Rory put forth the observation that the HEMA community is much troubled by what the “best” tournament format is, and long debate between entrenched positions as to what’s wrong with every current format (see: Sayre’s Law). It starts with the assumption that there is an optimal format, or at least a universally least-bad format. That assumption, though, requires all participants to be working towards the same goal. Which they aren’t.
In the SCA we can’t agree that we’re actually fighting the same fight. That’s within one organization focused on fifty years of combat style (and dominated by Americans*). When you try to get consensus across a dozen distinct organizations, studying forms across six hundred years of documented combat, and split among distinct cultural backgrounds, consensus should not even be attempted.
As you pare away some of those cluttering factors, though, you can begin to gain consensus within homogenized groups. For now, we’ll assume that there is no inter-organizational or international tribalism affecting our judgment. We can dream.
The first point to reach consensus on is what we’re actually doing.
In the SCA, personal combat is generally agreed to be recreating a period duel. Some dissension comes into play though as to whether we should be recreating first-blood duels or duels to the death, but given the ruleset it’s pretty clear we’re recreating neither (and all the debates about whether or not a particular type of wound on a particular location would have a particular effect is just mental masturbation. Or Ask the White Scarf fodder. Which is the same thing). Instead, we’re recreating something like a first-blood duel where tips are dull enough not to nick you and blades are serrated but only sharpened on the back edge of the teeth. The SCA cannot sit in judgment of anybody, but it serves as a starting point with which most of you, the dear readers, are familiar.
Is the purpose recreating period combat?
If so, are they honor duels (fought in no armor, and to first blood, disinclination, or death) or are they judicial duels (fought according to… well, there are books to read on this), or are we recreating some other period form of personal combat, such as tourney combat (Pas d’Armes) or Elizabethan prize fights?
If it’s one of these the literature provides guidance on how to structure them in the most period way. Each of the above identified types will require different weapons standards, assumed armor, judging, and point scoring systems. Each will have its flaws.
Is the purpose MMA with swords? In which case, I say good luck in Battle of Nations! I will say I told you so when your ACL rips like tissue paper.
Is the purpose demonstrating mastery of the form? I’m going to assume this is the intent. Otherwise why do you have a Historic Martial Arts organization?
I recently had the opportunity to talk with Keith Cotter-Reilly, a local Meyer instructor, and we got to talking about the various conventions around the longsword combat of his broader organization (the Freifechters). They use a counted blow system very much like the Pas d’Armes. Aside from the armor they wear, safety boils down to “Do anything that won’t actually hurt them”. So you can front kick, but not round house. Certain other strikes are legal, too, but won’t score points. Points are scored by certain prescribed strikes with the sword, and are called by four judges. And with those four judges, he still was able to block a strike at his head, and have it called as a blow against him. He felt this was ludicrous because a) it was, b) the fighter he was against had less skill and simply bashed away, and c) he knew he hadn’t been struck. It was an example of a conflict of the purpose of the fight (demonstrating mastery of form) and the format chosen, which rewards the ability to deliver blows of questionable effect as quickly as possible (see: epee).
The means of demonstrating mastery has to flow from the weapon and the teachings of the chosen master(s). With a rapier, the masters don’t teach cuts that scratch. They teach cuts that disable, often by immediate death. Any blow called “good” in an HMA context should have that potential (either a cut that would disable the tendons of the hand and forearm, or a thrust to the chest. throat, or head that can be extended into a solid penetrating blow if the fighter really hates his opponent). The light touches with no capacity to continue forward that we usually take, and encourage, in the SCA don’t fit this. A light touch where the opponent has not fully extended his arm or shoulder, or is in position to pass through and press, does fit this. The only people who can really tell that difference, though, are the fighters. I’ve marshalled enough fights where I didn’t even see the winning touch, but the fighters felt it. It’s previously been suggested on this blog that the SCA is the best HMA organization. I’ll echo it here because the constant encouragement of honorable blow calling and top-down management of problem children (rhino hiders who usually get better or get gently nudged elsewhere) allows us to do away with judging of whether or not a blow was good (and any resentment or debate thereof) and rely on fighters’ perceptions.
Perceptions can be wrong, though, due to adrenaline, angling, mental pre-occupation, and all those other things Gawin can jump in and tell us all about. If it was a truly important contest (and therefore no tournament I’ve ever fought in in the SCA, and I’m willing to guess no tournament in HEMA), outside judges could provide a second check. In the SCA we call this active marshalling and shun it, because it’s unnecessary unless somebody has fucked up big time, and Honor, and stuff.
However, the external judges do provide the capacity for judging mastery of the form. Whether or not you strike first isn’t sufficient to demonstrate mastery (again, go fight epee if that’s your goal). One of Rory’s big complaints these days is the amount of strip fencing-style footwork he sees in HEMA videos on Youtube. A fighter, intent on defeating an opponent, is not likely to accurately judge their form (either they will be too harsh in judging their own performance, or they will be ignorant of their mistakes). An impartial set of eyes could identify faults and adjust the score for them. Which takes us to scoring.
