And Morante de la Puebla was once again the bullfighter with ill-fated luck in Santander.

We'd been surfing the waves of excitement with the hypnotic looping images of Nazaré (Portugal), where giant waves surge. Those unreachable natural waves flooded the internet with the slowness of a pendulum and the trace of time. The Morante de la Puebla tsunami also passed through there, leaving an indelible mark, and reached Santander with the unstoppable force of an anthological season.

But this Ash Wednesday , Morante returned to being the bullfighter of ill-fated fortune, the elusive fortune of the draw. He did not turn his back with admirable fortitude in the face of a destiny that rose like an impossible, insurmountable wall. And yet, on the worst of afternoons, he leaves photographs only within reach.

The mano a mano with Juan Ortega had already posted the first "sold out" sign before Roca Rey sold out both dates. They faced off against different ranches—El Pilar, Domingo Hernández, and Álvaro Núñez—who spoiled the spectacle with their poor performances and, in the case of the Pilaricos, a very poor presentation. The only good bull, a notable Domingo Hernández worthy of triumph, went to Ortega, who failed to round out the bullfight, aiming repeatedly without achieving the shot. He has another afternoon.

The maestro decided to open his group of three with the bull from El Pilar, tall, lifted from the ground, with a shaken flesh, narrow, and clean expression. Niñito didn't respond to his rope, and he measured Morante with his limited power, observing and falling asleep in the passes. He counted on that which most complicates MdlP's bullfighting : the short journey that stays below or behind. The short performance, however, was very enduring. Above all, with the bull's left hand, feinting; there was a prodigious natural. The effort wasn't felt in the stands, and he shortened with a good sword thrust what had begun so bullfightingly.

Juan Ortega debuted with a low, pared-down bull from Domingo Hernández, a charm that refused to be fought with the cape. He shone with some tafalleras performed amidst an almost Sevillian silence; the culmination of the pass—a half-pass that begins as a chicuelina and curls with baroque grace—was met with an ole de Maestranza. The notable humility of Bodeguero, who would go on to develop bravery, had not been seen from above. Ortega planned and closed the performance on his knees and genuflecting: the natural pass at the end of the performance still flutters in that position. But meanwhile, the work seemed to be very ambitious without any realization. This happened with three series on the right hand with one common denominator: the curve, and none of them ended as they should have. Three good right passes were never followed by the fourth on the same level, and the tail of the pass became muddy or stuck. There was a lack of space and a hook.

The only series on the left side was the best, very expensive, when the DH bull made a classy entrance and JO performed very well: the muleta to the snout and a stroke more in favor of the bullfight. There was grace throughout, and a puncture penalized him , it's true, but with that bull, you have to leave a longer memory, especially on an afternoon where bravery became such a rare commodity. Cuatro Caminos applauded both the bull and the Sevillian.

Morante de la Puebla was terribly upset when he saw the slim chances of his bull from Domingo Hernández in the third of banderillas, so much so that he hit the shelter with his help. Truly, from the moment he came out, he had done nothing to give us hope, showing his desires, charging more than charging properly. This was already evident in the special greeting, barely holding half the cape, in those graceful passes of the magician who pulls unexpected things out of his sleeve every evening. From one of those encounters, so loud it was frightening, Morante came out thrown against the boards in a tantrarántán. Domingo Hernández confirmed all his bad side with the muleta, clinging to the ground as if there were no tomorrow. MdlP cut through the bull's blade soundly but angry and lacking skill with the steel: a sword thrust threaded between the stabs caused a scandal.

Juan Ortega wasted a lot of time with a sad, dull-looking bull from Pilar, as insignificant on the outside as on the inside. His poor support weighed everything down even more. Persistence yielded no brilliance. A pinprick, a half-thrust, and silence.

It seemed as if, with Álvaro Núñez's bulls left for last, they would be just the dessert. Morante de la Puebla certainly wasn't. His horns were well placed, but he never placed his face. So loose. Of the things to be corrected in the new ranch, this is the most urgent. He stung like a wasp. Temperament or genius. He stumbled countless times against the muleta of a bullfighter angry at his fate , sometimes contradicting reason in his outbursts. The crowd had been jeering since he had left the fight in the hands of Iván García, but MdlP wasn't. Instead, he was very serious, grave, and rebelling against fate. He showed his stuff with a passion foreign to a 45-year-old, wanting to pull off the vehement passes in an impossiblely clean manner. He even changed the bull's terrain when it was pointing its favor and defending itself more. Nothing. He landed a sword thrust and was thanked for his effort, which he truly made.

And Álvaro Núñez's dessert for Juan Ortega was similar. Less violent, but defending himself, and lacking the bravery , depth, and class to push forward. Ortega tried to interpret a Morantista salute to a hand that almost ended badly. A chicuelina pass brought out the thorn. There was no cause or effect with the muleta, which also stumbled badly. He would remember Domingo Hernández's good bull, which dragged itself along in its entirety and without setting.