Walking up to my opponent, I held my Albion Liechtenauer while I breathed heavily through my mask. "Do you think your hit across my shoulder got in while I hit you on the forearm?" I said.
"Yeah, my sword deflected the arm hit," my opponent said, taking off his mask as we spoke in the middle of the ring.
"But I'm pretty sure that I cut your arm a tempo before you hit my shoulder," I countered.
"No, I'm pretty sure it was a double. We closed, grabbed, and both swung nearly at the same time."
"It was close," I said, "but I don't think it was a double. The grabs were pretty messy and we both started swinging. Look, how about we throw it out and try for something cleaner?" I offered.
"Yeah, that works," my opponent said as he turned and walked back to his corner, throwing his mask back over his head.
This is not a usual conversation during a tournament. The fact that there was a conversation already makes it unusual. The Krump Pow tournament held in Appleton, WI this past weekend was hosted by the Wisconsin Historical Fencing Association and led by Aaron Pynenberg. The tournament--according to their published rule set--"minimizes the use and roles of judges and maximizes the involvement of the participant." And that it certainly did!
Never before had I seen a tournament that didn't rely on a judge but instead asks the fighters to determine what happened after an exchange. The rules allow for fighters to throw out what was otherwise indeterminable or sloppy and give it another go. The sole head judge, however, is there to act as a check and balance, to ensure the conversations are productive and that clean techniques are not argued. This level of oversight is helpful in keeping the participants honest, but the culture that was quickly established by Friday night showed that the head judges were rarely leaned on to make the tough call. The grounds for this culture were clearly laid out Thursday, when the rule set was demonstrated at the pre-tournament briefing.
The effect of such a rule set was immediately noticeable. I quickly looked forward to the meetings in the center of the ring to discuss what had happened in an exchange, and was happy that meetings didn't even need to take place for the clean and obvious exchanges. As a result, one of the common themes people spoke of between their matches as they looked on was that they were simply having a good time. The martial intensity of a tournament was there (the prize table was insane--swords everywhere!), but so was something more--a collaborative energy that gave me the sense that the other competitors were there to test their skill and discuss learning; they were not simply trying to win.
Less is sometimes more, and this sentiment was certainly embodied in the Krump Pow tournament. Fewer rules, fewer judges, fewer bad calls. The experience that arose from the martial atmosphere became less about the tournament and more about the fighting. In other words, the tournament machine itself was stripped down, allowing fighting to fill that space. As an indication of this, if a registrant signed up for all three events--open steel longsword, mixed synthetics, and single stick--they were guaranteed 30 matches. 30!
As I quickly moved from match to match over a two day period, I kept thinking about how rapidly the tournament structure was throwing me into the ring again and again. It was a blast! Move out of the way, tournament. I have some fighting to do.
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