The period masters (at least, Manciolino) provide a certain amount of guidance for scoring. A wound to the head would be more honorable (worth more points) than a wound to the leg (Dante interprets it as Head = 3, Leg = 2, Torso = 1, and hand = 0 but you still win). It’s an interesting system, applicable to pretty much any form that doesn’t assume some level of armor.
The “form judges” discussed above could apply the MMA’s 10-point must system (Winner must get 10 points, loser gets anywhere from 6 to 9 points depending on their form). Consider two fighters, Fighter A, who’s got excellent form (9), and Fighter B, who’s got absolute shit form (6). If we have them fight three passes and B wins two of the three passes, he would still be considered the loser based on his shitty form: Fighter B would go 10, 10, and 6, for 26 points, while A went 9, 9, and 10 for 28 points. Even if B had only slightly worse form, an 8, he’d still only tie in this situation. Doubles score 9-9 at most, depending on form (though maybe 8-8, since if you had great form you’d be defending, and 6-8 if one of you has shit form and the other doesn’t).
Having started off saying that no system is best, I will propose a guide to finding the best system for the situation
What should be the blow calling method? The fighters should call what lands on them, with input from outside observers.
What should be considered a good blow? Whatever is commensurate with the weapon, the instruction, and the human body.
How should they be scored? Rory will have to chime in on what the current scoring systems actually are in the various contests, but I’m going to go with “Anything that encourages hitting first and fastest without self-defense” is a shitty system.
Last but not least make sure everybody’s got the same purpose, or somebody won’t go home happy.
An additional footnote:
This article appeared recently on HROARR
http://www.hroarr.com/giovanni-battista-gaiani-1619-an-italian-perspective-on-competitive-fencing/
It discusses a period master who laid out rules for bouting and encountered all the same problems ID’d above, and the period solutions developed.
*The “rugged individualism” drilled into the American psyche, especially in athletic endeavor, makes us somewhat less inclined to accept third-party judges of our deeds. More socially-inclined cultures are more willing to accept others’ judgment.
A week ago, I went to University to teach some classes. (Gawin was supposed to come co-teach, but life intervened.) Our classes were three:
Rapier Melee Fundamentals – providing a mental framework for new fighters to process melee, based on how my own brain works in melee. When in measure, focus on swords: stymie threats, look for opportunities. When not in measure, look around: evaluate the battle according to easy and highly visible heuristics, and act accordingly, giving orders if necessary.
Building a Melee Unit – providing some advice for training melee, building esprit de corps, and getting your local friends out to events, regardless of how big your practice is.
Training and Drilling for Fencing – giving some basic information on building a training regimen: pitfalls to avoid, useful mechanics to include, and a handy evaluation heuristic applicable to general fitness and to fencing-specific skills.
The specifics of each could probably get a blog post of their own, here.
Attendance was 5-7 for each class, but things did not go as smoothly as I had hoped. My classes were intended for, and advertised for, relative novices; but as it turned out, most of my students were complete newbies – on the order of “has not gone to first practice or held a sword yet, but might be interested”. So for the majority of them, the first class was over their heads; the second was above their pay grade; and the third assumed too much commitment.
I had come with lots of enthusiasm, but it’s hard to respond to questions like “what’s a provost?” and “I don’t have a local practice; what should I do?” I tried to adjust on the fly, but I don’t know that I communicated much useful information.
I recall Dante’s “Dreyfus Level 1” (it’s a few posts down from here). Didn’t make sense to me at the time. Now it does. I was teaching a class for level 2’s and 3’s to level 1’s.
There were a few heavy guys in the melee-unit class and a couple Black Diamond scholars scattered throughout, so it wasn’t a total waste. Still, I’m not happy about the outcome; but frankly I’m not sure what to make of it. On the one hand, I should have figured out their level of experience beforehand, and had some talking points intended for people above or below the expected audience; on the other, they showed up, and the class descriptions weren’t particularly ambiguous.
Things to remember for next time:
1. Include contact information on the handouts.
2. Survey class for experience before beginning, and have a plan if you get a group you weren’t expecting
3. Be more specific with class descriptions
The classes themselves, and their presentation, flowed pretty well. I digressed a couple times or went off the syllabus, but that’s largely inevitable with my current experience.
I was wondering, when building the handouts, just how much information should be included on paper. Ideally it’s a summary or a syllabus, and I elaborate on each point as I hit it, but I wonder how much information is retained from the talky bits. Perhaps
4. Encourage note-taking. Occasionally remind students with the phrase “here’s something you’ll want to write down”.
A Few Words on New Folks and Ranking Systems, Tangential to the First Half of This Post.
Anyone who has done fitness will appreciate the value of a good numerical model – it allows us a more objective system of measurement, from which we can set goals, tabulate progress, tailor programs, etc. All well and good. Dante has two such systems that I’ve come to use reflexively – his five-point “relative skill of opponent assessment” and his five-step Dreyfus model.
