I don’t like bullfighting. That’s why I have no business eating anything with a face. Or sporting anything with leather.
I try to stick to fish, and can’t go without chicken because I don’t have the vegetarian gene and always feel off if I don’t have some animal protein every day.
And I do eat an occasional piece of beef. Which makes me feel awful every time I see a cow. Everywhere I looked in the Azores, there they were, lounging in the grass like my dachshund Ginger.
Anyway, back to bullfighting. I don’t care for football, boxing or wrestling either; but at least that’s humans pitted against humans.
With bullfighting, it’s man versus beast, who’s there strictly for man’s amusement. That whole machismo thang. To illustrate sexiness and strength. Drive the creature nuts and then kill it in front of a cheering crowd. That kind of behavior is supposed to be a real chick magnet.
In Portugal, thankfully, the bull isn’t killed.
And on Terceira island in the Azores, the bull gets more freedom. Call it dope on a rope. The beast, reared for the sport, is let loose, tethered to a long rope controlled by humans.
Even though the bull is spared, it’s still taunted mercilessly, to the point that it’s so PO’d, God help any human in its way. After all the roughhousing, the bull is supposedly patched up at the vet’s and then returned to pasture.
Nothing like a noble animal showing up the animalistic humans.
Artist and entrepreneur Jose Garcia slightly shares my view. He grew up in Terceira and defends the sport as a cultural institution. He points out the bull is actually a revered creature. And he’s managed to combine respect for bullfighting with his unique brand of humor.