So a Spanish bullfighter tragically lost his fight and got his sphincter and more of his abdomen ruptured by the poor creature fighting for its life in a senseless and cruel tradition. I can’t tell how much schadenfreude I feel, and yes, he’s got it coming. I bet they killed the bull anyway.
FAFO enough?
What a bunch of bull.
I love when the animals win.
Did he win? You gotta know he was cooked that very day.
Pretty Goddamn good thread title.
According to Wikipedia sometimes an exceptionally well fighting bull is spared to be a sire to further generations of fighting bulls. However, it doesn’t say if winning a fight automatically counts or if it is only from popular acclaim in the arena.
(One thing it won’t be doing is fighting again, since they like their bulls with spirit but inexperienced. Which I had always wondered about: why are the bulls so predictable (predict-a-bull?) and stupid even for an animal? Because they are unused to an arena.)
While I don’t wish anyone harm, I do find this to be divine justice. Bullfighting is a cruel excuse for “sport” that victimizes blameless creatures who want nothing more than to be left alone to quietly graze in a meadow.
This is the sort of thing that gives bullfighting a good name.
Unfortunately, I suspect that’s literally true. AIUI it’s been on the decline for a couple of decades (75% decline in attendance since 2007 apparently). But while presumably the main attraction for afficionados is to see the matador and crew skillfully and scientifically (and cruelly) triumph over the bull, a big part of the mythos has always been that the matador is at risk and the bull has a chance. The less true this is, the less of a spectacle it’s going to be. I hate to say it, but I would guess that among the kind of people who are somewhat interested in bullfighting but haven’t attended recently, the chance that they might see the bull win is a bit of an incentive to buy tickets.
After everything that has happened in our world in the last few years, I find myself rooting for the underdog more and more. Congratulations to the bull, and we don’t even know its name.
He knew the risks when he took the job. That’s gotta be one of the first things a young matador learns, right? You could end up with a horn up your ass.
A baseball player at the plate could end up taking a pitch to the head. Maybe, if matadors are capable of evolution, learning and growth, they’ll develop an equivalent to the batting helmet.
When I watch bullfighting, I see red.
It really pisses me off.
Go bull!
Calvin, after his dad reads him Ferdinand: “Wow, the story sure was different that time!”
I’ve always wanted to go see bullfighting; however, the amount of effort (which starts with looking up how much airfare is to Spain) is in the past 20 years in zero; I guess you could say it’s more on the barrel list than the bucket list. If I went I’d want to see one where the bull stands a chance, not against a matador with a 100-0 record.
I am defiantly all in on being a fan of the bulls! 
Cheaper just to stay home and kick some puppies around.
Bull fighting is well above rodeos in cruelty and stupidity, and I hate rodeos for their mindless cruel use of animals for “entertainment.” At least, however, the animals usually come out of it alive.
When I read the title I was thinking some protestor got a bull horn up their backside. 
Gives the term “bullshit” a new meaning.
We need to name this hero bull.
I like Shish kabob
Okay, someone needed to post this:
While sipping his tequila, he noticed a sizzling, scrumptious-looking platter being served at the next table.
It looked good.
It smelled good.
He asked the waiter, “What is that you just served?”
The waiter replied, “Ah senor, you have excellent taste! Those are bull’s testicles from the bull fight this morning. A delicacy!”
The visitor, though momentarily daunted, said, “What the heck, I’m on holiday down here! Bring me an order!”
The waiter replied, “I am so sorry senor. There is only one serving per day because there is only one bull fight each morning. If you come early tomorrow and place your order, we will be sure to save you this delicacy!”
The next morning, the man returned, placed his order, and then that evening was served the one and only special delicacy of the day.
After a few bites, and inspecting the contents of his platter, he called to the waiter and said, “These are delicious, but they are much, much smaller than the ones I saw you serve yesterday!”
The waiter shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Si, Senor. Sometimes the bull he wins.”
That was a ballsy post