But these don’t have widespread acceptance in Atlantia. The closest we get is our scarf system, which is a poor measure because prowess is not the determiner. I am a Free Scholar; there are some Provosts who are not a challenge for me, and there are Scholars I fear (hi, Torse!). Likewise, there are Free Scholars who are far better than me (Ben, Armand) and Free Scholars who are considerably worse.
When we pretend like this isn’t true, we get one-sided melee teams. But more to the point, the lack of a solid scale means that it’s very difficult to measure progress – even relative progress – and we tend not to divide our fencers into different pools based on ability. So Johnny Just-Authorized-Today goes out to Ymir and fights Celric and Wistric. Celric and Wistric feel bad for one-shotting him, but it’s not their fault they’re trying to win. Johnny goes out to weekly practice, but everyone’s getting better at about the same rate he is, so he doesn’t feel like he’s improving. Johnny’s motivation to hit up events, especially those that are far away, is somewhat dampened by his perception that he’s going to eat sword all day.
There’s not much we can do about people who have the wrong mindset and think they’ll place in their first tourney, or that they’ll earn a WS after two or three years. But it’d be damn nice for us to have something to keep the junior-grade fighters enthusiastic.
Ideas for Something
At major events (the ones with a guaranteed draw of 30+) I see no reason why we can’t have two tournaments. Set up a separate Scholar’s Tournament for the lower-end fighters. Allow anyone to enter, but make the main tournament high-prestige, and strongly encourage Sea-Dragon-level fencers to graduate out.
Space/time constraints? Yeah, they exist. Figure it out.
MoL’s also keep tournament records, and there’s been talk of migrating to a computer database. It’d be possible, though not easy, to rig up simple ranking system (or, if you want to get fancy, an ELO system).
There’s resistance to this idea, because we treasure everyone’s feelings and don’t want anyone to feel like shit because they’re 278/293. We also don’t want the rankings to be abused, to eclipse the prestige of the scarves, or to become benchmarks for promotion or awards.
But that’s silly. It’d be trivial to address these concerns.
Hey, it just so happens that I’m RMIC at War of the Wings this year …
Through his first four plates (and a fifth plate embedded later on, in the section on passing steps), Giganti lays out his method for defending against cuts to your head or upper body with the sword or sword and dagger. In the first book his responses were either to lunge in the tempo of their preparation for the cut, or to parry with the dagger while lunging. These are both single tempo actions, but here (as discussed in the preface) he goes into m
He considers two types of opponents. One is roughly the equal of you in arms, armor, and vigor. The other carries a heavier sword, wears more armor, or fights more vigorously; by whatever means he attacks more boldly. The defense varies between these two fighters, but the counter is largely the same: attack on the same side from which you were attacked while maintaining control of the opponent’s sword with your dagger. If your opponent attacks you with a mandritto (attacking you on your left side) you return a roverscio (attacking from your left). If he attacks with a roverscio, you return a mandritto.
Against the equal opponent he instructs to:
parry with the edge and forte of your sword. In the same tempo deliver a cut to his legs, placing your dagger under his sword. (Pg 29)
Following his instruction puts your sword in prima. Against the opponent’s mandritto, your sword will be pointed down and to the left; against the roverscio, more in line with the opponent’s right shoulder. These positions are what dictate the possible responses. In each case, the response is a single tempo cut delivered from the wrist in time with the lunging step forward (while extending the dagger to the opponent’s sword). Answering the mandritto with a mandritto would require circling completely around the head with the blade; answering the roverscio with a roverscio would require two tempi to prime and then deliver the blow.
Against the bolder opponent he prescribes:
as his enemy delivers a cut to his head, he should parry with his sword and dagger crossed, with his dagger above and sword below
This negates the strength of the opponent’s attack with both weapons, and places the dagger already in position to maintain the defense. Placing the dagger above (between your face and your sword) keeps it out of the way of the sword’s answering shot. Here, as above, you have the same mandritto answering roverscio/roverscio answering mandritto setup.
He also offers a third option specifically against the stronger opponent’s mandritto: a thrust in quarta to the chest, which keeps both the dagger and the sword’s guard in place to trap the opponent’s sword while the sword’s rotation to quarta yield’s around the opponent’s blade.
Against either the equal or the bolder opponent, the preferred target for the answering shot is the lead leg, as the opponent has taken a lunging step to land his cut and it should be exposed. Going for the head at this point is less optimal because the opponent’s sword is in the way. However, if the opponent withdraws his leg before you answer, you can continue through to reach his head instead (since going for the leg at that point would take a longer path than going for the head). Or, as he shows on page 65, you can just pass forward and cut his leg.
In sum:
|
Opponent Attacks with
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Mandritto
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Roverscio
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Equal Opponent
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Block with sword in Prima toward opponent’s right knee
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Block with sword in Prima toward opponent’s right shoulder
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Bolder Opponent
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Block with sword and dagger joined (dagger closer to your face)
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Block with sword and dagger joined (dagger closer to your face)
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Answer with
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Roverscio
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Mandritto
|
Because nobody else has made this post yet.
