In that first clip, I keep thinking of the sheer simplicity of executing a quick, simple parry in quarte and a direct riposte. Such a simple, basic defensive move would be devastating in that bout. But it never seems to occur to either of them. One wonders if they even know how!

There were other competitions I participated in, but the three big annual tournaments in this area were the Pacific International in Vancouver, B. C., the Inland Empire in Spokane, and the Pacific Northwest Invitational in Seattle, along with an annual team event in Portland. They usually started on Friday evenings, then went all day Saturday (9:00 or 9:30 a.m. until however long it took, sometimes as late as midnight), and later on, when more people started entering, it extended on into Sunday.

Some fencers entered all the events they could, and that could be as many as four events. In each of those, you might fence five or six bouts in the preliminary pools, five or six in intermediate, five or six in the semi-finals, and five or six in the finals. If you lasted that long, that would amount to as many as maybe eighty or ninety bouts, some for five touches (foil and saber) and some for three (épée). And often, when you not waiting to be called to the strip fairly soon for your next bout or event, you'd be pressed into service to judge or otherwise officiate in other events. So even if you weren't fencing, you were still on your feet and trying to stay alert. At the end of one of these tournaments, there would be one helluva party. But everybody was really beat!

Considering the energy and endurance that one of these tournament weekends demanded, can you imagine the asininity of wasting energy the way these guys are? The vertical activity gets a bit less as the clip goes on, but I think it's because they're wearing out. Or the energy wasters are getting eliminated early on. Anyway:

Bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce. . . .

Fencing in one of the marathon tournaments I was used to, they wouldn't last out the day. By the time they got to the finals (IF they got to the finals), they wouldn't have any poop left. One wonders why they don't just trade in their fencing equipment on a couple of pogo sticks.

Or see the quote from Sabatini's The Black Swan that I posted above.

Notice that in the second link I posted above (1936 Olympic saber) that almost all the movement is back and forth. They're too busy fencing to do jumping-jacks. Gerry Biagini, Sal Giambra, Pierre Paret, and the other world-class fencers I met when I was at Halberstadt's in San Francisco, and all of the best fencers I've met, were very economy-of-motion.

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By the way, for a slight diversion, while I was checking out the fencing clips on YouTube, I ran into this little gem. Can you believe THIS?

I smell a Darwin Award. . . .

Don Firth