Sergio Serrano, a brave man without a sword | Culture

Although it was his second stroll this season, Serrano was discovered as a safe and brave bullfighter. Unlike many, he did not come to Madrid to spend the afternoon, but to play it. He already made his intentions clear by standing on his knees in front of the door of chiqueros to receive his serious and astute opponent, an animal of lively and penetrating gaze.

After shamelessly taunting the horse and waiting and measuring at the third of flags, Palmetto made prey of his fighter, the junior Caco Ramos. Everything seemed to be in a fright, in the tremendous somersault, but later it was confirmed that the subaltern had suffered a serious grenade on his left thigh.

Serrano did not wrinkle, who left the center of the ring to plant a battle for his opponent. And there, embedded, with hardly any evidence, he stole a handful of crutches with his right hand of colossal merit. Neither the shortest onslaught, nor the face up, nor the stalking glances. Nothing intimidated the manchego.

He even dared to put the crutch on his left hand to test the vermin for that python. It was impossible. Despite its brevity, the task was lived with unusual intensity in the lines. In the arena there was no beauty or relaxation, no, but it was true. A lot of truth. I would have cut a weight ear, but it pricked. The sword, the sword again.

Another garment was his second, from Araúz de Robles, a malicious and reserved gentleman who was never employed and who could only teach and machete under.

Something more luck had in the draw Sánchez Vara and Javier Castaño, two veterans tanned in the war. Tempered at times, although almost always very detached and vulgar, the first corresponded to one of the most interesting specimens of the celebration, the fourth. A deep and long bull from Araúz de Robles who fought with power and emotion on the horse - he almost shot down - although he ended up singing the chicken.

Although it was less, the second, also belonging to the cattle raising jienense, pushed with the kidneys in sticks and took good bottom in the last third. Castaño, who never understood himself with the lackluster fifth, muted him halfway up and barely said anything. The one that did shine was his banderillero Joao Ferreira peeking out on the balcony in an anthological pair.