Braving the bulls, again
http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/mexico/tijuana/20050812-9...
'El Estudiante' returns to ring tomorrow after 1996 goring
By Janine Z??iga
August 12, 2005
It wasn't long after Ricardo Vizzuett lay in a dusty bullring in central Mexico, his intestines spilling out of a gash in his stomach, that he decided
to give up bullfighting.
On that hot September day in 1996 an enraged, 1,000-pound bull tossed Vizzuett, then pierced him with its sharp horns.
"He threw me and when I hit the ground, he hit me a few times. I tried to get up but then everything was out here," said Vizzuett, pointing to his
stomach. "Even the doctor said, 'Oh my God, this is really bad.' I almost passed away."
It was enough to make most walk away for good, and for some years Vizzuett didn't go anywhere near bullfighting.
But bullfighters never really quit.
Last year ? for the first time since 1997 ? the 43-year-old matador stepped into the bullring, drawn back to the dangerous yet exhilarating profession
he has known for 30 years. The fight gave him the push he needed to rebuild his skills and prepare for a possible comeback.
Tomorrow, Vizzuett will be the featured performer at a bullfighting festival in Tijuana. Much is riding on the event.
If he does as well as he did at a similar festival in September, Vizzuett may be offered a sanctioned fight and a second chance at a professional
career.
Years ago in Spain, where Vizzuett was born, he had been gored. But it was nothing compared to what he suffered nine years ago at Chihuahua's
bullring, La Esperanza, Spanish for "hope." After a full recovery and a few more fights, Vizzuett quit.
"I said no more, this is it for me," recalled Vizzuett. "I dedicated my life to this, but no more. I thought of my daughter, Victoria, and my
business. That was it. I was done."
Vizzuett lives in east Chula Vista and goes by the professional name Ricardo "El Estudiante" Mac?as ? "El Estudiante" because of the years he attended
medical school while a matador.
He practiced medicine at a Tijuana clinic but stopped when he moved to the United States in 1994. Setting up practice here would have required three
more years of study, which he decided against.
Stacks of Spanish and Mexican newspapers at his home detail a long career. During his heyday, Vizzuett fought large, menacing bulls weekly, sometimes
twice a week.
Bullfighters earn a minimum of $25,000 and as much as $80,000 per fight, Vizzuett said. He guesses he has earned millions of dollars over the years,
but only the best make good money in the billion-dollar bullfighting industry. Some make millions a year. Most don't.
The town home he shares with his daughter and a maid is full of taurine mementos, including bull figurines made of brass and crystal. He has kept
dozens of carteles, posters announcing corridas, or bullfights, in which he was featured.
Mounted ears and tails from bulls he fought adorn the walls. They are trophies the supervising official of a bullfight awards a torero for an
outstanding performance.
Also hanging on the walls are paintings of Vizzuett, poems written to him and a letter from the Spanish bullfighting union confirming his status to
Mexican bullfighting officials.
His journey
Vizzuett's parents moved to Mexico from Bilbao, Spain, when he was a toddler. It was his father, a well-regarded Spanish opera singer, who introduced
Vizzuett to his bullfighting friends in Mexico.
When Vizzuett was 11, he left home because his father objected to his dream of becoming a bullfighter. He has spoken to his father, but has not seen
him in 10 years.
Vizzuett moved to Spain in 1978, staying with relatives while perfecting his craft. At 19, Vizzuett graduated from novillero, or novice, to matador de
toros at a special ceremony called an alternativa. By age 20, he had been in 54 fights and earned a respectable 30 ears and 11 tails.
He estimates he has killed more than 1,000 bulls during his career in fights in Spain, Mexico, Portugal and South America.
Unlike many of the most successful bullfighters, Vizzuett is small in stature, 5 feet, 4 inches. His muscular build, purposeful stride and elegant
posture, however, announce years of training and experience.
Coleman Cooney, who runs the California Academy of Tauromaquia, a bullfighting school in Chula Vista, said he immediately recognized the experience.
"I was training at a park and he walked up to me," Cooney said. "As soon as I saw him, I knew he was a torero. He's tiny but his build, the way he
holds himself, his big wrists . . . I could tell."
