Bullfighting's boy wonder

El Juli, 17, combines technical skills and a flair for creating drama.

By DAVID ADAMS

© St. Petersburg Times, published July 9, 2000

BURGOS, Spain -- He's too young to be served alcohol or drive his own car.

On the road, between events, he plays his Game Boy. He is just 5 feet 7 inches tall and, most of the time, acts like a typically shy 17-year-old.

But in the ring -- yes, in the ring -- he is something quite different. In this age of young phenoms, Spain has one, too. Julian Lopez. Part Michael Jordan. Part Baryshnikov. He kills bulls for a living.

It has been almost half a century since Spain has witnessed such a talent in bullfighting. The presence of "El Juli," as he is known, has helped rejuvenate a national pastime that has long fought off international criticism for its alleged barbarity, but has lately come under attack by fans for being, of all things, too dull.

"He has no fear," said Patricia Martin, a 20-year-old waitress and El Juli fan, as she nervously watched her boyish-faced idol performing last week before a packed stadium in northern Spain.

She gasped in a mixture of delight and awe as El Juli fell to one knee in the sand before a charging bull. After a series of daring passes with his red bullfighter's cape, the crowd leapt to its feet in a chorus of "ole! ole!"

To succeed, a bullfighter cannot be content simply with killing the bull. He must do so with good technique, but also with artistry and courage. It is also a non-stop season, with fights almost every day. Top bullfighters spend months crisscrossing the country by car and plane, often traveling overnight to reach the next event.

Bullfighting is not considered a sport in Spain, rather a performance art. Sports pages do not carry bullfighting reports. Instead, they are found in newspaper entertainment sections on the same page, say, as a review of Daniel Baremboim conducting Beethoven's 5th Symphony at Madrid's Royal Theater.

"A bullfighter is an actor without a script who must improvise all the time," said Juan Pedro Domecq, one of Spain's most distinguished breeders of bulls. "The secret to bullfighting is that every bull is different."

In the ring a bullfighter is expected to show skill, but also to engage the public by displaying his own emotions. "A fighter who doesn't get emotional won't last," Domecq said. "He must use his creativity to transmit his emotions to the public."

Besides inflicting death, the bullfighter is expected to put his own life at risk, challenging the bull to charge and making passes in front of the animal's horns with the cape, while maintaining an elegant poise.

Ernest Hemingway, in his famous book on bullfighting, Death in the Afternoon, wrote,"Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death, and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left up to the fighter's honor."

Few bullfighters can consistently attain such emotional heights. Those who try too hard often pay the ultimate price. The list of those who have died in the ring includes some of the all-time greats.

In his short career, El Juli has already been gored four times. He wears one scar on his left cheek. Bullfighters wear their scars as badges of honor.

After his first "professional" goring last year, El Juli's father told reporters he was "proud" of his son. El Juli (pronounced El Hoolee) described himself as being a more "complete" bullfighter as a result of the experience. As the anesthetic wore off after surgery, Dr. Miguel Fernandez said, El Juli's first words were: "Bulls, bulls. I want to be the best."

Blessed since birth

El Juli's brilliant technique, breathtaking courage and flamboyant style have thrilled experts and fans. Some question his age. How could anyone so young excel in such a dangerous profession? Critics have also questioned his parents for allowing him to turn professional so early.

The son of a bullfighter whose career was cut short by injury, El Juli began learning early. He made his first passes with a cape when he was only 8, at a party to celebrate his First Communion.

At 10 he enrolled in the Batan School of Bullfighting on the outskirts of Madrid, where students are taught the technique required to become a professional.

Every evening 150 students, young men and women, gather for classes. In the main hall where teens practice in pairs, taking turns to spar with a mock bull, a sign on the wall reads: "To be a figure in bullfighting is almost a miracle."

El Juli, it seems, is one of those blessed with the gift at birth.

"From the moment he arrived you could tell El Juli was different," said his teacher, Joaquin Bernado, 65, a retired bullfighter from Barcelona. "He was just the same as now, only smaller. It's almost as though he was born that way. He was in a class of his own."

Before finishing the four-year course, El Juli was already participating in amateur events with young calves and immature bulls.

But faced with a Spanish law that bans professional bullfighting under the age of 16, he was obliged to start his career abroad. His family moved to Latin America, the only other part of the world where bullfighting flourishes and laws are less strict. Still only 14, El Juli made his first professional appearance in Mexico as a picador, riding a horse in the ring with a lance, the first of three stages in any bullfight.

While his fame spread quickly in Latin America after successes in Mexico, Colombia and Ecuador, the real test would have to wait for his return to Spain.