February 22 was the official day of the Rag’narok. So, of course, the weather was a balmy 70 degrees, with nary a Giant in sight. About thirty fencers showed, which was lower-than-usual attendance. Not sure why. I guess they don’t like fighting.
The Tourney
Traditionally, Ymir is a double-elim tournament. Tradition buckled this year, and we had a round-robin instead. As the chips fell, my pod included Matteo, Armand, Torse, Arghyle, and a bunch of people I knew I’d have no trouble defeating. The fighting went exactly as expected, though not for lack of trying.
Torse: he is my kryptonite – lefty, quick, likes to fight with absence of the blade. Things went as they always do when I’m focused: I got him to give me a tempo, moved to a new line and lunged, but his feet were too quick. Made contact with his belt buckle, but not him. The counterthrust went through the space where my dagger should have been.
Armand: at long measure, I snuck a little closer and lunged. He pulled a void out of nowhere and all I hit was cloth. The counterthrust went through the space where my dagger should have been.
Arghyle: the only one of the four I thought I had a realistic chance against. Nope. After playing around a bit he charged, and his dagger beat mine.
Matteo: the only one who acceded to my single-sword request. Turns out his single sword is still better than mine. He took both arms after a long fight.
So, to recap: three fights where the dagger should have saved me. Dante made some critical observations about my dagger’s position from a couple stills during the melee. Wistric suggests bringing it out for 15 minutes at practice. Using it with lunge drills wouldn’t go amiss. I suppose I had the option of taking single sword – and I probably should have – but I doubt it would have changed much.
Otherwise I felt I fought pretty well. I am still moving too much to parry. That habit is going to take awhile to kill off. My swordwork is a bit slow. But I’m able to move in guard well, and the weight transfer, balance, and in-guard position no longer feel quite so awkward or difficult.
Other notes: the sun was a factor. Not low enough to be blinding, but bright enough that, from the wrong angle, a fencer could lose sight of his opponent’s blade in his silhouette. I figured this out by the second fight and spent the rest of the day with the sun to my back.
Adelric, the RMiC, was publicly praised for having his shit together, with a copy of the rules, printouts detailing the tourney formats, a marshal’s staff, etc. I’m not sure how low we’ve fallen when a MiC gets accolades for doing exactly what he’s supposed to.
Gawin and Linhart won their pools (both of which were easier) with Gawin going undefeated. Gawin and Armand in the finals, with Armand winning off a leg shot.
The tourney ran long, but it was a round-robin, so that was inevitable.
The Melee
The Free Scholars of Windmasters banded together for the three-man melee. In honor of the Olympics, we took the field under the name You Don’t Win White; You Lose Gold. I liked the format. Round robin of indefinite length; each round, the winners get one point, plus one additional point for every member left standing. Thus, clean victories are worth twice as much as attritting down to the last man. First team to 20 takes the tourney.
As usual, there were the ad-hoc teams and two other contenders: the Dragoonies (Matteo, Armand, and Linhart) and the Basement Rats (Cailin, Torse, and a newish Hawkwood guy whose name escapes me). Nobody else put up much of a fight, and our victories against the ad-hoc teams were flawless.
(Which kinda sucks for them, actually. Skilled fighters team up with other skilled fighters and leave the blue scarves behind. I might want to run this format again, but require fighters to form new teams after three rounds; fencers would add up the points from all of their teams, and highest score wins.)
There are only two offensive patterns in melee: 1v1 or 2v1. Either you’re trying to create an unfavorable singles matchup or you’re trying to get two swords on one opponent. Limited space to maneuver pretty much ruled out easy permutations of the second (the field was only about 6-7 meters wide).
So our strategy against Hawkwood was the former. We had Letia break left to take on Cailin while Gawin and I went to work on the other two, and I figured we had a pretty good matchup; Gawin would hold off my kryptonite, and Letia or I would manage a kill. We’d barely engaged when I heard her call dead. Well, that went south in a hurry. We fell back, I took a charge from Cailin and doubled out, and then Gawin got swarmed. A three-point win for them.
Against the Dragoons, we were targeting Linhart, specifically with Gawin. I pulled Armand off to the side and determined I’d survive a good long time. Matteo was the less aggressive fighter, so I figured we’d have the edge. I didn’t see what happened, but several seconds in Gawin called dead. Okay, 3v2 mode. Soon enough I found the opening, rushed, and fed Armand my dagger as Linhart hit the side of my mask. Letia couldn’t take ’em both. Another loss.
We ended up second in the tourney, with the Dragoons winning (the Rats’ wins were messier than ours), but it got me thinking.
