Bullfighting's Blood Brothers

There is a new generation of matadors in Spain who bring more excitement and more spectators into the bull ring than there's been for some time. High on this list are two brothers, Francisco Rivera Ordonez and his kid brother Cayetano.

Last October, 60 Minutes correspondent Bob Simon reported on their exploits inside and outside the ring and there's an update: the Spanish government recently awarded Francisco, the older brother, with the Fine Arts medal - the highest honor any artist can receive.

It led to front page news and to a national scandal. Two previous winners of the award returned their medals in disgust, insisting that Francisco didn't deserve it. His brother Cayetano believes he certainly does deserve it, and after watching and reading this story, you'll understand why.

Cayetano, his kid brother, has to fight off the crowds. People beg to be touched by their icon. He has been fighting only three years, and although he is still a rookie, he's worshipped all over Spain. He is one of the highest paid matadors in the country.

In fact, the brothers are the two most eligible bachelors in Spain. They each fight around 60 times during the season, and occasionally fight on the same day in the same place.

"When you and Cayetano enter the bull ring together, the crowd goes crazy," Simon remarks.

Referring to Cayetano, Francisco jokes, "More for him, now, 'cause he's younger, he's taller."

Francisco and Cayetano are in different stages of their careers: Cayetano is still blossoming, while Francisco is beginning to think of retirement. The brothers don't like to fight together. They're terrified when the other is in the ring; something awful can happen.

And there's something else: "Of course, there's the competition," Cayetano tells Simon. "And I'm very happy when he's success…"

"As long as you succeed, too," Simon remarks.

"[As long as I succeed] more," Cayetano says.

It's not just fraternal rivalry that prods them onwards. They are both competing against ghosts.

Their grandfather, Antonio, was the greatest matador of the last 50 years. Hemingway, Orson Welles, Rita Hayworth, Grace Kelly all came to pay homage to the maestro. The boys' father was Paquirri, a legendary matador of his time.

Bulls were the family business, and the family tragedy. In 1984, Paquirri was badly gored in a minor ring somewhere in central Spain. He died a few hours later. His widow, the boys' mother, did everything possible to lure them away from the ring. She sent them both to summer camp in Maine; she also sent Francisco to a military academy in Indiana.

It didn't work. Francisco returned to Spain and went straight for the bulls. "There's no way out," Francisco explains, "We have it in blood."

"I'm sure that I [was] born to be in a ring," he adds.

And, Francisco says when the time comes, he wants to die in the ring. Before every fight, he unpacks a suitcase which carries a portable chapel. He prays to his patron saints and to the Virgin Mary.

He says he is still frightened before a fight. "I think to have fear is good…. Because if you don't have fear, then you can't be a brave man."

Cayetano didn't want to be a brave man. He was happy in Santa Monica, Calif., where he planned to be a TV producer, and was having a good time. But then he went back to Spain.

"Practically all my family has been bullfighters. So I always had that curiosity in my mind. But I never had the strength, perhaps, to take the final decision," Cayetano explains.

He later found the strength and courage to give it a try. But age wasn't on his side: he was by then 27, which is very old to start training to become a matador. His friends and family thought he was crazy.

Cayetano says his brother wasn't very happy with the idea of his brother fighting bulls. "It's not something you would like for someone you love."

But Cayetano loved the idea of becoming a matador. A film made at the time shows how Cayetano left his world behind and retreated to a ranch. He spent more time with bulls than with people. It was a monastic existence. He learned about the cape, and he learned about the kill.

Asked what it was like the first time he fought a bull, Cayetano tells Simon, "It was scary. I saw it so big, and I thought, 'Oh my God, am I prepared for this? Isn't it too early maybe? Shouldn't I fight the smaller one first?'"

That was three years ago. He's fought a couple of hundred of fights since then.

Before a fight, he relaxes with his Mac and his music.

Cayetano has been severely injured several times this season, so he's not in very good shape. He's got a bum knee, his wrist hurts, and he's still recovering from a goring in his backside he received a few weeks ago. And he was about to fight another bull.

