Few athletes would admit that entering an arena completely intoxicated is part of their professional strategy. Doug Herford, the hopelessly impaired bullfighter played by Tim Conway, is clearly not an ordinary athlete.
During a pre-fight television interview on *The Carol Burnett Show*, Herford arrives dressed for battle but appears barely capable of standing. His speech wanders, his body sways, and every answer makes the approaching bull seem increasingly like the safest participant in the event.
Asked why he would enter the ring in such a drunken condition, Herford offers an explanation that sounds perfectly reasonable only to him. He has already attempted bullfighting while sober, he explains, and the experience apparently did not go well.
Drinking gives him the courage to return, although it also creates a serious mathematical problem.
Instead of seeing one charging bull, Herford may see two. With enough alcohol, that number can rise to four. Rather than recognizing this as a dangerous disadvantage, he treats the multiplied animals as additional entertainment.
His elaborate costume provides another source of discomfort. The traditional bullfighting suit is so tight that, according to Herford, it forces the blood into his face, causing his eyes to bulge. The elegant cape movements associated with skilled matadors are also stripped of their dignity.
Herford claims he is not performing an artistic maneuver at all. He is simply trying to chase away fruit flies attracted to him.
The conversation grows stranger when the interviewer asks about his weight. Herford says he weighs approximately 175 pounds, but that figure includes an additional 10 pounds from a bull’s horn still lodged inside his body.
A previous operation apparently failed to remove it, leaving him carrying part of an opponent wherever he goes.
His head has suffered similar occupational damage. Successful bullfighters may receive a bull’s ear as a ceremonial reward, but Herford remembers receiving something quite different.
A bull once kicked him so violently that a hoof became stuck on his head. He now keeps his hair long to hide the evidence, treating the permanent hoof less like a medical emergency and more like an embarrassing hairstyle problem.
Herford then attempts to demonstrate the use of banderillas, the decorated barbed sticks used to provoke a bull. The demonstration immediately proves that putting sharp objects in the hands of a staggering man is a questionable production decision.
Even this accident does not persuade him to reconsider the fight. He reacts with the same confused calm that has carried him through stories of horns, hooves and multiple imaginary bulls.
When the crowd begins roaring from inside the arena, Herford recognizes that his moment has arrived. The interviewer asks whether he traditionally kneels to pray before confronting the bull.
Conway builds the entire performance around understatement. Herford never appears to understand that his career is a collection of disasters. Every injury becomes an inconvenience, every warning becomes encouragement, and every drunken mistake becomes part of his professional technique.
By the time he heads toward the arena, viewers may feel less concerned for the bullfighter than for the confused bull waiting to face him.
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