It’s incredible what one can learn at a breakfast club. Combine a cross section of the community with Droids, Blackberries, iPhones, etc., and there’s quite a plethora of entertainment and information to be had.
This morning I learned that one of the club members was going to Pamplona, Spain, this week with some friends to “run with the bulls.” This is not to be confused with going to Washington, D.C., and running from the bull.
I got to checking around, and apparently several people in Moultrie have run with the bulls already. I don’t know if they went there specifically to do that or if they were just passing through and got on the wrong street. But seemingly there’s enough of them around that they could form a support group and hold meetings.
“Hello, my name is Fred, and I’m crazy!”
I have never had any desire to run with the bulls. And when I see it on television, I pull for the bulls. But I did wish my friend good luck and told him if he would get a picture of the bulls chasing him down the street, I would run it in our newspaper.
Now as I said, several people have told me they have run with the bulls. But none of them have pictures. I guess there’s just not a good place for the photographer to stand. And then again, they may have been stretching the truth just a bit. I’ve heard people say they were on the PT 109 with John Kennedy. But one day I got to figuring it all out, and I don’t think those boats were that big.
The running with the bulls thing got started many years ago. The bull people would drive the animals through the streets to the arena for bullfights. And I’m just guessing here, but chances are a lot of cantinas were open that time of day and some of the patrons, after several drinks, thought they were 10 feet tall and bulletproof. Like a magnet, they were drawn into the streets with the bulls, and someone locked the cantina doors for laughs.
I’ve never been what they call an adrenaline junky. The way I look at it, even on your best day life is short. I tend to get Biblical about this. I don’t want to tempt God. I’m still hoping he grades on the curve anyway.
As well, I don’t consider bullfighting, cock fighting or dog fighting to be sports. I think it’s cruelty to animals. I once watched a bullfight on television, and again I pulled for the bulls. This bull had just been minding his own business and all of a sudden he’s being taunted by some guy in tights and wearing a Mickey Mouse hat. The guy in the Mickey Mouse hat sticks the bull with big daggers until it dies. People in the stands cheer.
I’ve often wondered if those people who run with the bulls have to sign a waiver saying neither the city nor the bull owners will be held liable if they get trampled. Maybe Spain is not as litigious as the U.S. Over here you can get sued if a burglar cuts his hand breaking the glass out of your door.
Just imagine how clogged the civil dockets would be if we had a running with the bulls. And if you got injured in such an event in California, you might even convince a jury there you were not adequately warned that a bull doing the Tennessee Waltz up and down your spine could be hazardous to your health.
And so I will not be joining any of my friends on the streets of Pamplona. I’ve yet to drink enough to think that I’m 10 feet tall and bullet proof. In fact, my worst experience in that venue led me to believe that I was actually shorter than I am because everything else looked so much taller from my perspective at that moment.
So I wish them well and the offer of the photo stands.
Walden is editor/publisher of The Moultrie Observer and can be reached at 985-4545 or email@example.com.