The Enumerative: Bring on the Bulls

Welcome to our incredibly innovative feature, The Enumerative. Because lists are awesome, plus effective time killers, in this space we'll provide a top five based loosely on something that has recently occurred in the sporting world. It's compiled by Chris Mottram and Spencer Hall, unless otherwise noted.

On Sunday, the annual Running of the Bulls kicked off in Pamplona, Spain. As you know, this is an event in which six 1,600 pound animals with horns on their heads are let loose to inflict pain on those dumb enough to attempt to out run them. As fun as it certainly does not sound, if given the choice, we’d rather test our luck with the bulls than be forced to do any of the following five sports-related events:

Running the Marathon des Sables. Six days. 151 miles of running. A horrid, horrid set of numbers to begin with gets no more appealing when you find out the Marathon Des Sables is run through a section of the Sahara desert in Morocco. Two competitors have died during the race. An Italian policeman lost during the race spent nine days wandering through the desert. Five and a half regular marathons in six days carrying your own rucksack: a new neighborhood of misery I'd rather not visit. Chances are, if a bull gores me, I'll go into shock and not feel a thing. At the Marathon des Sables, you'll remember every step and hate yourself for it for the rest of your natural life.

Getting Hit By Shawn Merriman. A bull could gore me, but the conditional is important here: could. As in, it might happen, or it might not and like most everyone else who runs the race, I'll be dancing in the square and drinking cerveza from a boot by the time I really think about what I just did. If I agree to get hit by Shawn Merriman, do you know what my chances of escape are? ZERO. Broken ribs, concussion, a spleen shattered into a thousand fleshy splinters, and the pants-wetting terror of being hit by that? No f'n way. Gimme the white pants, a rolled up piece of paper, and a silly hat any day over that.

One Full At-Bat Against Don Drysdale. In his 14 seasons as a pitcher, Drysdale hit a record 154 batters. Former MVP Dick Groat once said, “Batting against him is the same as making a date with the dentist.” Because I hate dentists and value the somewhat regular formation of my skull, I’ll take the bulls. Sure, they might gore me, but at least I’ll still have my eyesight, memory or life, all of which one Drysdale fastball to the dome could steal. And yeah, I realize he died in ’93. I’d imagine he’s not pleased about that and would more than happy to take it out on me with a high and tight heater.

Completing the Tour de France. Aside from the fact that doing anything for 23 straight days, over a course of 2,200 miles would suck, there’s also this: Bicycling is ridiculous. This is a sport rooted in mustachioed men in high waters riding oversized wheels that has somehow evolved into a strange world of spandex, steroids and fashionable mushroom helmets. I’d rather put on the all-whites with the red scarf and take my chances of being horned in the man-area than be forced to wear shorts so tight, and pills so potent, that they’re guaranteed to damage that region’s function permanently. Also, I hate hills and look just awful in yellow.

Taking "The Liver Shot" from Bas Rutten. Again, there is a chance I could outrun a herd of raging bulls if I start far enough in front of them. Alternately, I could escape by making sure I push enough drunk people down in front of me. If I stand in a ring with Bas Rutten, though, there is no hope. He will split my liver in half and there is nothing I can do about it.

This post originally appeared on the Sporting Blog. For more, see The Sporting Blog Archives.