When at the border at nine at night they rocked Andrés Roca Rey through the Puerta del Príncipe, it seemed like a lie. Gone was the fragile trace of an afternoon that at the last minute a superb bull from Núñez del Cuvillo turned over, exposing the critics of iron, the demolishers of a small-town bullfight. Halcón came to give wings to the Cóndor, the owner of such a brutal capacity that it can nullify even his own mistakes and even a task below a flag bull, which came from the suspended bullfight at the beginning of March in Olivenza. Everything gave off that halo: the bulls, the public, the triumph, the Maestranza.
Roca Rey’s approach came from najas from the moment of its conception. Not so much, that also, for killing two Núñez del Cuvillo bullfights at the fair, but for doing it consecutively, in just 12 days. Without a firewall. Until Halcón’s stocky heel jumped. And now we shut up. The staff, even with fresh memories of the recent Easter Sunday fiasco, forgave everything. Another run of poor preparation and sad presentation, lost the identity of what Cuvillo was. Outside and also inside, the class gone as the background. One more thing about the Plaza de Olivenza than about the Maestranza. Which is already written.
But the unbeatable Roca Rey, infallible magnet of the box office -another “no tickets” to his credit-, amended his mistake with the attitude of inventing a task with that black and inexpressive animal, orphan of class and zeal that had jumped as third . A shadow that could be blown away at any moment. He did not punish him in the slightest on the horse, leaving the half bull whole. Chip was squeezed in a more risky than orthodox pair that he ended up with a montera in hand. Clever as the Peruvian ace is, he played with distance and inertia to give the bug a ride. That he passed without opening up, ugly inside but without malice, unbeautifying the long right hands. A espaldine exploded there like a grenade. The task acquired more entity on his left hand, very established, no longer inertia, pulling the lunge freehand like someone pulling a sack of earth. The dragged natives gained their own weight. On that path the cuvillo made to stop, and RR endured stoically without flinching. Thus until canceling the distances, so superior, letting the bull reach and engage in a dialogue through circulars that inflamed the Maestranza. A sword blow and an ear that also seemed to me to be from Olivenza.
The last bull appeared with village clothes. In fact, that’s where it came from. Of calm head, body also collected. But of joy, speed and life like no other. Also depth and rhythm. Antonio Chacón rose with the sticks leaning out into the abyss. And Roca Rey came out in a rush. On her knees, uninhibited from the Resurrection corset, between espaldines and a whirlwind. The cuvillo, named Falcon, came to save the honor of the currency, to give flight to the Condor of Peru. That for more than half a task he was so focused on attacking that he forgot to fight. So launched that the bull was not tied or demanded below as it should. Almost getting bored of having the crutch removed from his face. He both banderazo for a flag bull. But when RR really drenched him in a huge natural, Falcon once again demonstrated all he had yet to offer. There was still time. And Roca Rey took advantage of it to sink and merge with him in two series of superlative rounds. That they turned the Maestranza upside down in a roar. Those two batches, in truth, acquired the category that the superb bull of Núñez del Cuvillo deserved. Everything else flew when Roca Rey buried the steel down to the ribbons. A crunch of bones, a roar, a cramp of people on their feet. The square is crazy. Packed with the bullfighter. Or like the bullfighter until he rested. One, two ears, by God! Puerta del Príncipe in the Maestranza as if it were Olivenza.
The afternoon had opened, windy to make matters worse, a dirty soap dish, low, trimmed, a small ball, also Oliventine, with a low profile, showing its little tips at the front. Neither power, nor background: he already fell short in the cape of Diego Urdiales. That he outlined inconclusive verónicas, intuited hauls. He dawdled the bull from below, without push or eagerness; he fluttered the air with more enthusiasm. Little blood in the horse. And between a punch and a marked mini-pike, a hurried removal by bundled up chicuelinas that a veronica stocking on the hip lit up like a glare. Urdiales took an oh! instead of an ole! of a trench as opening of work. The cuvillo, in addition to everything, hid sinister ideas on the right, ankle genius. Luck did not pass. A try for the less damaging but equally incapable left python. And to kill.
Fortune and Diego Urdiales are like oil and water. And the fourth was barely lent in a round of classic right hands, the best and purest of the afternoon, and as beautiful as a genuflecting help, before the beast, more corpulent, broke down. José María Manzanares was never comfortable with a batch that was heavier but more elaborate. That he had more mobility than quality and delivery. He did not meet the lot or himself. Like the one who goes to the office on a Monday at eight in the morning.
Tickets for San Isidro are already on sale. You can buy them here: https://plaza1.janto.es/janto/main.php
Plaza de la Maestranza. Friday, April 21, 2023. Third fair. Full of “no tickets”. Bulls from Núñez del Cuvillo, all from Cuatreños,
Diego Urdiales, of albero and jet. Withering Sword (silence); in the fourth, puncture and front lunge (silence).
Jose Maria Manzanares, of corinth and gold. Two pricks, stab and off (silence); in the fifth, metisaca and a half crossed and eight descabellos. Notice (silence).
Roca Rey, in navy blue and gold. Sword blow (ear); in the sixth, stoconazo (two ears). Gate of the Prince.
According to the criteria of The Trust Project
