Marco, a regular contributor to the Just Call Me Juice sports blog, was in Spain this weekend and filed a report from the final day of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.5:00 AM: While on a trip to Barcelona to visit my sister, I noticed that the Running of the Bulls was going on in (sorta) nearby Pamplona. Following a six-hour bus ride form Barcelona, we arrived in Pamplona around 5 AM.
The first reaction after walking off the bus was that this town had clearly been partying for days. The entire town smelled like a port-o-potty, and trash covered the ground as far as the eye could see. (The only event I could compare it to is the Preakness, except that the smell there was confined to the racetrack.)
Random people could be seen stumbling around the streets in the traditional red and white bull running outfits. You could not walk 10 feet without running into someone who decided to spend the night on the sidewalk.
6:00 AM: By this point people are starting to get off the sidewalk. There aren't many experiences in life quite like seeing a man draped in a Scottish flag ripping five straight shots, then looking at your watch and realizing that it's only 6:07 AM.
After getting lost a few times, we finally made our way to the course, and even at 6 a.m. we were very, very late to get a good spot. The spots on the top of the fence were already taken and the row behind it was filled.
6:30 AM: The runners started to make their way to the course. Most of the people who appeared to take the event seriously -- decked out in the traditional red and white attire and just looking generally prepped -- were Spaniards. Most of the folks who were chugging beers as they approached the entrance were from out of town.
7:00 AM: Out of nowhere, a marching band came strolling down the street. The crowd instantly erupted into the song and dance. I later found out that this was a traditional song sung to St. Fermin to protect all of the runners, but at the time, I just knew that the song brought the the crowd into a frenzy. I already decided that I wasn't running, but damn, that song seriously had me thinking about it.
7:30 AM: While it wasn't exactly comfortable standing atop of a crowded fence, at least we had a view of the start and the first corner. You could feel the anticipation in the crowd. All of the runners on the course began to pace back and forth, spectators edged closer and closer to the fence and the ambulance pulled into position, greeted with applause by the crowd. That half hour before the race felt like an eternity.8:00 AM: Bam! A rocket was set off, signaling the release of the bulls. The runners took off and the first three bulls made their way through the crowd. Because of my terrible position, I probably saw the bulls for a whole 20 seconds. I saw a bull hit someone around the first turn, and that was it.
Note: Once the bulls have made their way into the bull-fighting arena, the crowd is allowed to walk the course. (And step around whatever pool of blood it might come across.)8:25 AM: Once through the course, everyone made their way to the bars for some post race drinks. After about an hour of drinks people again began passing out for siesta time. The park in the center of the city was the most common destination, but you could find people passed out on the street, on benches and in the bars.
We hopped on the bus and headed back to Barcelona. I can't really say that I've ever been to any sporting event quite like this.
Previously on FanHouse:
Seven Gored In Pamplona, Viva Pamplona!