The Tempo of Acknowledgement
Unless a fencer is directly involved in the kill, he’s going to give that tempo of acknowledgement. He’s going to have to update his mental map, his understanding of the battle, and react accordingly, and this will divide his attention. My reaction needs to be faster than his – if I’ve trained a response, or if I’ve at least got a plan primed, I can get inside his OODA loop and act more quickly.
We train for this phenomenon from a position of advantage – that is, we train to extend the advantage. We kill a guy in melee, and before he calls dead we’re lining up a shot on his buddy. We train that automatic response, taking that tempo of the mind, honing that thirst for running-the-line.
We don’t train this from a position of disadvantage – which is to say, we don’t spend much time training or thinking about how to even the odds immediately after something bad has happened. And so when something goes wrong, the mental shift is not automatic and immediate, and the best opportunity to save the day passes us by.
We need to fix that. I have some ideas.
We also need a way to communicate threat vectors clearly and efficiently – so that when somebody dies, the whole team knows where the 2v1 is coming from. “Behind you!” is pretty self-explanatory, but “Ruairc, right!” can mean too many things – are we running right? Looking right? Sliding right?
Back in my lacrosse days I was a goalie. Among other things, it was my responsibility to communicate the position of the ball to the defense – because a defenseman is usually too busy watching and sticking with his man to pay attention to the ball. Might could adapt that …
Other Fencing
I had to leave as the 3-man was winding down. Cailin won the Iron Spike tourney. Gawin gave a class. Speaking of classes, I might have to do a post on my University experiences.
The last week in January Gawin and I headed up to Maestro Dante’s for some one-on-one intensive training. Ben helped. Snow covered the ground and the wind chill had us in the single digits, but our love of Atlantia kept us warm.
Saturday
We expected drills, and Dante delivered in spades; there were nine. These were generally focused on simple actions inherent to basic Italian rapier, but there were a couple completely new things I’d never seen before. The default demand was 20 perfect repetitions in a row.
This was tough, but exponentially more effective than demanding 10 or 5. For one, there’s a real sense that you’ve begun to develop a new long-term habit after 20 repetitions. For another, fatigue quickly becomes a factor. This is good. If your brain has learned a given action (say, a disengagement/cavazione) in an inefficient way, one of the best ways to make it rework the action is to make yourself too tired to do it wrong; your body will naturally give up the inefficient method and move towards the efficient one. One more point in support of swords with historically accurate weights and balance.
One particular sequence popped up in a few drills, and has reshaped how I think about defending myself. The actions go like so:
Agente: find in 4th; straight lunge to neck/face
Patiente: stesso-tempo counterfind and strike by raising the forte, leaning, and extending in 4th
Edit: This is a variation of drill 3, in the comments below
Patiente’s response is, essentially, a lunge sans the foot motion. It seems simple but after years of ingrained habits, it’s deviously difficult to pull off. Every instinct fights that response. A gained blade sets off alarm bells in my head. A point coming at me makes me want to do something to that point so it doesn’t hit me. The instinctual response is a simple parry or a void, and done in the right tempo, these will keep Patiente alive – but they won’t get the kill.
In order to get the kill, Patiente has to ignore “common sense” and actually move towards Agente’s point. This is because he is moving to a position where he is safe from that line of attack. What position is safe from an attack to the high inside? The extended fourth, of course – that’s why we go there when we lunge.
This is the epiphany, then: defending is not about moving the opponent’s sword, but rather, moving oneself to a position where one is safe against the given line of attack. It takes faith. It takes automaticity. It takes good form.
Something we all know, but which is worth repeating: the goal is that, if an opponent gives a tempo in measure, he dies, every time. Performed properly, almost every counter can be single-tempo once we’re at measure (unless we’re facing a “bestial man”, when two tempi may be needed), and that’s what we should be aiming for. But if you have to think, you can’t react quickly enough to pull off a clean single-tempo counter. Drilling is the only solution.
Sunday
I had wanted to fix up some details of form, and so that’s what we worked on Sunday. The revelations were expected: lots of details to correct. 100-lunges-a-day will have to wait until we can properly stand in guard for more than 30 seconds straight.
For a well-formed single-sword Italian guard, here are my major notes:
– we talk about having no weight on the front foot. What do weightless things do? They float. In a properly formed guard, the front foot will, in fact, have the sense of floating. My ad-hoc test for this is to give the student’s front foot a quick kick from below. In a proper guard (no weight on the foot), it will pop up; if it doesn’t move appreciably, he’s got too much weight there.
– being mostly-kinda-sorta in an Italian stance is demanding on the quads; being in a bona fide Italian stance is utterly devastating. It’s easy to mistake the former as “good enough”.
– ditto for the abs, although they’re easy to forget.
– this was less a problem for me, but it bears repeating: weight is through the heels. Putting energy through the toes grants mobility at the cost of explosivity (since you break the straight line of energy transfer from heel-to-hip-to-shoulder) – perhaps good for a melee situation, but not necessary in singles, where we’re looking for those tight, quick, violent single-tempo actions.
