Where Were the Presidents? Ears and Puertas Grandes in Pamplona

The Spanish bullfight is one of my favourite cultural practices, and perhaps no other feria del toro is as widely known across the world as the one in Pamplona during the Fiesta de San Fermín. Ernest Hemingway put this fiesta on the map when he published his book The Sun Also Rise in the 1920s, and it has only grown in popularity over the following 100 years. Every year, aficionados like me, local residents, and international partygoers flood the Plaza de Toros de Pamplona for the annual bull fair. It is an experience like no other in Spain, from the packed stands to the skill to the peñas playing popular music in the stands.

The Aguacilillos, the president's representatives and enforcers, enter the ruedo to begin the corrida

Pamplona is a first-class plaza de toros, the highest tier with the most prestige in all of Spain. There are only nine of these in Spain: Madrid, Sevilla, Pamplona, Zaragoza, Malaga, Valencia, Cordoba, Bilbao, and San Sebastian. To be invited to perform in one of these plazas, especially during a major fair like the Feria de Abril in Sevilla, Feria de Otoño in Madrid, or the Feria de Fallas in Valencia, is a milestone in every matador's career. Indeed, this year I watched as Lea Vicens, an internationally-known rejoneadora, cattle rancher, and horse breeder, made her debut in Pamplona after 25 years in the ring.

Part of performing in a first-class plaza is the difficulty in receiving trophies. What may pass for an amazing performance in a third-class ring like Cuellar or La Linea de la Concepcion may only pass as an adequate performance in the top nine plazas. Cutting even a single ear (the first level of trophy awarded) from a bull in a plaza like Pamplona is a great accomplishment that is to be admired. I have watched as night after night followed without a single trophy being awarded, even when they would have been in a second- or third-class arena. The crowd and the presidents in first-class rings are knowledgeable, stringent, and demanding. That's what makes them so prestigious places to perform.

But that was not the case in Pamplona this year. The 2025 Feria del Toro was ripe with poor decisions and low standards from the presidents and the spectators. I was surprised to see pañuelos flying to award trophies for performances that didn't deserve them in a first-class ring. I was also astounded to see a trophy refused to a novillero despite the clearly-deserving performance and a majority demand from the crowd. I wasn't the only one; my entire section of season pass holders couldn't understand, either.

First, there was the performance by the novillero Aaron Palacio. I watched him last year in person and on television early in this year's season. He has grown a lot as a torero since the 2024 season, and it showed in his performance with the novillo. He dominated the ring, bending the novillo to his will rather than ceding control. His passes were long, straight, and connected, with a few border-lining on daring. His estocada, the final killing blow, landed true and put a quick end to the performance, something every aficionado loves to see. Rightfully so, the crowd, filled with aficionados and locals and not partygoers, overwhelmingly demanded he be awarded an ear off the novillo. As the mule teams approached the novillo to drag it out of the ring, the demand grew louder and louder, but it was not to be. The mule teams dragged the bull away while the crowd protested the president.

I couldn't believe what I had seen. There was a clear majority demand for a clearly-deserving performance. To refuse this trophy was to ignore the bullfighting regulations, which are laws in Spain. In Madrid, there would have been calls for the president's arrest in the papers the following morning. In Pamplona, the papers were only slightly more forgiving. There weren't calls for arrest, but they described the president as "foolish," "stupid," "obtuse," and "stubborn." Refusing this ear on no grounds whatsoever cost Aaron Palacio his trip through the Puerta Grande. Worse, this president was the new head of the local bullfighting association. He should have known better, and everyone told him so.

That was the last time I saw a deserving ear refused. From that night on, the trophies awarded often were undeserving or in violation of the bullfighting regulations. While Morante de la Puebla and Tomas Rufo deserved their trips through the Puerta Grande, I wouldn't have given them to anyone else the entire fair. I didn't, nor did my companions in the front files of Andanada Tres.

Fernando Adrian, a great torero in his own right, was one where I couldn't believe he was given two ears. He struggled immensely with the estocada and he descaballo on his first bull, much to the disgust and protest from the crowd. Rightfully so, as aficionados have zero tolerance for inducing undue pain and suffering onto the bulls. The quick death is the reward for the performance; much more palatable than the exsanguination it could have experienced at the chop house. Adrian's second performance was better, but he fought with arrogance. Adrian performed like he wanted two ears off this bull, pushing his own boundaries and successfully performing outside of them. He was awarded a cogida, flight through the air, and a hard landing for his trouble. It was Adrian's own fault, and right before it happened, I leaned over to tell my compatriot that he was about to get thrown. Even so, he returned to the ring for an excellent finish and sailing estocada.