"Spain is like Hollywood for us," said Rogelio Trevino, 27, a Mexican bullfighter doing his training in Spain. "You have to come here to make it big."

Because Mexican bulls are traditionally smaller and have less variety of breed, fighting in Spain is regarded as more challenging, he said. "With all the different breeds in Spain you have to learn to adapt your technique more." When El Juli finally made his first legal appearance in Spain, he did not disappoint. He was an instant hit with the fans and the box office.

In his first season, at 16, El Juli fought 134 bulls, a rookie record. In August, he set an all-time record of 34 bullfights. This year he has picked up where he left off, selling out bullrings across Spain.

In only his second season as a full-fledged matador, El Juli leads the rankings with more than 45 appearances, and 84 bulls' ears, the trophy awarded a bullfighter after a good outing.

But, with such success so early, commentators are already asking how long he can maintain it.

"(El Juli) is in a one-way street," said Paco Aguado, editor of 6 Toros 6, one of Spain's leading bullfighting magazines. "He's no longer a boy. People see him doing it so well and making it look so easy. But that doesn't satisfy them. They want more and more. That's when you go downhill. It has cost the life of a lot of bullfighters."

What appears to make El Juli stand out is the rare combination of superb technical skills and a natural flair for creating drama in the bullring.

In an interview three hours before he was due to fight in Burgos last week, El Juli appeared relaxed, despite a flat tire on the road that delayed his arrival from Madrid. The previous day he had fought in Badajoz, six hours west on the Portuguese border.

"I like to prepare myself slowly," he said when asked how he gets ready for a fight. "I need some serenity. I'm very religious, so I like to pray."

His neat appearance -- dressed in a crisp, striped shirt with sleeves rolled up just above the wrists, and beige slacks -- gave him the altar-boy air of innocence typical of young bullfighters.

Is he as devoid of fear as his fans believe? "Of course fear is part of it," he admitted matter-of-factly. "Any bull can take your life."

But when the conversation switched from El Juli to the bull, his demeanor changed radically.

"Every bull is different," he said, with a sudden, intense look of self-confidence. "You have to size up each one. You watch how he charges."

Later that afternoon, as the shadows lengthened over the bullring in Burgos, a somewhat impatient crowd waited for El Juli to face the last bull of the day, a monstrous 1,060-pound beast raised at the Domecq family's 7,500-acre ranch in Seville.

Perhaps sensing the frustration in the crowd after a series of unremarkable performances by the day's three matadors, El Juli seemed especially motivated.

"Come on bull, come on," he shouted, his voice easily audible above a hushed crowd. Running right toward the animal, he leaped nimbly to plant a couple of banderillos, barbed sticks with brightly colored ribbons designed to madden the bull.

After chasing the bull across the ring, he knelt in front of the panting beast. Slowly he inched forward on both knees until he was right under its nose, his shoulders between its horns.

A swift jerk of the horns and his face would surely bear another scar. Several older women in the crowd held hands to their mouths or covered their eyes. Others grasped each other, unable to bear the suspense.

The bull stood still, seemingly transfixed to the spot, blood dripping from the wounds on its back.

El Juli rose to his feet and threw down his cape, standing fully exposed before the subdued animal. The crowd rose to its feet as a band struck up and the stadium filled with applause and wild cheering.

Moments later the fight was over after El Juli dived over the bulls horns to plunge his sword deep into its neck. As the animal staggered, El Juli stood over the bull admonishing it with a wagging finger.

Waving white handkerchiefs in the air, a sign of approval, the crowd implored the president of the three-man panel of judges to award both ears to El Juli.

But the judges, seated in a stadium box, were unmoved, awarding only one ear. The crowd's pleas turned into a hail of insults directed at the judges.

"What a disgrace," said an indignant Martin, the El Juli fan. "The president is a clown. That was easily worth two."

When a reporter suggested that maybe the judges didn't appreciate El Juli's haughtiness in the ring, Martin looked bemused. "That's El Juli. That's what we came to see."

The fact is, El Juli is widely respected for his conduct both in and outside the bullring. "He leaves his arrogance in the ring," said Bernado, his teacher at El Batan. Experts credit his deep knowledge not just of the art of bullfighting, but also the bloodlines of different breeds of bulls.

He expresses a love of the country life and hopes, one day, to have his own ranch to rear bulls.

How soon he retreats to the countryside will depend on how well his career evolves. A good bullfighter typically needs at least 10 to 15 years in the ring to assure financial security.

Already a millionaire -- he's estimated to have earned $7-million last year -- El Juli may need less time than most.

But for now his mind is fixed on his 18th birthday in October.

He plans to buy his first car, and take the wheel himself.

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