I once fought a bull… a real life male bovine, with horns… in a classic bull ring in Puerto Vallarta Mexico…
There might have been tequila involved… Hell yes… there was tequila… more tequila that might be advised… tequila shots… from crockery shot glasses hung from a lanyard about the neck… my neck, my wife’s neck… other people’s neck…
At the time my profession was selling forklift rentals and service… and the national company, which I represented had a sales contest… I and several of my co-workers won… the prize being a trip to Puerto Vallarta … in Mexico… at a beach side resort hotel…
Included were lots of activities… dinners, tours and such… one of which was a Mexican evening at a bull ring… This was not the traditional “the bull dies” bull fight… this was a gringo show, with donkey races (after chugging beers) and dinner… but we, the guests were offered a chance to fight the bull…
We arrived via a bus… greeted by people hanging the crockery shot glasses on leather lanyards about our necks, filling them with tequila, again, again, again… as we walked down the olive tree shaded lane between two low adobe walls…. To the bull ring…
We consumed the offered tequila… more than might have been advised… Judgment might have been impaired…
I took a chance to steal away, to see the bull… a small bull… less than 200 lbs.. lean… young… not the massive animal of the classic fight… who would be afraid of a baby bull… I decided to accept the opportunity to do combat with a bull… to fight a bull… One other of our number also stepped up to the challenge…
I felt that as one of my companies top salesmen, someone who they were rewarding for their success, success that made the company successful, they would not risk my heath… after all then needed me… that dog wouldn’t hunt… they didn’t care about me apparently…
We ate dinner… the donkey race commenced… the lovely Tina took part… she was ok with the donkeys… but the race also included chugging a beer… not the lovely Tina’s strong suit… she didn’t win... but she did hang on to the donkey’s back…
It was time for the Bull Fight… the other gentleman went first… He held the cape… the bull charged… he stepped aside… the bull passed by… the bull charged again… this time the bull hooked the cape with his horn and pulled it from the matador’s hands…
In a traditional Mexican (or Spanish) bull fight, generally, the bull loses… and as a result he loses his life… The bull does not get to learn from his experience… but this bull had fought the dreaded gringo many times… he had learned the arts of combat in the ring… something that we gingos had not had a chance to do, or learn… We were novices at the mercy of the experienced bull… a bull which chose to show no mercy…
The bull charged my fellow gringo… he tilted his head, turning the horns on one side downward… he hooked the novice gringo “want to be” bull fighter between his legs and tossed him head over heels… the bruise, on the inside of his leg was significant… the bull had won…
Now it was my turn…
I stood in the ring… cape in hand… they release the bull… the bull which had shown no mercy to my fellow gringo…
He charged… I pulled the cape back, I stepped back, the bull passed… Ole!
The bull turned… He looked at me… he snorted the challenge… he charged again… again I pulled the cape back, I stepped back… the bull passed… Ole! So far all was going pretty well…
The bull turned again… again he looked at me… again he snorted the challenge… again he charged… again I tried to pull the cape back but this time his experience showed, and he pulled the cape away from my hands…
Again the bull turned and snorted his challenge… I, without cape or other defense, stood, I against the bull… Things were not looking good…
As a child I had spent much time in the Kern River Valley, in the Southern Sierra… we had a family cabin… a family friend nearby had horses… we helped gentle them… helped break them… the local rodeo grounds were nearby… we attended regularly… the events included “Bull dogging” a cowboy ridding next to a running cow/bull and roping, jumping on, and pulling it down… a cow/bull of a size similar to the bull now charging at me…
Back to Mexico… As the bull charged, twisted, turned his head and prepared to hook my leg a memory of those old rodeos returned… and I grabbed his horns, and gently twisted him over onto his side… on to his back… I grabbed his legs in one hand, and raised the other… I won!
Cheers erupted from the drunken gringo audience…
The solution was not conventional, but it had the advantage of success… the local cowboys were concerned for the heath of their animal… (not for my heath… for the heath of the bull which if successful would have emasculated me… ) Their bull was fine… his pride bruised… but he was fine… Pity the next foolish gringo…
I was pleased with the outcome… as was my wife… I had fought the bull… and won.
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