Just before he left the room, he got dressed for a day's work, helped into his glimmering suit of lights - an outfit just like the one his father and grandfather wore

"Terrible question, but when you leave the hotel room, does it occur to you that you might not come back?" Simon asks.

"Always," Cayetano admits. "That's the last moment we have by ourselves before going to the ring."

And then Cayetano began his long solitary walk. His first contact would not be with bulls, but with throngs of admirers who lied in wait. He tried to stay focused through all this. It's not easy.

Inside the ring, there's music and a procession - the Spanish passion for pageantry. Then came the signal that the ritual is about to begin: Cayetano's suit of lights sparkled in the fading sun. Now, it was just between him and the bull - the moment every matador waits for.

"It has to do with the fact that you're closer to death that makes you feel more alive," Cayetano says.

Closer to death? In the ring, Cayetano is dancing with death. He brings the bull closer and closer as he executes a sequence of passes. He arches his back, as the horns pass inches from his chest. It is a ballet with a bull.

"You're risking your life and, of course, he's risking his," Cayetano says.

"But his life is over. That's a foregone conclusion," Simon points out.

"But in my situation, I can die, too. So we create this real personal connection and feeling between us," Cayetano explains.

Asked what he means by a personal connection, the matador says, "Well, you kind of have like a connection, a conversation with gestures, with time, with movement that you kind of lose reality. And you don't care anymore about your physical existence."

After the fight, the crowd waved white handkerchiefs. That is Spanish applause. It signalled that Cayetano deserved a prize, which he got. But the jubilation was short lived: another bull got a hold of one of Cayetano's assistants, got a horn into his leg and tossed him in the air.

He was rushed to the infirmary; every bullring has one. This is what every matador dreads, watching one of his men get gored. His femoral artery was been severed. He would live but he may not walk again.

Cayetano and the rest of his troupe had to move on. There was a fight the following night. This is the way matadors travel.

Many parts of Madrid take you back many centuries. But don't be fooled - Spain is one of the most modern and progressive counties in Europe. Half the cabinet are women, including the defence minister. There is gay marriage, quickie divorces, legalised abortion, and there is the ancient blood sport of bullfighting. How do you put that all together? It's not easy.

The best answer is probably history, and the Spanish addiction to tradition. Bullfighting started in the town of Ronda in the 18th century. Every September, there is a fiesta.

Tell the people here that the European Union, and many others disapprove of bullfighting, and they will say "So what! Matadors are our national heroes."

But Francisco is planning his retirement. He's branching out, becoming a businessman, an impresario. He runs a ring in Ronda.

Cayetano has been moonlighting as a model, strutting down the most prestigious catwalk in Europe. He has become the face of Armani, and been on the cover of Elle and Vogue.

All that couldn't be further from the dusty town of Palencia, where the brothers were performing when 60 Minutes was there. It was not a major fight by any means. But Cayetano had drawn a very large bull - 1,300 pounds. His fight started well. He skipped backwards with the bull following, a common enough maneuver.

But then, he tripped and the bull was on top of him, leaving Cayetano laying on the ground.

In a split second, Francisco jumped over the barrier to protect his little brother, and fended off the bull with his bare hands.

Cayetano was having trouble breathing. He collapsed, and no one knew how bad it was. He was rushed to the infirmary. He was bleeding internally and his liver was seriously damaged. He was in critical condition.

The day before this fight, Simon asked Cayetano just how long he was planning to go on doing this.

"I have thought about it. But it's a very strong sensation, and helps me get to know myself better. Gets me to my limits. And that's something special," he told Simon.

Asked if he's discovered that he has limits, Cayetano told Simon, "Well, limits - I guess the limit is when someone dies."

In March he fought in Valencia. Francisco was in the crowd when a bull got to him again. Once again, Francisco jumped into the ring to divert the bull and save his little brother.

Produced by Michael Gavshon and Paul Bellinger