It was just about the most awful thing ever
I think I was about 12 or 13 years old and my family took a trip to Cancun, Mexico. I remember looking for authentic Mexican food and how unexpectedly difficult it was to find. Then, we found a place and yeah…not great. Apparently this place thought that they could just be gross and dirty and then just call themselves “authentic.”
No…which is Spanish for, “No.”
I don’t remember much of the beach, really, but do remember going into the market and my mom being amazing with the whole deal-making thing. Total savage. She loved haggling over prices with merchants and I think we all earned a whole new respect for Mom on that trip.
We all got Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts, because that’s what you did back then. And it was a great time.
Then my Dad had an idea
I think he wanted to ratchet up the international/cultural experience and do something in Mexico that we couldn’t do back home. After what I assume was a long and hard session of thinking, he came up with the perfect plan.
Let’s go to a frickin’ bullfight.
My mom and sister were out the door before he even finished the sentence saying we should go. They were out. I was undecided, which at that point meant I was going.
Alright. Screw it. Let’s go to a goddamn Mexican bullfight. I’m a sport.
This was not like that Bugs Bunny episode at all
How can I put this? Hmm…let’s try this: The bullfight was the f***ing worst.
Yeah…that sums it up nicely
The pomp. The circumstance. The showboating. And the poor drugged up animal that, by the end, had several spears in it and was just pouring blood out of his wounds. This wasn’t what my dad had in mind and we left early. I specifically remember leaving early because my dad never left early. He always wanted to, but never did. This time…we were out.
We met up with my mom and sister in the market. I got a little puppet and named him Paco.
They asked us how the bullfight was and my dad didn’t want to talk about it. I told them later that it was more sad than anything else and they were glad that they didn’t waste a minute of their time in Mexico to attend.
Seriously, you guys. The worst.
It still bothers me and I think I know why
I don’t consider it a waste that we went to the bullfight because even now, years later, I remember how I felt and I can’t help to think that it’s for a reason.
I realize now that what bothered me then, and still bothers me now, is how spectacularly — and unapologetically — unfair the whole thing seemed to be. Here’s a grown man dancing around calling himself “brave” when really all he’s doing is being cruel to an animal that is justifiably pissed at him.
Ok, I get it. Maybe I’m missing the point, but showboating about torturing a wounded animal is pretty dumb, though, right? Mexico or otherwise.
Here’s the thing about fights…
…they don’t always reveal a winner, but they do reveal character.
Looking back, I was definitely rooting for the bull.
Today, as a founder of a business venture, I AM THAT BULL. Every day is a fight to get your story out there and raise visibility of your brand and connect with potential customers. Every_Single_Day.
There’s always odds stacked against you and yes…honestly, sometimes you feel like a pissed off wounded animal.
The best you can do, though, is keep fighting and play fair. Don’t throw yourself a parade when you win, don’t sulk when you lose, and don’t ever yell “ole!” to humiliate your opponent. Fight with integrity, honesty, and class.
If you can do that, when the fight is over, unlike the bull, you get the privilege to do it all again the next day.
#bewhatyoumake
