Robert Downey wrote:Gentlemen. I would like to address the question of the Original Poster.
This is purely my opinion, and is not meant as some kind of blanket statement from my Brothers.
Combat with BoTN and HMB style rules, and equipment has no business EVER EVER EVER being a part of the SCA.
1. There is NO WAY to make this “safe” as defined by the general consensus of SCA rattan fencers.
2. The level of violence and rate of injury is vastly past the threshold that is acceptable to the SCA community.
3. There is no viable reason that I can think of to do so. If you are driven to this test, than train for the team.
Here’s the bottom line, my friends. What is not evident in the videos is the overall accepted risk, and the level of pure violence necessary to take that particular list field. I love SCA rattan fencing. At its best, it is an elegant martial sport. When it is used to its potential, it can be a vehicle for self-realization and improvement. But you should never have a decent chance of going home in a puff chair.
It should never be a test of fortitude to the level that HMB style combat is. It just shouldn’t. Frankly, we only need one of those, and it should only be used for those who are driven to do so.
To be honest, if you are thinking you want to do this, just “cause it will be fun”, you really need to stop for a second, and think.
Perhaps a few stories will get across the accepted level of risk I am talking about.
It is the first day. Due to not being able to talk any of the languages, the whole USA team had been standing in armor, in the sun, for three hours. My heart rate had been steady at round 150 bpm for at least one of those hours. I had completely lost the ability to shed heat. We wound up being the sixth fight of the day. We had seen three guys get carried off on backboards already, and shuttled off into the three ambulances they had on rotation. The fight just before ours finished, and they moved one of the ambulances to the entrances of the list. The fourth guy they pulled off wasn’t moving…. At all… They were rushing to shove him in the ambulance so they could get it out of the way for us to take the field. You know those gladiator movies, where they plunge the hook into the dead guy to pull him off the arena? Yeah, that’s what it felt like.
I will never forget the look that passed between Brad and Myself. The reality of it slammed home to all of us. They closed the ambulance doors on the unmoving man at arms, and it was our turn…..
In Felix’s first one on one fight, He was fighting a Dane. Felix was doing really well. The fight ended when Felix cut the end of the Dane’s finger off. Later that day, The Dane proudly gave Felix the fingernail from his severed finger as a Martial souvenir, and promised to send him Video of the surgery.
One of the Belarusians, (I think) had his finger cut off. It was hanging on by a flap of skin and the tendon. They did not want to take him in to the hospital for such a minor injury, as they needed it for the “actual” injuries. They set the bone, and sewed it up there in site.
There was blood everywhere. At one point, I looked down on my buckler and it was smeared with blood from God know’s who or what. It became very commonplace for my companions to wash the insides of their helmets to get the blood out, so they could be ready for the next bout.
My dear friend Rudy had his moment in “deep waters”, as three men tried to beat him to his knees. He passed his test, and won the respect of every man at arms there at the cost of a broken shoulder blade, and the muscles literally torn from the bone.
Every time I went out there, I put myself in the hands of the Divine, quite literally. In the last fight, I was beaten unconscious into the dirt for the second time that day. It took much longer for me to wake up the second time. I woke up with a Russian looking at me, smiling, and embracing me as a brother would.
One of us was a hair’s breadth from going to the hospital and having a hole cut in his skull to relieve the pressure.
This has NO PLACE on an SCA battlefield… Period… I never want a requirement for SCA combat to be an up to date Last will and testament.
If you are driven to do this by the Divine, by the rage in you, by your Chivalry, by whatever it is, than use that as fuel, and be tested. For without a doubt, that is what it is.
If all this sounds heavy handed, and melodramatic…… then good. If it makes you stop and think, than it’s done its purpose.
HMB/BoTN rulesets should not be allowed to affect rules of the martial sport of SCA rattan fencing. Now, if it inspires some Future man at arms to seek noble deeds of arms, in whatever context, than THAT is an influence to be wished for.
With Respect and humility
Rob
This is a Russian fighter's response to Rob's post:
Translated from the Russian, Dmitriy Ryaboy
Good afternoon. My name is Rob, I am writing from beyond the grave, as I was cruelly murdered at the Battle of the Nations. I cannot quietly look on as people are being tricked with invitations to come have a great time. In truth, that's all a lie. It's all blood, death, and spilled guts over there.
They held us there for 20 hours under the hot sun. When we tried to talk to one of the organizers, he just spat me in the face and hit me in the leg with his marshall's staff. Instead of helping, he brought some dry firewood and started a fire next to us, so that we would be even hotter. But the worst was still to come.
From the tournament field we head screams of death and people begging for help. At first we thought it was playacting, but when a cut off head rolled to my feet, I started feeling nauseous. As we approached the tournament it became clear that something terrible was going to happen. There were so many injured, the local government set up a field hospital. Those who could still scream were carried into tents where they were cut up by nazi surgeons, while those who stopped moving were pulled off with hooks
and dumped into a pile. I saw a raven picking out the eyes of one of the victims. I caught my captain's gaze, and saw sheer terror. Crossing ourselves, we entered the arena. We understood that we will not return alive.
THe arena was covered in blood, guts, and shit. Poles who fought before us completely lost their humanity. They performed wild pagan ritual dances, painted each other with blood of fallen enemies, and howled. The danes who entered the arena to fight us were serious. We knew this when one of them cut off his finger and threw it at our captain. The command "FIGHT" sounded and we rushed at each other like wild enemies.
We tore each other into pieces, cut, raked, smashed, sawed, and sometimes broke off little pieces or sliced each other. I was being beat up by ten Danes, but I held until until the last. Hard hits kept coming, the pain was unbearable. At some point I lost consciousness, and the blessing of death came to me.
Falling on the ground, I saw the fight from the side. Here, our team captain's arm is cut off, but it's still hanging on by strips of sinews, skin, and flesh. It interfered with his fighting, so he bit it off with his teeth. He lost his sword, so he grabbed his cut off arm and used it to batter down his opponent.
Here, Martin pulled out a sword that was thrust through him, and cut off the leg of the Danish captain.
Here, Jim took off his helmet and is finishing off a fallen fighter -- from his own team.
There, Smitty is waving his giant two-handed sword. Around him are three Danes, two judges, and one audience member, all cut in halves. There are also several wounded, but living opponents, who are trying to reach him with their halberds. They are unsuccessful, so they yell filthy curses and spit at him.
And there is Michael. He's completely lost it from the blood and yelling. Having lost hist sanity, he is simply standing there on all fours, and howling.
Moans and screams were everywhere. I saw someone in the audience cutting off his ears just so he wouldn't have to hear the yelling. Finally, the long-awaited command "STOP FIGHT" sounded, and everything was over.
Those who could walk, hobbled towards the camp. Many took off their helmets and poured blood out of them. There was blood everywhere. There was so much of it, the organizers were handing out inflatable boats to all the participants, it was the only way to get to camp. Rowing along the river of blood we watched bodies of our fallen mates floating past us. Some were so mangled they were impossible to recognize.
In the evening one of the Danes came to our camp and gave our team's captain his brother's head, as a token from battle.
That's how it was at the Battle of the Nations. It's Hell. Never go there. All you will find there is pain, blood, and death.