Autograph seekers set upon Abe and the Poosay Fartz when we first exited the bus, and it didn’t stop once we were inside the arena. It seemed El Smell wasn’t the only celebrity in attendance, and if Buckington had any say in the matter, that would include himself, as well. As we made our way slowly to our seats, Doobie explained a little bit of the sport that none of us knew much about.

“Although we may call it a sport,” he started, “many of its fervent followers refer to it as ‘fine art,’ since there are no elements of competition in the proceedings.”

“Bullshit,” Buckington said. “The competition is not getting killed to death by them big ass horns on the fuckin’ bulls head. What more is there to competition, than stayin’ alive?”

“That’s a very good point, Buckington,” Doobie said grinning. “Now, the bullfighter, or matador, seeks to execute moves, which can be interpreted, and innovated, according to the matador’s style. He seeks to elicit inspiration, and art from his work, and an emotional connection with the crowd, transmitted through the bull.”

“That sounds like bull to me,” Sue said sharply. “The only emotional connecting I’ll be doing, will be ‘with’ the bull, not ‘through’ him… and I hope he kicks El Smells ass.’

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