How would you like to be matador for the day?

There’s a lot of talk these days about retraining workers whose jobs have disappeared into the vast manufacturing maw of China, or the much-maligned call centers of Bangalore. 

Certainly, there won’t be a lot of opportunities for gainful employment on the other end, but the Wall Street Journal the other day had a piece on a bullfighting school in California where one can, well, learn about bullfighting.

Unlike so many of the schools that offer worker retraining, there’s nothing virtual about the Dennis Borba Bullfighting School. No self-paced, online learning. No appeal to busy folks who can only find time to pursue an associates degree in whatever between the hours of 2 and 4 a.m.  No big promises of riches and employment to follow, either.

Like much of the best in education, bullfighting school provides hands on learning opportunities. No arid case method here. No Socratic method with Professor Kingsfield.

For the first days of the three day semester, would-be matadors learn the postures and moves – sans toro.

But on Day Three, you hit the ring.

I must say, between the pictures in the Journal article and Borba’s web site, it doesn’t appear all that dangerous, at least when compared to my mental image of a two-ton, snorting, pawing, angry beast with a nose-ring hell bent on impaling you.  For one thing, the article refers to “cows”, not “bulls.” 

Animal husbandry isn’t my strong suit, but I do believe that a “cow” is a female of the species and, thus, a somewhat more temperate, mild, and altogether more cud-ly creature than your average testosterone-fueled raging bull. We’re talking Elsie here, not Elmer.

I went over to Borba’s site, where he talks about strutting your matadorean stuff with “vacas limpias.” My junior high Spanish held me in good enough stead to recognize that vacas = cows, but for some reason, when I saw “limpias” a word association to laundromat crept into my bee-bee brain. Sure enough, limpias = clean.

So we’re talking clean cows, and we’re going after them with hot-pink capes.  But hey, wait just a darn minute – those pink capes are being waved at steer horns that look quite a bit like the ones that hung over the bar of Rogers Brothers Saloon in Worcester, Massachusetts. Which, alas, went out with Prohibition – the saloon, not Worcester, Massachusetts.  The horns now grace my home office.

Bullfighting school is not all waving a hot pink cape in front of a guy holding steer horns, however. Sometimes you get to wave a red cape in front of a little critter that doesn’t even look like a cow. It looks more like a calf.  So maybe we’re not even talking Elsie here. Maybe we’re talking Beatrice and Beauregard.

 Not that I’d want to be trying to rile up a calf. When it comes to up close and personal with most animals that aren’t on a leash or capable of coughing up a hairball, I come down decidedly on the side of git along little dogey.

 

Dennis Borba is, himself, a full-bloodied matador:

He has suffered more than 100 throwings as well as a handful of gorings.

His family, however, were early proponents of the bloodless bullfight, in which Velcro substitutes for blades of steel. Still, just because the bull, or cow, or calf, isn’t bloodied, doesn’t mean that you won’t be. Still, it doesn’t look as if all that much really bad harm will come your way.

But there is the age-old question of what to wear for the first day of school. (Pretty easily settled when I was a Catholic school kid: say, I think I’ll wear a green jumper and a white blouse. My high school uniform differed from the grammar school rendition in minor details only: vee-neck vs. round neck; short-sleeved vs. long-sleeved blouse.)

Anyway, the older I get, the more I’m all for it, but I’m not one of those who necessarily agrees with Thoreau that it’s best to beware all enterprises that require new clothes. So if you really are wondering what to wear when you go back to bull fighting school – green jumper won’t cut it, I’m afraid - The Journal is happy to oblige:

At your next bullfight, be more than a spectator; be the spectacle.

F. Martin Ramin for The Wall Street Journal, Styling by Anne Cardenas

FOR HIM: (1) Traje de luces, price upon request, fermin.com (2) scarf, $675, loropiana.com

FOR HER: (3) Hat, price upon request, lolahats.com (4) blouse, $1,090, dereklam.com (5) sandals, $650, oscardelarenta.com

I actually think I’d forego those sandals in favor of something a bit closer to the ground. You could break your ankle wearaing those puppies! Plus I’d want something I could run in and/or something that would protect my toes if a calf, or a vaca limpia, decided it was toe-stomping time.

Anyway, if you’re reading this blog, it’s probably too late for you to line up a career in bullfighting.

Professional matadors are generally born into this closely knit world and begin their apprenticeship as teenagers.

Plus blood sports (other than professional football) are increasingly marginalized, so there are fewer opportunities even for the pros.

Still, if you’re into career change, there’s plenty of time to sign up for the next session, which is being held October 29 – 31.  According to the WSJ, it’s only $300 per session. (I’ve blown more on less.) And what’s the worse that can happen? You kit yourself up with a cool hat and a $675 scarf – which, because the vacas are limpias, won’t end up covered in bull crap – and you have the makings of a Halloween costume. Trick or treat!

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Pink Slip is not now, and never has been, obsessed with bull fights (BS fights, maybe), I do find that in the past year I have posted two other times on matters relating to this singular and interesting profession:  Self-Awareness: Toreador, Olé! and Olé! (Would you mind letting those toreador pants out just a smidge.)  Could it be that I am just enamored of the word olé?