– I am reminded of the chapter in the Book of Martial Power about the “sense of powerfulness” vs the “sense of effortlessness” and the primacy of the latter. There’s almost no need to practice basic footwork (aside from lunges) in a well-formed guard; it happens automatically simply by lifting or straightening the front leg. Passing is a little less automatic, but still very natural. Voids are similar – the timing is tricky but the motion itself flows easily.
– the lunge itself feels very different when performed from a good guard – rather like flipping a light switch up and down. The body “wants” to be in one of those two states, and it takes relatively little energy to move between them.
Looking Forward
All in all I’m happy with the direction these drills give. We need to finish building up the strength and stamina necessary for standing in guard, but after that these nine drills (and endless lunges) cover a lot of territory, and we’ll perform them as often as we can.
Get a copy of the Thibault manual. It was written specifically for someone with no instructor. The end.
Of course, that may not be an option for you; perhaps you have your heart set on some other style, or perhaps you’re vehemently opposed to right angles. For whatever reason, you want to study something else, and you don’t have anyone around who can teach you directly; hopefully, you have at least one practice partner who is willing to work with you on the same material, or who is at least willing to hit you a lot while you try to figure it out on your own.
I’ve already touched upon some of the major issues here, so the key thing to focus our discussion on here seems to be how to avoid those common issues. As someone who found himself learning and interpreting by himself, but at a practice with very skilled opponents, I can speak from experience that it is absolutely possible to learn these things more or less on your own. Moreover, it is possible to learn a system well enough to be able to use it against an uncooperative opponent who might be exceptionally brave, but not exceptionally skilled, the reverse, and anywhere in between in any combination thereof.
Please note that these stages exist on a continuum, and that not even all experts are equally so.
First, as the NOVICE:
At this stage, you really need to learn the lexicon of the system and its underlying theory. I do not mean that you need to have a deep comprehension; I instead mean that you must spend time reading and rereading from your chosen system (and from derivative works) for the purposes of memorizing what all the terms mean. What is sentiment? What is finding the sword? What is prima, and what is it good for? How is tempo defined? Everyone working within a system should have nearly identical answers to any and all of these questions. For example, see this: everyone studying Fabris should respond to that in more or less the same way, with very little divergence. Do not impose your beliefs or ideas on the system you have before you. Learn it by rote.
Second, as the ADVANCED BEGINNER:
Here, begin executing the motions of the system, especially the very basic, fundamental ones. Continually refer back to the source material and derivatives (prioritizing the original, of course, as not all derivative work are equal) to check if what you are doing matches with what should be happening. This is the time to practice lunging, slowly, methodically, and until it functions as described in Giganti, for example. If you have a training partner, this is the time for cooperative drills, with emphasis on completing the actions smoothly and effectively. Work through the plates carefully, and increase the speed until your actions match what the plate describes. If something does not work as it does in the manual, assume that the fault is yours and re-examine your actions or interpretation. Leave your ego at the door: do not try to win the drill if it is your turn to lose, and do not go down the rabbit hole of, “But if you did that, I would….” You would not.
At this time, the terms of the lexicon will start to have genuine meaning, as you develop not only an academic sense of wide measure, but a practical sense of where wide measure exists for you.
Third, as the INTERMEDIATE fencer:
By this time, you will be finding some degree of comfort and success when sparring within your system. You may even reach a point where you can do quite well against people using similar styles, but still struggle against opponents who do things which are unexpected for you. You should still try to limit yourself to what is contained within your system here, but to do it against actively resisting opponents in an unrehearsed environment. The key lessons to take away from this stage are those of consistency and judgment: in short, you want to be able to perform the actions of your system correctly and reliably, and you can only develop a true sense of when to do what against opponents who are actively trying to defeat you. This stage is where you learn not what a cavazione is, or how to perform one, but the correct function of the action: when does it work? You should be able to help a novice become an advanced beginner, and maybe a fellow intermediate. You will have moments of brilliance, but they will be inconsistent and unreliable.
Fourth, as the PROFICIENT fencer:
As someone who is proficient in the system, you should be able to perform the manual in its entirety against an actively resisting opponent of equal skill (given the right circumstances!). A proficient fencer can explain the whys of the system he or she is using, and sees how the actions in the plates are all connected to the underlying theory present. A proficient fencer can potentially train someone else from novice to proficiency themselves. Most people reach this stage and go no further, and there is no shame in that. A fencer in this stage can be “in the zone” from time to time, but not on demand.
Fifth, the EXPERT:
A person who is an expert in their system is a proficient fencer who can also take what is present in the system and extrapolate new things from what is extant. This is someone, for example, who can make a reasonable argument for how to use a dagger in Thibault’s system, despite having little to work with, or was already performing most of the actions from Giganti’s second book based exclusively on having seen Giganti’s first book. An expert can frequently, even regularly, enter “the zone,” and will outperform even proficient fencers despite having a bad day.
So, how does one move through these stages? For my own journey to be successful, I made use of these guiding lights:
1) Learn the lexicon.
