May 15, 2022 9:21 pm

Morante, creator of the impossible

From Pino Alto to Navalagamella, in the crowded bars and even in the cemetery – at his feet the cars that arrived from all corners of Spain to Valdemorillo were piled up – there was no other name on the lips: Morante, patron saint of the impossible. The one from La Puebla began its imperial route. And before starting the paseoíllo, the first miracle had already worked: a ‘No tickets’ sign that had not been seen for two decades. Yesterday, La Candelaria was that Hemingway party where the poor and the rich were happy. Morante fought.

The square became a choir of madmen when the Sevillian received the first knee on the ground. That surprising cloak with the pistachio green reverse sewed

the snout of ‘Cabezón’ in speedwells that were born in 2021 and died in 2022. As it left, it returned: the same art, the depth of greatness. Zacarías Moreno’s handsome donkey humiliated while the genius rocked the fabrics. Suddenly, he looked at himself in Chicuelo’s mirror to dance por sevillanas up to his breastplate. The bull lost his hands during the fight and some whistles arose, silent when he grabbed the crutch. A minute was enough to submerge the lines in a collective ecstasy. Morante crossed the valley of dreams in aid that contained all the bullfighting. In that two-handed geometry, beyond aesthetics, a passion throbbed. The one of that bullfighting that does not go out of style. His crutch caught the onslaught and the ten thousand retinas. Superior a series, with four natural crimped like pearls. There were more paintings, like that pinwheel ‘made in’ Guadalquivir in the measure of the work, finished off in the style of the beginning of time: by helped.

It brought the second, ‘Brasileño’, that embedded transmission that gave importance to what was happening there. It was not easy, but Diego Urdiales scrutinized it in his own way, a way that captivated without being an outright task. Nor did he need to, because the fans crackled from that bullfighter’s way of walking the bull. The residue of experience and that touch of fingertips made to caress attacks found the pulse of the specimen raised in the Dehesa del Quejigal, which repeated with its former. A round of chilling and packing got people on their feet. They were not endless crutches but rather limited footage. With a lot of flavor. When ‘Brasileño’ sang the meek hen, Arnedo’s man grew up with a deep two-handed bullfight. A precious closure that led to the only ear.


The same ones who protested at the third start later raised the emotion that he injected into the task, overflowing in the sublime dubs of Luque. Of fable the opening after the honors to the gang. The stupendous and humiliating ‘Peluquero’ wanted it from below, and the one from Gerena interspersed more relaxed passages with other government ones. Superb at times Daniel, who fastened with some luquecine jellies before the punctures cooled the spirits.

While the ring was being reconditioned, people rubbed their hands waiting for Morante’s second cartridge. The illusions would soon darken: ‘Ginabrito’ inspired little flattering, who seemed to be hurt to top it off. Head down the staff was walking when the Sevillian, between the lines of 6 and 7, offered him the fabrics with absolute purity for both pythons, consenting everything to the fifth Zacarías. They played to glory in a morantista set to more. How was a right-handed batch! Frontilated, with the chest offered and a value of gold. There was not and would not be more truth. The toe of the shoes, sunken in his encounter with ‘Ginabrito’, were the hands of the clock that marked time. The time of the total artist, who was entertained in a chest pass to the opposite shoulder pad unfathomable. “Buy cologne in the supermarket, if you want Chanel, go see Morante,” shouted a viewer of 7. Chanel without festival controversies, Chanel of the aroma that endures on the road. The steel did not accompany and the prize was returned to the ring. Some protested it, but it had the flavor of the old, of those turns of the past with bullfighting and weight.

Then came a lackluster fifth of an informal attack, to which Urdiales prescribed a good blow after not finishing trusting in the task. And Luque’s ambition put the icing on the cake: everything came before a classless bull that didn’t give anything away. The gift was the two miracles of the bullfighter in the GREEN cape: an unusual crowd and the creation of an impossible task.

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