The air suddenly brimmed with the scent of stale perspiration as the fencers who had now been selected to form the Academy's elite competition teams began to strap on their chest plates, gloves, fencing masks and electrically wired padding, all of which had clearly not been washed in some time. Monty, who volunteered to be one of the coaches, conducted a walk-through among the fencers, looking like a medieval general surveying his knights in preparation for an epic battle. He would smile and chuckle as he tightened a boy's glove here or fastened a girl's helmet there, all the while shouting words of encouragement as he moved through the rabble of these excited athletes.
Once dressed and equipped, the junior foil team (ages 8-12) then assembled in the first two fencing lanes for their practice rounds, while the intermediate épée fencers (ages 14-18) gathered in the wider, more advanced lanes close to the end of the studio. One coach was designated for each group: the statuesque lady of the sword that we met back in November would train the junior team, while Monty would train the more advanced intermediate team. As each coach gave their initial pep talks and rabble-rousing speeches, I watched as each fencer's chin would rise in confidence and their smiles would grow wider with each passing moment.
"You are now among the best fencers in New York State," the lady of the sword announced in a military tone. "This competition will not be easy, but you were all chosen because of your exceptional skills."
"It's not strength that wins this game," Monty bellowed. "It's speed, wit and a whole lot of Gatorade!" A chuckle rose from the intermediate épée fencers.
"Hey, Otto," Theo yelled, running up to me in a chest pad that practically swallowed half of his tiny body. "What's up, kiddo," I said, high-fiving him. "You look like a pro in that padding." Theo smiled proudly and pointed at the small emblem of a sword in the center of his chest pad. "The other kids call me 'The Flash With La Flèche!"
Theo then held up his helmet to me. "Can you help me put this on," he asked sheepishly. I nodded and cocked my head sideways. "I don't know," I wondered, "but that helmet looks awfully big for you, kiddo." Theo and I sauntered over to a nearby rack of neatly arranged fencing masks. While we looked for a more appropriately tailored headpiece, Theo excitedly explained that the chest pad was bought as a Christmas gift from his mother, while his brand new foil came courtesy of his father. The total cost for turning Theo into a pint-sized, sword-wielding dynamo: a little over three hundred dollars. "So," I inquired, "which division are you competing in?"
"Junior foil," Theo beamed. He explained his desire to make it all the way to the finals. To accomplish this, he would have to get past five preliminary bouts against fencing students from New Jersey, Connecticut and even Massachusetts. After that, he would travel to New Jersey, where the semi-final rounds would be hosted. Finally, if he could make it past Jersey, the nationals would be held back in New York City in April.
"Wow, that's a lot," I whistled as I finally found a smaller helmet, fitted it over Theo's mop of brown hair and connected the back straps together. I stepped back and observed Theo, who looked like a cross between a miniature Darth Vader and Zorro The Astronaut. "Not bad, kid," I chuckled. "You look deadly."
With that, Theo toddled off to the rest of his junior foil teammates, roaring with confidence as he waved around his little foil mightily while balancing the fencing mask atop his shoulders. As I observed the entire studio, I could feel the energy coursing through the room as the intermediate fencers whooped and hollered while they parried back and forth, their electric buzzers going wild with points being scored almost every second.
After observing some of the intense, whirling practice bouts, my instructor emerged from the ladies' locker room and beckoned me over for our lesson. "Is there a competition for adults," I asked as I approached her, "because this stuff is pretty amazing to watch."
After observing some of the intense, whirling practice bouts, my instructor emerged from the ladies' locker room and beckoned me over for our lesson. "Is there a competition for adults," I asked as I approached her, "because this stuff is pretty amazing to watch."
"Nothing this official," she answered. "The adults just compete with each other for money or to see who buys the drinks. But it can still get pretty intense. Come next Thursday and find out. In fact, we'll have you do a bit of sparring."
"And if I lose?"
"Then the first round of beers is on you, and I'll lose the twenty dollars I've already bet on you."
No pressure, Otto....
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