My instructor cocked her head sideways as she watched me practice a few lunges and disengages in front of the mirror. "I think so," I said, mustering all of the confidence that I could find in my belly as I sparred with my own reflection.
This was it. After several months of parrying, lunging and humiliating myself before my instructor, it was time to see how I fared in a match where money and alcohol were at stake. It had been some time since I sparred with the adults, so I didn't quite know what to expect. "Just remember," my instructor counseled, "to always keep the blade in the Parry Six position, which will give you increased mobility in blocking your challenger's attacks. And remember not to drag your back foot when lunging forward."
It was decided that I would fight my as-yet-unnamed challenger to the best of five hits using my new Visconti grip foil. My instructor would keep score, while the rest of the adults would watch and learn, although it was beyond me what, if anything, these more experienced adult fencers could learn from an amateur such as myself.
"Who am I fighting, anyways," I asked as I sat on the polished wooden floor and stretched the remaining winter cold out of my calves. Almost as if in response to my question, the door to the men's locker room flew open, and out sauntered Monty, smiling broadly as he spun his foil at me. You're joking, I stammered to myself as I turned to my instructor, who simply smirked and shrugged her shoulders, mouthing the words, "Good luck."
Talk about being the underdog.
Talk about being the underdog.
"Well, m'boy," Monty announced, "shall I decide whether you'll pay that twenty bucks by cash or by check?"
The small group of adults let out a low chuckle. I sighed and continued to stretch out my legs. "Don't declare victory just yet," I challenged, springing up from the floor and bouncing up and down on my knees, spinning my own foil at Monty, who peered over the hilt of my blade and smirked. "Ahhh," he noted, "I see that you've been taught how to use the Visconti grip." In response, I sliced my Visconti through the air in front of Monty with an intimidating swish, causing Monty to let out another hearty laugh from his weathered face. "Excellent," he proclaimed.
With that, my instructor called us to Fencing Lane Number Five, where the rest of the adults, including my cherub-cheeked romance counselor, Helga, and Monty's partner in crime, Arnold, sat to watch my fight to the finish. Monty and I saluted each other before our small audience, pointing our foils at each other, swishing them upwards vertically and then slicing them downwards. A sudden surge of adrenaline shot its way through my body, making me realize that this would turn out to be my most intense sparring match to date. I sank down into the en garde position, readying my blade in the Parry Six Position, with my wrist cocked slightly outwards from the center of my body. I relaxed my shoulders and felt my fingers comfortably wrapped around the Visconti pistol grip.
"Allez," my instructor yelled out. Monty immediately leaped forward, whirling his traditional French grip foil in a distracting circle, forcing me to quickly step back as he let off two blindingly fast lunges. While I successfully blocked the first with a quick Parry Number Four, my moment of pride was short lived as his second strike drove its way through my next parry and caught me in the center of my chest. "Point to Monty," my instructor announced.
Once again, I resumed my fighting stance. This time, I went on the offensive, faking a lunge to Monty's left and then disengaging under his blade to catch Monty on the right side of his chest. I could feel the pistol grip of the Visconti increase the flexibility in my wrist as I spun my foil. However, Monty telegraphed my move and easily parried, swatting my blade aside as if it were an annoying gnat. He then countered towards my lower torso, forcing me to block with a Parry Number Eight. "Good," Monty cried happily, causing me to grin behind my mask.
Once again, Monty's compliment got the better of me as he caught me just above my heart in my moment of distraction. Within fifteen minutes, Monty had scored four hits to my chest, while I had scored only twice. I needed to pick up the pace. Inside my helmet, sweat poured down my cheeks. My breathing came out in quick huffs. I lunged forward, feeling my already exhausted calves cry out in pain. As Monty parried my lunge, I suddenly saw his upper torso open up, at which I quickly disengaged around his lowered foil and just barely caught the hit, turning two points into three, prompting our small audience to actually let out a bout of enthusiastic applause.
"Come on, Otto," my instructor cheered from the sidelines, "make us buy you the first round!" Another chuckle emanated from the old timers. I eat pressure for breakfast, I thought, narrowing my eyes as I once again assumed the en garde position. This was it. I couldn't let Monty score the fifth and final hit. I felt my pulse pounding inside my head as I gripped the Visconti tightly and tensed every muscle in my body.
"Allez," my instructor blurted out, at which I lunged forward, letting off a rapid succession of quick slices, lunges and disengages, doing my best to drive Monty back and distract him before moving in for the kill. At least for a while, my plan was working. Monty was forced backwards, lithely shuffling as he smoothly but urgently parried each of my strikes. For just a moment, I detected what seemed like slight apprehension and uncertainty in his movements. I decided to take advantage of his momentary hesitation and drive my foil to the right side of his chest, gripping the Visconti as I pushed it in for the kill. And suddenly....THUD! My mind reeled as I heard the sound of a blade sinking into clothing. Did I just actually tie it up with Monty?! Did I just land another hit on the master himself?! This was too good to be tr-
"Point to Monty," my instructor announced. "Monty wins."
I sighed in defeat as I looked down, realizing that Monty's foil had reached me first and caught me in the middle of my torso. The audience broke out into applause. Monty slid off his mask, approached me, and offered his ungloved hand, which I took. "Not bad at all, m'boy," he smiled as he patted me on the back. "Thanks," I grinned while wiping the perspiration from my face. "That was intense!"
Monty laughed and announced, "Let's hit the bars! First round is on our valiant underdog!" As I hobbled off to the locker room, I handed Arnold a twenty dollar bill for him to begin ordering drinks. As I set down the foil and wiped my face with a towel, I replayed the fight in my mind. I almost had him, I thought as I reviewed the last few seconds of the match. Somehow, I needed to find the kink in Monty's seemingly impenetrable defensive technique. I had to get faster. I had to have a re-match.
Somehow, the underdog would have his day....
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