answer:This is from: When Bulls Cry: The Case Against Bullfighting Another sideshow here is that sometimes the horses get gored. That is why they are padded. The practice began in the 1920s thanks to the decisive influence of the Queen of Spain—herself an Englishwoman—who not only hated the bullfight but especially could not stomach seeing horses disemboweled “with their intestines hanging out of their abdomen.” Because the bull’s horns pose such a threat to the horse, even with padding, fans of the bullfight are forced to admit that the horses are drugged with morphine or heroin before a fight to dull their reflexes, to desensitize them. It is believed that they have even had their vocal cords cut to keep them quiet if gored. This has been denied, but the American John Fulton, who was himself a matador, admits to never having heard a gored horse cry out. A final thought on the goring of horses: in Death in the Afternoon, Hemingway found the sight of a horse tripping over its own entrails as “comic.” It is too bad that the old reprobate could not have had an out-of-the-body experience and seen himself on that fateful day in 1961 after he had put a shotgun to his face and pulled the trigger. He might have laughed his head off, or at least what he had left of it. With the departure of the picadors, the bull, now wounded and exhausted, must, as one bullfight enthusiast puts it, “receive another lesson.” That means he now faces the three banderilleros. The banderilleros are so named for the banderillas they carry. Each banderilla is a wooden stick 27 inches long and tipped with a barbed iron point. They are like little harpoons. Or as one writer describes them, they are “barbed prongs wrapped in streamers.” Each banderillero, armed only with two of these mini-harpoons, will run at the bull and then, “leaping acrobatically across the bull’s path,” will plunge the two banderillas into the hump between the bull’s shoulders. This is definitely “a bad moment for the bull … with the sting that the banderillas deliver.” Multiply the pain each barb inflicts times six and the product is excruciating. The cries of the bull at this point bear witness to his plight. With the bull predictably enraged, he will make quick bursts toward the banderilleros, who meanwhile taunt the bull and then dash behind the burladeros. Apologists for the role played by the banderilleros argue that for the matador to be able to kill the bull with one thrust of the sword, the bull must keep “its head straight when it charges.” Thus, the banderilleros correct “the bull’s tendency to hook right or left,” which could spell trouble for the matador when the bull charges the cape. Furthermore, aficionados claim that the pricking of the barbs serves to actually enliven the bull. Thus, the combination of the pike thrusts and the stinging barbs has been called an “ingeniously conceived treatment” that prepares the bull for the final showdown with the matador. When that time finally arrives, however, the matador has a decided edge. The bull is weak and tired, and his breathing is labored. Meanwhile, the matador switches from his large cape to a red muleta—“a heart-shaped piece of cloth folded over a stick.” It is the motion of the muleta and not its red color that incites the bull to charge, for bulls are color blind. While the crowd might cheer a series of well-executed passes, bear in mind that all of this fancy capework comes “when the animal is already riddled with wounds, the picks in his back swaying as he moves, and, morbidly decorated as they are with ribbons, increasingly discolored by blood.” Finally, to please the crowd and not be whistled out of the arena, the matador must do his maneuver correctly in trying to kill the bull. Theoretically, the matador, having exchanged his wooden stick for a sword, cites the bull “across the top” of his weapon. Theoretically, the slightest movement of the cape coupled with a yelp from the matador will incite the bull to charge the cape; the torero then drives the sword into the notch between the shoulder blades, piercing the aorta. Killing the bull on the first attempt is 50 percent luck. If the matador drives the sword “too low down on the neck,” he can puncture a lung and the bull will “vomit blood profusely.” Also, if the sword severs the spinal cord, the bull will be paralyzed. One can only imagine the pain that the bull is in under such circumstances as he waits to die. When the matador fails to kill the bull cleanly, he will use a small sword to finish the job. This type of ending is usually met with catcalls, whistles, and even the flinging of seat cushions from the disappointed fans in the stands. Conversely, a good performance—by aficionado standards—will get a matador a trophy, i.e., the president of the corrida will give the matador permission to cut off the bull’s ear, or both ears, or even the tail. For someone like Ernest Hemingway, such trophies are well earned, for to him the matador “is a champion, a paragon.” As for George Bernard Shaw, the matador’s performance left him cold. He wrote: “Who would go to see this posturing bully, the matador, if he were dressed in workman’s clothes and cap? It is slaughter-house work and in any decent country the public is denied the sadistic satisfaction of abattoirs.” As for the bull a team of mules or horses will drag his lifeless carcass out of the arena. Beneath the stands, he will be skinned and carved up. It was once believed that the meat was at least given to the poor, which might have been some consolation for the foes of this tragedy, but, alas, that is not true. It is sold to butchers or to the Civil Guardia. Upon witnessing a bullfight, one scholar writes that “the entire spectacle appeared as a living anachronism—the image of the Roman Coliseum came to mind.” Perhaps the games of the ancient Romans had more integrity, however, for the human combatants might have been exposed to more risk. The following incident involving the matador, Manuel Benítez, commonly known as “El Cordobés,” is offered as proof. During a corrida on 19 May 1968, El Cordobés was getting ready to kill the bull when Miguel Mateo (whose stage name was “Miguelín”) jumped into the ring and ran over to the bull in an effort to unveil the true nature of the “ferocious” bulls that El Cordobés was victimizing. Tickling the bull’s nose and patting him on the head, Miguelín carried on with his antics while the whole time the bull just stood there, at peace with his surroundings. Attempting “to show how trivial El Cordobés’s work was,” Miguelín succeeded in humiliating the popular matador. Aficionados, of course, would scoff at this example. To one of them, John McCormick, El Cordobés was “the product of social pathology, not of talent or performance” (in this, according to McCormick, El Cordobés was just like the Beatles!). Rather, they would point to the career of Juan Belmonte. Belmonte was a famous matador from Seville who killed over 2,000 bulls in 12 years. He was almost killed twice in the ring. The most serious episode was when a bull’s horns ripped open his face from his ear to his chin. In three months, he returned to the ring. In a 1925 interview in The New York Times, Belmonte offered the following self-serving remarks as to why he resumed his career: “It takes nothing but courage to fight a bull. One need not be agile, for a good matador does not jump about. He selects his position and stands erect, dexterously enticing the bull with his capote, so that death brushes by with several millimeters to spare.”