One time the bull singled out Johnny. I happened to be watching. It ran toward him, lowered its head and knocked him down, and then kept thrusting at him on the ground and pushed him through the dirt. I didn´t see Johnny turn away and try to run. I saw him put up his hands to soften the blow, scuffle a few steps backwards, then curl up on the ground while the bull stood over him. That´s about all I saw with my own eyes, probably because people ran in to help. But it seemed to take them a long time to get there.
That wasn´t enough for Johnny. I only saw this on video, but after having been bowled over, Johnny ran up behind a different bull, smacked it on the ass, and then ran back to the camera with his arms in the air. He was leaping in excitement, but it was a little more graceful than a quarterback celebrating throwing the winning touchdown. No, he was deeply, emotionally excited, kind of like a figure skater winning gold.
Interpret all of this as you like. I can´t really help out. I can´t make sense of it. Johnny just wasn´t afraid. I kind of don´t even feel like I ran, now. I can´t get inspired enough about my own performance, after seeing Johnny´s, to even brag. Poor Carl felt like he had to run again the next day, when he compared himself to Matador Jr.
I would have liked to keep up with Johnny. I tried to figure out what he knew that I didn´t know. I´m the first one to do something that looks dangerous if there´s a clever way to minimize the danger. But the only method I could discern in the madness was to wait until the bull was tired, perhaps even wait until the steer was leading the bull out of the ring, and then swoop in and cop your feel. But, in my best judgment, the bull was still strong, relatively fast, and unpredictable, even when tired. These are animals who put up a struggle to the very end, to the bloody death, in the bull fights. I still think it was more madness than method. I think it was dangerous. Johnny either didn´t know or didn´t care.