Vizzuett spends much of his time in sweat pants or jeans and T-shirts, his curly brown hair smoothed back. He is a gregarious regular at a Chula Vista
24 Hour Fitness. He also jogs near his home or in the hills of a ranch he owns in Tecate, Mexico.
His other business
When not preparing for a fight, Vizzuett runs a binational business he started in 1996 maintaining restaurant drains by using bacterial cultures to
break down grease. He says his work is profitable, but dull. It's about as far from the adrenaline rush of the bullring as you can get.
When Vizzuett first stepped back in the ring last September, he fought through his fear and rediscovered the excitement and raw energy that had been
such a large part of his life.
"Everybody talked about the excellent job I did when I killed that bull," Vizzuett said. "I did my best. My passes were very smooth. Everything went
really well."
Cooney and others said Vizzuett handled the bull beautifully. Cooney said he admired Vizzuett's technique, posture and confidence. Cooney recently
watched Vizzuett at Ganader?a Santa Alicia, a ranch between Tijuana and Tecate, where young cows are tested and bred for the bullring, and where
Cooney teaches bullfighting classes.
"He did this bent-knee thing while holding the muleta (red cape)," Cooney said. "One knee was bent and one was straight and he made a really low
pass. It was super manly, powerful. When he did that, people were like, 'Wow, that was really cool.' Several of them are practicing that now in
school."
Vizzuett's practice sessions include cape maneuvers at an Otay Ranch park. He also gets in the ring at Santa Alicia and kills bulls. To prepare for
tomorrow's fight in Tijuana, he killed four bulls that were increasingly large and ornery.
Once a bull enters the ring, Vizzuett executes various cape moves that he has perfected over the years. In the final tercio, or third, he will use the
traditional red cape that hides the sword he will use to kill the bull.
Bulls are colorblind, and merely react to a moving cape, which may appear to them an extension of the bullfighter.
It took more than a few tries to kill his first two practice bulls in June. But he said he completed two quick and proficient kills last Saturday
Vizzuett knows he must do at least as well tomorrow. It's the difference between bullfighting as a profession and bullfighting as a pastime.
"Bullfighting is my life," Vizzuett said. "I was born to be a bullfighter."
His return fight
Until he returns to sanctioned fights, Vizzuett will pay for his team and equipment. He paid for the practice bulls and the large bull he will fight
tomorrow. He had a new traje corto, or short suit, made for himself, as well as one for his 10-year-old daughter Victoria, who will walk out before
the fight with other members of Vizzuett's team in a show of support.
The corrida is a tradition known all over the world. It is both adored and hated, but has remained popular for hundreds of years.
Aficionados say the bull is bred to fight and that its life up to the bullfight is better than a life leading to the slaughterhouse. They say it is a
spectacle to experience, a contest of bravery and skill, a life-and-death battle between man and beast.
But opponents say bullfighting is unnecessarily bloody, cruel and barbaric. Campaigns around the world try to stop it. Some have reached Vizzuett,
whose truck's windows were broken while parked outside a Tijuana bullring.
To Vizzuett, protest is as much a part of bullfighting as death. Serenity comes through his religious beliefs. Vizzuett attends church every Sunday
and at home, and prays daily at an altar where candles constantly burn.
Vizzuett knows he will have to quit fighting bulls someday, but said that as long as he is confident and feels a passion for it, he will continue.
At the hospital after the near-fatal 1996 bullfight, Vizzuett underwent five hours of surgery and lay in intensive care for three days, close to
death. A priest administered last rites.
He vowed to fight again and within three months, Vizzuett fought at La Esperanza, earning an ear. He fought two more times before calling it quits.
Tomorrow's fight, a festival for amateur bullfighters where matadors such as Vizzuett also fight, will be at the Agua Caliente racetrack. Seven
bullfighters are on the bill, with Vizzuett the headline act. VIPs, politicians, bullfighting managers and agents from Mexico plan to attend.
Vizzuett is nervous. Whenever he discusses the upcoming festival, he hops to his feet and paces anxiously. He is feeling the pressure to perform.
"I feel confident," Vizzuett said. "I've been doing this for more than 25 years. It's my passion, my art, my calling. I will do my best, but it all
depends on the bull."
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