I remember being swept up in the energy of the crowd. Each time the bull ran under the bullfighter's cape,
we all yelled, "OlŽ!" It was very exciting to see the bright colors, to hear the roar of the crowd, to see the matadors and his assistants dance with the bull,
and to be part of something so grand; part of something so much bigger than any one person!

Then the bull was dead.This was not a game. The animal had been taunted until it fought back, then, killed 'in self-defense' for our amusement.

Suddenly something just wasn't right about the whole thing. I wondered if I was the only one who thought something was wrong...