2) Read the theory, over and over, until you can see how it all fits together. Then come back to in every so often. Try this to help you decode the text.
3) Plates are examples of the system at work, but are ultimately not the full system.
4) Study other martial arts, as they may inform something otherwise obscured.
5) The system works. If it doesn’t, blame yourself and try again.
6) Fight everyone. No small ponds. Travel if you have to (you have to).
7) Dedication matters.
8) Hypothesize, test, conclude, repeat.
9) You are never done.
Stay diligent, and good luck. This is no different from learning anything else. Knowing what the end goals are makes finding your way there far, far easier.
At short while ago, I had Ruairc and Gawin over for the weekend, with the idea that they would do well with a couple of consecutive days of focused training in their Italian rapier pursuits (Fabris and Giganti, respectively). I expect they shall write about that experience in detail, but during the course of the weekend, Ruairc lamented to me the state of many training videos on YouTube, as well as the state of HMA in general… and then later, the ruleset of the SCA as well. It was a day for lamentations.
As it was quite late by the time this discussion arose, I hadn’t really responded in such a way as to do it justice. A few days went by and I revisited the topic, and here is my current answer to the question, “Why is there so much bad HMA on the Internet?” For the purposes of this, we will be assuming that the question is itself not grounded on faulty premises.
To illustrate my answer, please consider a hypothetical HMA study group working on Capoferro’s manual with every available translation. Let’s say it’s quite a large group, with 10 people. They all have some sort of athletic background, but no significant prior martial arts training. So far, such a group could exist in any major city.
Now, this group buys gear, and starts reading. They take extensive notes, collaborate with each other, and begin working their way through the plates. One of the ten acts as a sort of group leader, but in all meaningful ways, they have a collective learning experience. A few years go by, they practice thousands of hours during that time, moving from drills to sparring and back again, and at the end of that time put together a YouTube training series based on their own experiences. This series of videos is promptly sent to me, late at night, in the hopes that I will see it right when I wake up so that my day is ruined.
How delightful.
You might ask, “What went wrong? That sounded like a good plan.” That’s a fair question, so let us now examine some of the problems that are inherent and unavoidable in the above scenario:
1. They are overly familiar with each other. Several years with a small number of opponents creates a situation where it is very, very easy to do a particular thing because it beats Partner X, and not because it’s automatically a good idea. All fighters have their quirks, and all of their training partners pick up on them over time, leading to positive reinforcement for reasons unrelated to the martial art.
2. Everyone is using the same system, which is necessarily constrained to a set range of expected motions. This means that the practitioners will often be prepared to deal with people who are fighting the same way, but unprepared to deal with someone who is less “educated” than they are, or moves in a different way, or is comparably educated in a different system.
3. Any single mistake that the group collectively accepted may never have been questioned. This might have compounded into other areas, as well. This can be especially problematic if the group actually has a leader, like someone with a collegiate fencing background, as the two combat sports have a considerable amount of overlap, but also have as many differences between them as boxing and kickboxing. Minor errors that aren’t caught can persist for years.
4. Since they all began at a relatively equal level, there is no one who can assuredly claim that anyone else is wrong, so errors are even harder to detect. This is especially insidious if the error is successful, but only because of other extant errors. Mistakes that get positive reinforcement are nearly insurmountably difficult to recognize, accept, and change.
This, of course, isn’t even getting into the possibility that one guy decided to use an extra light blade one day, and then everyone else did, too, because it’s easier on the arm and faster, and then eventually everyone is whipping a noodly, half-pound blade in dui tempi actions left and right. I’ve seen it happen, and it’s the sort of thing historic martial artists should warn their children will happen to them if they don’t eat their vegetables; truly, it is the stuff of nightmares.
In the end, however, this poor group never really had much of a chance. It wasn’t that they didn’t follow a good, scientific method of hypothesize-test-conclude; it was that they were *incapable* of actually testing their understanding in a meaningful way because their sample size was too small.
It is better to take a system and be able to implement it effectively against opponents who are unknown and using uncertain methods. Variety is a necessary testing tool, and outside influences are incredibly important. If you cannot fight within a system against an opponent acting in a way that is divergent from that system’s parameters, you cannot claim real knowledge of it.
Ironically, I have found the SCA to be a superb vehicle for my own HMA studies, even with the adaptations necessary for safety, specifically because of how few of its practitioners study HMA.
In short, this study group failed to remember Capoferro’s 5th Admonition.
Sunday I went to the regional fighter practice here in South Downs. About eight fencers turned out and I got passes in with most.
Despite it being my birthday, and having planned to fight N+1 (where N is the number of your years on this planet, in my case 33) passes with everybody, I did not manage it. I forgot to keep count through my first two opponents, then had an armor failure around pass 15 with my next opponent, and the fourth opponent was more of a teaching setting. Oh well. Maybe next Tuesday I’ll do the N+1.
