We went to the course camarguaise today with our friend Sara. It was the annual championship and we were pretty excited.
Sara
had never been to a course so we met
for coffee first to explain the rules. This is the French form of bullfighting
where strings are wrapped around a bull’s horns and the rasateurs have to try to get them off. It is all very exciting, though Val seems
uncommonly interested in the rasateurs,
whom she calls the young men in their tight white pants.
As
we explained all this, Sara perked up at the description of the tight white
pants and admitted that she liked to watch American football for much the same
reason. This led to a discussion between
Sara and Val of French men’s butts versus American, with me of course rooting
for the home team.
But
really, people, it’s all about the bulls!
The
last time we had gone to the championship was a few years ago with my sister and we had rooted
for the bull Sandy (my brother’s name).
Sandy had gone on to win the gold medal so we must have had good karma.
This time I decided I needed more than karma and should do some pregame
research.
When
we bought our tickets a few days ago, I asked the ticket lady which bull would
win. Who would know better than someone wearing a shirt, pants and hat, all
with paintings of bulls all over them? She
lowered her voice, looked around conspiratorially and said it would be Gabriel,
"who has already injured two rasateurs
this year". Whoa! Injuries are rare
so I figured this must be one tough bull.
Gabriel, he’s my guy!
As
the match started, with the first of the eight bulls entering the arena, Sara
noticed that the old guy in front of us was one of the judges scoring the
match. The first bull got three stars, the next two zero ("these bulls are
only good for sausage") and then the higher scores stated coming. Gabriel
was last and would need at least a seven to win.
Finally,
Gabriel. He charged into the arena and started pawing the ground, showering the spectators with sand. He was
definitely bigger and meaner looking than the other bulls. The rasateurs looked pretty nervous and seemed
to suddenly get very polite ("Please, you go first", “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Please, after you”.) In fact, they spent much of their time running
quickly away from the scary Monsieur Gabriel.
Our
judge gave Gabriel a full ten stars and he was named top bull by a unanimous vote
of the jury, a rare honor.
My
advice? Always listen to the lady in the
bull outfit.
KVS
Explaining
the rules
Pre-game show
Go Gabriel!
Enjoying the tight white pants
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