New York Times, October 27, 1851. Matadors don’t square off against their opponents until the latter have been significantly worked over by the picador, whose job it is to fuck up the bull’s neck muscles. This makes it significantly easier to dodge and eventually murder the poor critter, whose range of vision is thereby sharply limited. It’s a sordid spectacle, but there are good reasons why those cape-waving cowards in their tight pantaloons don’t care to take on a hale and healthy beast.