There’d been plans prior to day-of for some melee, but that never materialized. I’d been hoping to get a look at SOP for the Meridian army, but the turnout was a little low and intermittent. One of the weirdest things for me to get used to is the scope of regions here. Atlanta’s a barony, and within one hour of Atlanta is another barony and five shires. Within an hour of Raleigh is Windmasters. So, coming to the regional practice I was a little disappointed by the turnout and will need to spend some time recalibrating the scale. Maybe melee next time?
The head of the Atlanta Freifechters did come out and teach some German longsword. It was nifty stuff, and I think I’ll have to start seeking them out.
Meanwhile, we were not the weirdest people there. Dagorhir showed up and started their boffer fighting. There were a dozen or so of them. One was dressed as a Jedi. One was dressed as a goth in tophat, trenchcoat, and facepaint. One was dressed as a goat. I had to keep reminding myself that’s how we look to non-SCAdians. Still. A goat.
Three years after working through Tom Leoni’s Venetian Rapier, his translation of Nicoletto Giganti’s first book, Piermarco Terminiello and Joshua Pendragon (really, people are still named Pendragon, isn’t that awesome?) have discovered, translated, and published The ‘Lost’ Second Book of Nicoletto Giganti (1608).
Their introductions are fascinating, and an excellent testimony to the fact that we’re still in the nascent days of researching all the period manuals available (a quick look at Wikipedia’s by no means comprehensive list of period manuals gives an idea of just how few are actually available in translation ). But I’m going to skip to Giganti’s first preface (there are many prefaces in the book, some less pre- than most of the book).
Want to know more (and why shouldn’t you?), go buy it.
Preface
Just as with the discussion of the first book, the impulse to block quote the entire chapter is strong. Giganti’s writing is clear, though he doesn’t get explicit about some of the nuances, and probably as good as anything I can do. Still, nothing wagered…
He opens with a reminder/acknowledgment that his first book was about fighting with and against thrusts, mostly with just the single sword, and now he’ll move on to other weapons forms and cuts. The thing that goes unmentioned here is that in his first book he at least twice derides those who fight with cuts: One in the discussion of fighting against people with no form who simply beat the blade (a beat is a cut at the blade), and the other in his lunge against the opponent priming a cut. What he’s then about to discuss is how to defeat people who haven’t studied his first book, and who fight in a sub-optimal style. Or, Standard Issue SCAdians.
In my own experience while studying Giganti I ran into the same problems he discusses (“If someone who knows how to thrust faces another who does not… they will both strike eachother”). I’d land good clean thrusts, but get caught with a counter-tempo arcing thrust. Or have my sword beat aside while trying to do very pretty cavazione. Some of this was ameliorated when I went back, read, and internalized the chapter on how to defeat the opponent who fights with beats and no form. A large chunk of this second book amounts to further development of that theme and how to counter the “natural cuts” of the formless opponent with “concerted blows” and “artful cuts”.
I was thinking about the Most Dangerous Swordsman I’ve known (though, this was when I was a foil fencer at the club in Orlando, so it’s been a while), who was this late-60-something guy shaped like a beachball. In no way, by physical judgment, could he have been thought of as dangerous. I was a newbie, and he generally didn’t work with new folk. Still, the few times I crossed blades with him I got a hell of a lesson. He barely moved his feet. When I attacked, he twitched and I was parried, and then his point was on me. But it wasn’t just him beating up a newbie. Everybody in that club feared him at some level, even the forty-something guys who’d started fencing in college. He spoke with an Hungarian accent, which has led to the First Maxim: Beware old, fat Eastern Europeans.
Clearly he had superior mastery of the fundamentals of combat and had drilled his sword work and footwork to a fine edge, but he also had that nearly telepathic capacity to read his opponents, always. These qualities made up for any physical advantages his opponents might have. Most of the voices on this blog are bouncy little twenty-somethings, but they won’t always be.
There are a few times where something, just some slight shift of weight or change of an angle, in an opponent has not just said “I’m going to attack” but “I’m going to attack in this particular manner.” I remember the first time I read it – Alejandro was fighting me left handed and there was something that led me to hold up a hand and ask “Are you about to take your big offline lunge and hit me over the top of my inner elbow?” He allowed as how he was. Another time, I think, got me Sir Christian’s positive vote for the white scarf polling. He had lunged, and when I didn’t counter he asked “Why?” I said I was pretty sure he’d intentionally lunged short to bait my counter attack so he could strike in counter-time. Again, something about his lunge that I couldn’t have measured at that moment. He gave me a great compliment, saying “There are Provosts who can’t make that assessment.”
Uncle Walter’s got his list of rules, and one of them is “If you know where your opponent is going to be a half second from now, you should win.” That’s why we put our opponents in obedience. It’s also why that old Hungarian monster learned to read every body (see what I did there? Clever, n’est-ce pas?).
Our bodies give us away, and our opponents’ bodies give them away. So here’s the question: What are your tells? What do they say?
Reply here. And, audience, if somebody misses a tell, point it out for them. Be HELPING.