Oscar Tusquets questioned whether the problem with the Spanish tradition of bullfighting lay in killing the animal or in how it was done. He doubted whether it was possible to enjoy eating a tender entrecote and, at the same time, have the moral authority to ask for the banning of this ceremony. I, who eat entrecots, feel disgusted that bullfighting is a tradition in the country where I live. It gives me satisfaction that my nation has banned it. What would our life be like without contradictions?
I must admit, however, that there is one thing I do like about bullfighting: what the beloved Nassim Nicholas Taleb calls Skin in the game: having an exposure to the real world, and paying a price for its —good or bad— consequences. In past centuries, if a King decided to start a war, he or his son would be the first to go. Nowadays, cowardly politicians start wars that only involve others.
Bullfighting is one of the only artistic practices where the creator risks his life. If the artist is incompetent or a fraud, the bull will not forgive him; everyone will see it. Tusquets says that if the same thing happened in art, the bull would impale Hirst, Koons or Murakami in the first seconds. However, I wonder: what about in sports and training? At what point would the bull impale coaches who have only taken advantage of the biological properties of their teams or athletes? Former professional players who after a period of training on the sofa believe themselves to be the most capable? Coach-tourists who travel accumulating data, dates, lists, numbers, dimensions... and forget the most important thing?
In his book, Todo es comprarable —Everything is comparable in English—, there is a short chapter in which Oscar uses one of the traditional Spanish bullfighting days to describe the work, often abused, of the architect. Without ceasing to claim the abolition of this traditional Spanish barbarity, I wanted to adapt the chapter to the sometimes harsh reality experienced by coaches.