Curiosity triumphs at bull run

MOHAVE COUNTY, Ariz. -- Must've been animal instinct.

An hour before Saturday's running of the bulls, a TV cameraman was doing his Wild Kingdom best to capture a rare glimpse of the elusive creatures at rest. Crouched outside their holding pen, he deftly angled his camera under the fence, the better to film their fascinating and often maligned habit of just standing around.

But one ornery steer with horns the size of goalposts had other ideas. As if on cue, he dug his snout into the ground, then quickly snapped his head upward. Before the cameraman knew it, he and his equipment were shrouded in a plume of dirt and dust. The message seemed clear:

Ole? No way.

It may have been the most poetic moment of the day. Here, apparently, was proof that even the bulls were sick of the hype, of watching the media and everyone else go ga-ga over this Wal-Mart Pamplona. Surely, the cameraman would take the hint and walk away.

So, naturally, he brushed himself off, kneeled back down -- and got pelted again.

And in a sense, so did the rest of us, because try as we might, we couldn't walk away. Or at least look away. Oh, sure, most of us mocked the "historic" Americanized version of Spain's running of the bulls. We called it cheesy and manufactured and ill-conceived. We condemned promoter Phil Immordino for pitching the event, chastised Mesquite for agreeing to sponsor it and questioned the sanity of those paying $50 to run in it.

Nothing that happened Saturday likely changed anyone's mind. Just the opposite, in fact: Watching the race confirmed that on the stupid scale, running with the bulls ranks right up there with... well... itself.

But be honest. When it came down to it, whether you belong to PETA or eat beef-stuffed pitas, you snuck a peek. You caught the TV highlights and read the stories. In the end, if only briefly, all that well-intentioned moral umbrage or professed indifference was trampled by runaway curiosity.

Certainly that was true for the 600 runners who took part in one of two heats run on the quarter-mile course at the Oasis Ranch and Gun Club. Los Angeles real estate brokers Scott Ellis, 25, and Steve Duerre, 26, drove to Mesquite from Las Vegas the night before the race and stayed up till dawn gambling. Asked the inevitable question about why he and his friend were interested in sprinting alongside several tons of lumbering porterhouse, Ellis gave the only answer that really made any sense.

"We're retarded," he said.

In the same way, the estimated 10,000 to 15,000 spectators understood the event's essential goofiness. On an overheated day when even Satan would've needed sunblock, perhaps the only people crazier than the runners were those who came out to watch them. Then again, when it comes to entertainment, desert dwellers can't be choosers.

"I'd give it a 7 or 8 (on a scale of 10)," said Mesquite resident Jay Matlock after the first heat. "It's pretty exciting to have something like this in a city that doesn't have anything except beer."

Or, as fellow spectator and Mesquite resident Rose Tavaglione explained, watching bulls chase humans was the most exciting event ever to come to town -- "except for Chippendales."

Despite such endorsements, whether Saturday's made-for-media event becomes an annual tradition -- or travesty, depending on your view -- remains to be seen. But for at least one man, the memories -- not to mention the bruises -- of the first running of the bulls promise to last a bit longer.

As Las Vegas resident Justin Hayes drove to Mesquite Saturday morning, a bird slammed into the windshield of his car and was killed. The incident reminded Hayes, 28, of how on another road trip months earlier, he had run over a woodchuck somewhere in the desert.

"I have a feeling Mother Nature might think it's payback time," said Hayes, an editorial assistant with the Las Vegas Weekly newspaper, minutes before the race. "I just hope it isn't today."

Alas, it was. Hayes became the first person ever gored on American soil in a sanctioned bull-running event when one of the animals love-tapped him near the starting gate. Besides turning him into a minor media celebrity, the hit left him with an 8-inch scrape across his back, scratches on his knees and elbows -- plus a slightly bruised ego.

"I didn't want to start running right away 'cause I didn't want to look like a dork," Hayes said, referring to the dozens of participants who began sprinting even before the bulls emerged from their pen. "And I ended up looking like a dork anyway."

Still, he thinks there's a deeper meaning in what happened. Aware that "X-Files" star Gillian Anderson wrote a letter to Mesquite Mayor Ken Carter protesting the bull run, Hayes figures the actress will have more than little green men on her mind from now on.

"Gillian Anderson is probably going to be thinking, 'Good, somebody got hurt,"' Hayes said. "But that means that in some way Gillian Anderson is going to be thinking about me. I can live with that."

Yet in a sentiment Anderson would no doubt appreciate, Hayes can live without another running of the bulls.

"I validated my manhood," he said. "I don't need to be doing that again."

Wonder if Immordino feels the same way.

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