Unfortunately, the estocada struck the bull's esophagus or the lungs, and blood poured out of its mouth and nose. Now, that is good for the bull. It almost guarantees a death within seconds, and, while unpleasant to watch, I always remind myself that the bull will be dead quickly, receiving its reward. However, the aesthetic obscenity and incorrect placement of the sword disqualifies the matador from receiving an award regardless of the quality of the performance. They all know it, and rarely do they protest it. They simply acknowledge the bull, salute the president, and walk away to silence. This disqualification comes from the bullfighting regulations' prohibition on animal cruelty. While that provision is widely and varyingly interpreted, it is accepted that multiple estocadas or descaballos, bleeding from the mouth or nose, or puncturing the bull's sides falls into this category. It's nothing personal. It's just the rules.

But the crowd demanded an ear, and it was promptly awarded, a sign that a second ear may be coming. Just before the mule teams hooked up the bull, the president awarded the second ear. My companions and I were not happy. Maybe we could understand the first one, but the second? That was entirely up to the president's discretion, and his discretion should have been to refuse. It wasn't just the blood from the mouth and nostrils that should have cost Adrian his second ear (but, really, his first, too). It was his ego. He performed not with heart or passion, but with a bruised ego from his poor first performance. The cogida wasn't anyone's fault but his own, and his performance was all about him. In a first-class ring, you have to be better to go through the Puerta Grande. Those around me in Andanada Tres agreed. Fifteen thousand other spectators didn't, and fight almost broke out in my section between the two sides.

The same happened on the last day, during the Corrida de Miuras, with Colombo. Colombo is a young Venezuelan matador who has made it big on the international stage, an incredible and rare feat for an American torero. His first bull gave him trouble, as did most of the Miuras that day, but his second allowed for a good performance. Not great, not excellent, but good. Colombo manipulated the crowd (expertly I may add), by making long passes in short series of four or five at a time while taking plenty of time in between. This ensured the bull didn't tire out too fast as it had shown signs of slowing from the second the tercio de matar, the final act of the corrida with the red cape, began. It was a good performance that might have warranted an ear in a third-class ring, but also may not. But the estocada landed and killed the bull in short order, and many crowds, especially those in Pamplona, are willing to award trophies for a good estocada even when the performance with the muleta was wanting.

Like Adrian, though, Colombo nicked something he shouldn't have, and the bull began bleeding from the mouth and nostrils. It wasn't much, but it was noticeable. If I was on the fence about awarding an ear (which I wasn't), this would have been the deal breaker for me. It is nothing personal. Those are just the rules. My section mates agreed, and we looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said, "Well, sometimes that's just their bad luck."

The crowd again disagreed, and the president awarded two ears for the performance. Some aficionados were in an uproar, and I was incensed. In Madrid and Sevilla, such an award would be decried as devaluing the performance and the meaning of receiving ears. In Pamplona, though, the president, different from the day before or the day before that, acquiesced and awarded both ears, sending Colombo through the Puerta Grande with three ears to the roaring approval of the young men in the sunny section (where Colombo is a crowd favourite every year).

I discussed this with the lady to my right. Her notion was that the rest of the spectators, many of whom were attending their first corrida, didn't have the same passion or heart for the performance as us. They didn't understand the regulations (if they even knew there were such things) and simply wanted to award good entertainment. She was right, but I told her that is no excuse. "That is why we have the president: to enforce the bullfighting regulations." She nodded her head in passive agreement, but reluctance, as she knew our opinions wouldn't change anything. We just had to accept that Pamplona was different from the other first-class plazas.

I would like to accept that idea, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Hemingway may have put Pamplona on the map, but he was also adamantly opposed to rewarding poor performances or devaluing the art of the cape and kill. I don't know what happened to the presidents this year, but they did a poor job of keeping alive Hemingway's spirit, let alone enforcing the law.

Their poor execution of their duties extended beyond the bullfight. I met with one regular corredor (one who runs the encierros in the mornings) who complained that the route was full of trash. He was right, and it was the president's job to inspect and certify the route every morning at 07h30. The president and his entourage walk the entire route with a huge police escort for this purpose, but they had little interest in actually inspecting the route this year. They were more interested in the spectacle, their legally-mandated duties be damned.

This was the first year where I witnessed such apathy from presidents in Pamplona. From our very first bullfight in Pamplona, my friend Jo and I had learned to be sparing with our protests for ears, so much so that we've had to unlearn the first-class mentality when visiting third-class rings like Cazalla de la Sierra and Utrera. Pamplona, though, demanded the first-class mentality. There is a reason the plaza is afforded a place amongst Spain's most prestigious, and the presidents treating it like a football match or spectator-driven spectacle only fuelled the contention of those that think Pamplona should be downgraded. Will that ever happen? Highly unlikely. But if the presidents continue to behave the way they did this year, I may live to witness the impossible. I'm glad Hemingway wasn't there to see it.