As is traditional, the D H McKenzie Memorial tournament was held on the coldest,
wettest weekend that Adelaide could find.
The locals claimed that we brought the cold weather with us, but I'm beginning to suspect that their
weather isn't as sunny as they'd have us believe.
We flew over Friday morning, and managed to drag ourselves away from the heater to attend weapons
check that night. While there we greeted familiar fencers, and watched the bustle of activity as they set up
the venue.
Saturday was another slow day, but we thought 3pm was still early enough to see all the finals. Imagine
our surprise when we found the Men's foil had finished and they'd all gone home. This may in part be due
to the relatively small number of entries this year, but also suggests unusually good organisation.
So we settled down to watch the Women's epee finals. They were very … vocal. One might have
mistaken them for screams of agony, except that they usually emitted from the winner of the point. I also
observed that most of the finalists were wearing the squiggly yellow and green lines on their breeches
required for international competition, and wondered if someone was actually teaching them to scream like
that.
A number of things over the weekend had me wondering if beneath my normally practical exterior there
might be lurking the soul of a classical fencer, and this was the first. (If so, I'm still in denial). I don't like
people yelling and screaming in any sport, but particularly in fencing I find myself frowning with disapproval
at them. (I don't approve? Who the hell do I think I am? Oh well.) I feel that fencing is about control,
not just control of the blade, but also of yourself. Now I admit I fall a long way short of perfect self-control
in a bout, as you'll see shortly, but at least I try.
Anyway, Sunday was spent catching up with David's associates, so I can't report on that day's events. I
wish I'd seen the men's sabre though, I would have liked to compare it to the women's.
Monday dawned, somewhat after we were forced to emerge, cold and wet. At the venue I alternately
huddled in a corner and bounced around trying to keep warm.
The men's epee proved an interesting diversion, and seemed to involve an awful lot of body-contact for a
non-contact sport. We almost had the first fencer to be reported to the tribunal for a high-tackle when an
overly enthusiastic epeeist fleched of the strip and almost collided with a coffee-carrying pedestrian. A few
people were disappointed when he managed to swerve in time.
Then it was my turn. The initial pool went well, I only lost one bout, and since that was against the reigning
national champion, Leila Du, I wasn't too worried about it. Then came the DE, where I bombed badly.
My opponent was a NSWan by the name of Palser, whom I'd beaten without too much fuss in the pool.
Apparently however this had made her mad, and on the strip she proceeded to try and beat me to death.
At the time it felt like a personal attack, although watching her later I guess it wasn't. At the time however
it was a little upsetting, but not nearly as much as the fact that the referee noticed, and agreed later that she
was hitting far too hard, but made not a move to stop it.
This really pisses me off. Sabre doesn't have to be brutal, having an edge is no reason to go using it as if it
were a broadsword and your opponent was in full-plate armour. If the referees make it clear that
unnecessarily hard hitting will not be tolerated, then the fencers won't do it, and if they're serious about
getting more participation in sabre then they're going to have to do something to make it less of a blood
sport.
But back to my match. I held my own for the most part, largely through good use of timing, however most
points came at the cost of being belted on my left arm, which was becoming extremely painful. So I lost
concentration, and the bout. Looking back on it later, I'm not as unhappy as I was at the time, I may have
lost, but my fencing was good and next time I think I can manage to keep my temper under better control.
This view is another that has me questioning my previously hard-line sport-fencing aliegences.
The next bout was my last chance. I had no good excuse for losing it, it was a case of having a bad mental
state. This is the sort of thing that has to be put down to "competition experience" and learned from.
The finals were a disappointment for me, I always hope to pick up some new skills and technique from
watching others, but there was nothing here I wanted to learn. Du and Palser tried to beat each other into
a smooth paste, and eventually Du triumphed. She met Victorian Amber Parkinson in the final, and
continued to use the brute-force method. Amber, to her credit, showed that skill can overcome force,
even if her skills were very epeeish, but alas apparently tired at the end and Du forced her way to another
victory.
Later Amber and I compared welts and bruises, and it seems I got off relatively lightly.
Some additional comments:
From the Rules: "All bouts must preserve the character of a courteous and frank encounter.
All irregular actions (flèche attack which finishes with a collision jostling the opponent, disorderly
fencing, a fall, irregular movements on the piste/strip, hits achieved with undue violence,
hits made while falling) are strictly forbidden. Should such an offence occur, any hit scored by the
fencer at fault is annulled.
I see three main problems with getting this rule enforced in sabre;
1. What is "undue" violence?
2. The "Yeah, it was a bit hard, but it's Sabre" argument.
3. Violence in sabre bouts tends to escalate gradually. So the referee ends up in the position where
"Yes, that was a bit too hard, but it wasn't much harder than the last one, and I didn't say anything
then..."
My plea to referee's everywhere: gather your courage and take a stance. If the competitors complain
too loudly, that's an offense as well. Sabre's reputation for brutality may not be undeserved, but it is
unnecessary.