Play Up and Play the Game

There is a big difference between free sparring (pick ups etc) and the tournament encounter.

In practice we try out different approaches and techniques. We see what works and what does not. We extend our range of options and capabilities. We bring the best out of ourselves and our training partners.

Tournament is not a time to practice. Tournament is about the accomplishment of the one central tenet of any martial art; hit them without being hit yourself.

Tournament combat is a different game of mind and body. We seek to extend our mental and physical domination over our opponent. We must be ready for sudden action while remaining still and calm within.

Technique is pared away to the most fundamental. Your attacks must be true and give no room for doubt. You defence is wary of feint and trick. Simple, elegant and crisp is the mark of a true competitor.

We seek to emulate that idea of noble or powerful grace. No wasted effort or flourish. Everything has one dreadful and true purpose. A beautiful and terrifying dance of skill, power and grace.

Shifting your mental gears into this space is something many of us struggle with. We are constantly stuck in practice mode, wanting to participate in a game of swords but without the focus required of the true test of person and skill in tournament.

How we get there is different for all of us. You will need to find the answer to this question if you are to progress. Think of those times you were ‘switched on’. What was happening for you then? How can you repeat that headspace?

Find what works for you and use it when you must. For after all the training, sweat and hard work, it will be that determination and focus that enables you to push beyond your own fears and seek that one perfect moment when your blade strikes home.

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night

Ten to make and the match to win

A bumping pitch and a blinding light,

An hour to play, and the last man in.

And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat.

Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,

But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote:

“Play up! Play up! And play the game!”

 

The sand of the desert is sodden red –

Red with the wreck of a square that broke;

The Gatling’s jammed and the colonel dead,

And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed its banks,

And England’s far, and Honour a name,

But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks –

“Play up! Play up! And play the game!”