We are currently in the middle of the Festival de San Fermin, and my estimable counterpart has publicly pondered the reason people enjoy going to Northern Spain for a week-long drinking party, which features as its main attraction the loosing of angry bulls upon inebriated tourists.
The real question, I guess, and the one Cooper and many other grapple with, is why on Earth people would consent to putting themselves in a position where a bull chases their drunken asses.
I’ve asked myself this question before and can only guess at an answer, but here is my best effort, now that I’m older, wiser, and deep in the throes of a quarter-life crisis.
Although I come from a Spanish-speaking country, and am actually from a town that has a similar running of the bulls (albeit on a smaller scale), I have yet to run from a charging bull along the cobblestone streets of a charming little village. That said, I cannot say that the idea of participating in such an event is unappealing.
To the contrary. As a Mexican, I am not unfamiliar with the feeling of being chased. Unlike the running of the bulls, this usually involves running through open desert after a refreshing swim. Being a chasee can be very fun. Being a chaser is also fun, but, considering these are two-ton bulls, you are unlikely to be doing any chasing. Unless, of course, you have a meat cleaver and bone saw, in which case steaks are for dinner so chase away!
(Never have so many tenses of the verb “chasing” been used in one paragraph.)
The recipe, utlimately? Mix St. Patrick’s day in Boston, Mardi Gras in New Orleans and Saturday nights in Las Vegas, stretched out to a week’s time. Add red bandannas, white shirts, and jeans. Make sure everyone is aged between 20 and 30 years. Shake and stir. Then drink until everyone is placidly drunk. Chase with bulls. It’s brilliant.
If you win, you get to say you outran a bull. While drunk. During a week-long religious festival in Spain. If you cannot embellish this story enough to get you laid, you really shouldn’t be getting laid at all.
If you lose, you, um, get gored. Which sucks if you die. But, if you don’t, you have a scar. Scars, be they the result of a bull’s horns or a knife fight over a taco (don’t ask), impress 65 percent of girls and really impress 30 percent of girls. The remaining 5 percent like to date accountants.
In short, I guess, you're doing it so you can impress chicks at bars. As with most things, you do it all for the nookie.
As long as this doesn't happen to you. Oy.
No comments:
Post a Comment