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This is long. Sorry. If you're not interested in my epee fencing career, please feel free to skip it.
On Tuesday, July 8, 2008, I went to the Summer Nationals fencing tournament in downtown San Jose. As some of you know, I'm an epee fencer, and at one point I had a very good day. The thing is, I've never defended that B rating. It's been four years now, and every time I've thought about going to a fencing tournament, there was some conflict or something else came up. But I must admit I could have made it to some competitions; the fault is clearly my own.
Anyway, this year Summer Nationals was in San Jose and enough people pushed me to get me to go.
To do so I had to get into the local qualifier some months back, where I fenced on the Salle DeCesare men's epee team. We lost in grand style - thus reinforcing my lifelong dislike of team sports - but it qualified me to fence epee in San Jose.
Then, exactly one week before the big tournament, I injured my left ankle while out working on the yard. I strained a bunch of ligaments in it, but decided I was going to fence anyway, whatever happened.
To tell the truth, as I pulled into the parking garage, my thoughts were something like "I just hope I make the cut and get into my first DE." At this event, only 80% of the fencers in my competition (men's epee, age 40-49) would be promoted out of the pool bouts and into the direct elimination (DE) ladder. Between my ankle, my lack of recent competetive fencing, and a reduced amount of regular fencing lately, I didn't think I was going to do well and only hoped to make the 80% cut.
The event was big. Really big. There were over 50 fencing strips setup in the venue, and equipment vendors from all over the country.
Fencing tournaments are run in a particular way. They start by splitting the competitors into groups - called pools - usually containing 6 or 7 fencers. Within your pool you fence every other fencer to a total of five touches in one three minute bout. There's also a sudden death, one minute over time if the score is tied at the end of three minutes. When your pool is complete, the results are tallied up and combined with the results from all the other pools to make a direct elimination ladder, but more on that later.
I got to my strip and watched two bouts before my first turn came. During the first one I thought to myself "I can probably beat those guys", and was comforted. (Bout organizers try to distribute the competitors so that each pool has a range of skills represented, and reduce the chances of fencing one of your teammates right away.) The second bout I watched was less to my liking. Both fencers seemed good and I didn't think I was going to have an easy time of it. Then my turn came to fence someone I hadn't yet seen fence at all.
And I lost, quickly, five to zero. "Ugh," I thought. "That's not good."
My next time up I did a bit better, losing five to two.
By now I'm already losing track of who I have fenced and who I haven't, so things are just going to happen. I win the next bout five to zero and my next by something like five to three. Two left and I think I'm up against fencers who are better than I am. I figure that coming out of the pools with two wins and 4 losses will probably get me into the DE round, but we're not there yet.
My next opponent is tall and thin, a classic epee fencing build. We salute, come on guard, get started, and the whole thing is a blur. I can't tell you what the final score was, but I came out ahead, five to something. He came in strong, playing to my game and letting me be on the defensive where I tend to do well.
Sitting on the sideline and talking with some others from my club, I say "Well, I can't get out of here worse than three & three." I'll take that.
My last bout arrives. We salute and my opponent says "Good luck!". My reply is honest: "Thank, you. I'm going to need it. I've been watching you fence." It was a hard fought bout, but we were tied at four all when he tried an attack that I saw coming. I hit him in the chest as he missed, and it was over. I won five to four, and finished my pool with four wins and two losses - much better than I'd anticipated.
That finish assured me a spot in the DEs, so now I wait for the ladder to be assembled and announced. There's some magic about these ladders, but the concept is simple. In this case, we had 55 competitors. 80% get promoted to the DE round, so that leaves 44. If there had been 64, the ladder is easy to predict: the best pools finisher (#1) fences the worst finisher (#64), #2 fences #63, and so on. The ladder is arranged so that #1 and #2 have the chance to meet in the final bout if they win all their DEs.
In our case, with 44 fencers, they gave the first 20 finishers a bye, putting them directly into the round of 32. The rest of us - I finished out at #22, and so just missed bye - fenced in the round of 64. In my case, as the second best finisher without a bye, I fenced the person who'd finished 43rd out of the 44 promoted to the DE round.
