By RON MALY
I got into a conversation with a guy today about bullfighting.
I'll call the guy Ralph because that was his name.
"Have you ever been to a bullfight?" Ralph asked me.
"Yes, I have," I said. "We went to one in Madrid several years ago when we were traveling through Spain.
"What did you think of it?" Ralph asked.
"You see one bullfight, you've seen 'em all," I answered.
"I don't like violence, so I don't need to ever see another bullfight. I always know the outcome. "The bull never wins."
The mention of bullfighting brings up a related subject.
The running of the bulls is what I'm referring to.
That's done in early July every summer in Pamplona, Spain.
It's called a festival.
A bunch of bulls are turned loose so they run through the streets of Pamplona, and a large number of idiots wearing white outfits run alongside the bulls or in front of them.
That's an event [pictured] which can, be very dangerous for those men [and, for all I know, maybe women] dressed in the white clothing.
People have been known to die or get seriously injured when the bulls run.
There was a time when I might have wanted to watch the running of the bulls.
I've pulled in my horns, so to speak.
Well, as far as watching people and bulls running through a street anyway.
The closest I've been to the running of the bulls was on another vacation through Europe--that one entirely by train.
A guy had boarded our train somewhere--maybe Italy, maybe France, I've forgotten the exact country--and I did what you're supposed to do when you hear the voice of an American in Europe.
"Where are you coming from?" I asked the guy.
I can't remember what his name was, but I don't think it was Ralph.
"From the running of the bulls in Spain," the guy said.
"Did you like it?" I asked.
"Loved it," he said. "You should go."
"Maybe someday," I said.
For me, someday is a long way away for the running of the bulls.