Prince’s Gate of Atonement for the absolute delivery of Roca Rey in Seville

Roca Rey soon jumped to solve the equation of the poster, the mystery between the Sevillians of Juan Ortega and Pablo Aguado, between modern bullfighting and classic bullfighting. Roca Rey, in short, came out to be Roca Rey pulling with all his weapons, and the coldness of Seville on Victorino’s day was over. And, as if a bad conscience had remained, the square reacted in an exercise of atonement to his absolute surrender. The afternoons when he has measured himself against other castes and has done without his own -regardless of the success-, his bullfighting has not climbed. Circus and clonazepam for the public, adrenaline and lexaton, rock and roll to settle the sandwich between beautiful things. A bull with a washed face, stretched from behind, but flexible and with a generous neck, was galloped off and dropped from his cape. And he received a powerful and abundant greeting until the vicinity of the hydrant, the wide haul well flown. He decided to leave himself whole on the horse, a sign of war: he toasted the crowd – who hung out on the seventh, there are no tickets on this fair Saturday that was always a date for wine and roses – and he got down on his knees. The passes exchanged behind the backs exploded. The explosion shook the square. Fundamentally, RR understood the best hand of the brave bull, which was the right. And so in the second round he blew him up from below, sprawled, five dragging his crutch, an inverted circular, the father and the mountain on fire. Endless chest passes elevated the rounds.

The attack was not the same as natural but the Peruvian maintained the intensity over the brightness in his brief step. The bull’s tuning fork had decayed. And Roca looked for the volcanic terrain, the lava land. So close to the pitons that the bull, always prompt, did not consent. He ran over him in an almost somersault, more of a roll. No blood showed through the broken satchel, but the fear had once again gripped the square. That he gave himself to the shocking Bernadines. The thrust unleashed madness, the stampede of handkerchiefs, the skidding of the box: two ears. Power without control is useless. He was applauded as he dragged the bull, the one with the best performance so far, in the uneven bullfight, with so many peaks and little harmony in general. Perhaps the most horrendous of all April. In fact, the fifth one became ugly, but very ugly. Move as you were, without ever using the crutch. Roca Rey was dedicated to the maximum with that mobility that to call an attack would be a compliment. Until he forgot. Then the arrimn arose, the tips over the belly, the bravery, the absolute dedication, with the people bellowing – there will no longer be martyrology singers – but not as much as when he buried the sword and the bull hit the lead of death. The apotheosis. The warning fell before the bull. And when he did, the president released the key to the Prince’s Gate. A lie: he had released her before with the second ear from the first task. Roca Rey turned the fair on him. And that, it must also be said, is figurative.

With a standing ovation the glorious task of April 15 The Maestranza was received by Juan Ortega, who was impeccably dressed in emerald green and gold. A six. In clear contrast, a bull that was neither pleasant nor pretty jumped out. Rather ugly, tall, cross-eyed and with a hook for a right hook. Since he appeared he has done little good. He stayed under Ortega’s cape – not even a hint – and went inside from the left. What the principle of work will do again with a knife style. A gentle series on the right led to superb trench. But it was difficult for the bull from the second muleta blow onwards. JO resolved with dignified bullfighting, a security unthinkable in another time and a sword infected with the same. With another blow he also knocked down the cramped room, which closed the blinds on nothing. He didn’t leave even a crack for bullfighting to enter. And Juan not only could not repeat – something that would have been a miracle – the task that marked this April fair, but there was also no case or cause for something in the dark.

Pablo Aguado divinely bulls Veronica to a third with good drawing. Then came a third of removals in which Juan Ortega flashed to the rhythm of aprons. And Aguado was not entirely correct in choosing the chicuelinas response, since he was not the right bull without finishing humiliating and letting his face somewhat loose. He caught wind, however, at work. Bullfightingly accompanying at his height an attack that sometimes needed to be hooked a little more. As he fell asleep. The Sevillian was shocked when he went in to kill in a puncture from which he could have been injured. It wasn’t like that. And he grabbed a sword.

The last bull came to confirm the bad taste of the bullfight. However, his team – Outlaw, twice awarded in Pamplona – prevailed, the sound of his class is so good. And Pablo Aguado paintedthe most beautiful job of the entire afternoon with the cadence of his hands. A pure delight that rocks in the rain. Well, it was raining in Seville too to distinguish it. I killed him by right and cut off an ear for hope.