Storm in the asylum

The stifling heat in the plaza during the parade at nine o'clock at night didn't foreshadow the storm that would follow shortly after. Who would have thought that, in the end, the fans would turn into umbrellas—that's another mystery, those who suddenly took an umbrella out of their pockets?

The first warning came from a pair of thunderous lightning bolts that lit up the sky during the fight with the first bull. "Well, it's nothing," most people thought. Wrong. Within minutes, dark clouds covered the sky, and the heaviest rain began to fall. It rained heavily during the second half of the bullfight , then stopped, then poured down heavily again from the fifth half to the end.

The confusion was total. The people, so summery, short sleeves all the way up and down, sandals on their feet, ran in terror, some to the stands and the tiers, others to the interior aisles. An Asian tourist with a blank expression had to exchange the small portable fan she was carrying for one of the raincoats they started selling in the stands.

The least of it was what was happening in the ring. Few were paying attention. But, of course, for what there was to see... A novillada with the Sagrario Moreno brand, as serious from the front as it was uneven in build, with little prodding, very noble, but weak and lacking in caste. In short, the same old story. Yet another of the modern bulls. Perfect collaborators who border on saintliness and who follow the tricks with absolute obedience, when they're standing, of course, because there wasn't one that didn't end up on the ground.

The only bull with a bit more substance was the fine fifth, very well-built up front but as short as a shoe, which repeated with enormous stability and buoyancy in the final third. A clearly triumphant bull, which Bruno Aloi squandered between jerks and hooks. His performance took place as the storm raged on, and, as is often the case in this arena, the crowd went wild.

What is it about the rain in Madrid that when it falls on Las Ventas, it produces such an effect of mass hysteria. While the Mexican was playing passes left and right, almost all of them accelerated, mechanical, and hooked, with both hands, the clamor spread through the stands. Some screamed, others stood watching the work, completely drenched, everyone applauded and cheered as if there were no tomorrow. Suddenly, someone appeared with a string of enormous cardboard boxes to protect the gang from the rain. Seeing is believing.

Everything was headed for a win, but Aloi missed a trick before leaving a slump—which he celebrated, of course, with his hand in the air—and, although he pretended to turn around, it all ended with a standing ovation. Another had taken his bow on his first—actually, it came out after four applause—after a close encounter with a dying marble.

The best passages of the event were by Peruvian Pedro Luis, who was appearing in Madrid. He received his two opponents on his knees almost in the center of the ring (let's stop calling this new trend "portagayola") and demonstrated firmness and good judgment, especially against the standing sixth. He delivered a handful of commendable natural passes, one at a time, and with great ease.

The one who didn't say anything was Fabio Jiménez; of course, let's see who was the handsome guy who could convey something with a group so devoid of emotion and bravery.

The phrase of the night was said by a young man sitting a couple of rows in front of us to his friends: "This rain is good, it adds excitement." That's how the party goes...