DE bouts are different than pool bouts. For the old guys like me (we're called "Veterans", and considered ancient by the twenty-somethings who might make the Olympic team) the rules stipulate a ten point bout in two, three minute periods, with a one minute break between. The same sudden death, one minute overtime applies in the case of ties. If we were younger - or were just competing in the open (age doesn't matter) competition, it would be a 15 point bout in three periods. They're giving us old timers a break, but the truth is we know how to have fun doing this. The youngsters are way too serious about it all.
Anyway, my first DE bout was against a local. We started and I got ahead, something like seven to three. I was coasting, though, and didn't pay enough attention. He changed his game and I was slow to catch on. The details are already fading from my head, but I think he actually got ahead of me - probably eight to seven - as we ended the first period. I deliberately chose to let time expire, to cool him down and get the sweat out of my eyes. I figured the one minute break would do him more harm than me, and I was right.
We came back after the break and I didn't let him push as hard. I tied it back up, we got a double touch, and it was nine all. On the final point he launched an attack that I saw coming, and I tagged his arm (I think) as he came in. The bout was over and I'd won, ten to nine. That was good. By doing that I basically defended my 22nd place finish, and moved into the round of 32.
My next bout arrived and I found myself facing someone tall and strong, but built more like me, not quite the classic skinny epee build. We saluted and got going. Initially, it didn't go well at all. He'd had a bye in the round of 64, of course, so he'd finished in the top 20. I let him get ahead seven to three by the end of the first period.
It turns out he was coasting and it was my turn to change things. After the break, I pushed harder and concentrated on attacking his weapon arm. He kept his guard a bit low and opened up a close target there for me. I worked hard, and brought it back to nine all. The last touch fell my way - I don't even remember it now - and I won again, ten to nine.
We had a nice chat afterwards. His name is Julio Mazzoli, and he's from Michigan. His attitude exemplified why I like fencing with the veterans. We tend to understand that we're never going to make the Olympic team. As a result, fencing should - above all - be fun! Sure, we try hard, and yes, we want to get better and win, but afterwards, let's go have a beer and relax about it all. We can even laugh on the strip and generally have a good time. Julio was a gentleman about the entire thing, and I hope to meet him again at some future tournament.
That very unexpected win moved me into the round of 16, meaning I would finish no lower than 16th out of 55, and possibly higher, depending on how things went. At this point, I was more than happy with my performance, and it turns out that's a good thing.
My last opponent went on to win the tournament. Joe Hoffman took me apart. His first five points were all on simple lunges, but he was so tall, so strong, and his lunges were from so far away I simply couldn't do anything except admire them as he hit me. Towards the end I finally found an adjustment or two that helped. I got a single clean touch and a couple of doubles, but he won ten to three, and he clearly deserved it. As I say, he won the event overall.
He also enjoyed himself on the strip. After about his fifth straight point I laughed out loud at my inability to hold him off. He looked at me and said "Youre the only other one I know who laughs after getting hit." My reply: "What else can I do?"
If one is going to lose, it's nice to lose to the guy who goes on to win. So I congratulate Joe, and wish him well. Someday my game will improve enough to give him a run for his money.
Later I checked the results and found out I'd actually finished 13th. Right now, you can see the full results here, though the USFA may move (or remove) them at any time. A 13th place finish in a field of 55. Not bad when going in all I wanted to do was finish in the top 80%.
But I didn't do the best in my club. Not by a long shot. Lou Mariani went way beyond me in the Veteran's 50-59 age group. He tied for third place and earned an alternate spot on the US National Men's epee team. He re-earned his B rating - though I think he should have gotten his A - and made all of us from Salle DeCesare proud.
Overall, Salle Decesare fielded a huge set of fencers. We had people competing in individual foil, epee, and saber. We had mens and womens foil and epee teams, and a men's saber team too. For an oddball - lighter side of fencing - club, we did pretty darn well.
Perhaps - with this kick in the butt - I'll go back and do some competetive fencing again in the coming year. I might even re-earn my B rating. it drops to a C any day now, but earning it back is possible. If I can finish 13th at Summer Nationals, I can probably do pretty well in the local Bay Cup events.