Here's a narrative about my trip to the Men's Epée World Cup in Montréal, March 26-27, 1999.
The drive up was easy, split into two 5 hour segments by an overnight stay in a Holiday Inn just outside the infamous Woodstock NY. Crossing the border worried me just a little, not having a passport or any genuine proof of citizenship. I had a photocopy of my birth certificate, and my driver's license, neither of which proves anything. But it turned out to be only a 5 second interview with a woman in a tollbooth. (The return crossing was slightly less pleasant: a 20 second interview with a man in a tollbooth.)
Driving in Montréal was much like any big city, except for subtle traffic light differences. Of course all the speed limit signs are in km instead of mi, and of course everyone ignores them. A blinking green there is like a left turn arrow, and it always occurs at the end of the cycle. A straight arrow with a "walk" for pedestrians underneath it prohibits a right turn, and I presume a left as well, even if there are no pedestrians. I'm not sure if right-on-red is allowed, I never saw anyone do it, but I didn't get busted the one time I did.
I arrived around noon Thursday, checked into the hotel, and found my way to the venue to be sure I knew where it was. It turned out to be 20 minutes away from the downtown hotel.
Knowing a little French is a curse, because I was always trying to use it and confusing the waiters and valets and bartenders. Fortunately almost everyone speaks better English than I do French, so it wasn't a problem.
Marcus White and Tony Wormack were sharing a room in the hotel, and Marcus showed up just after I ate lunch around 2pm. We made plans to go eat dinner at 8pm, and both took long naps. Tony showed up right at 8pm, and we made our way to an excellent Italian restaurant about 6 blocks away, which the half drunk doorman had recommended.
I had figured I would get to bed early to get up at 6am to shower, breakfast, and drive to the venue a little early. Over dinner it was revealed by Tony that World Cups don't start at 8am: check-in doesn't even begin until 10:30am! So we hung out in the restaurant bar and with a table of pretty girls (which Montréal is absolutely full of, by the way) until almost midnight. This is obligatory for Tony. We also got a list of good strip clubs from one of the waiters, whose girlfriend dances in town. However, we never had the chance to make use of the list.
So the next day, Friday, I get up around 9am, shower, eat breakfast, meet Marcus and Tony and we cram into my car to go to the venue. Two bags barely fit in the trunk, and one is in Marcus's lap in the back seat.
There are about 18 strips set up, and few people there when we arrive. We grab a section of bleachers and do the regular tournament stuff: find the bathroom, put in contacts, change into uniform, etc. A few other Americans show up and join us on the bleachers. (You know, the regular boring Americans like Tamir Bloom, Justin Tausig, Jon Normile, Rob Stull, Scott Rostal, Seth Kelsey, etc.)
We check in sometime after 10:30, and slowly start to warm up. Oddly, like at the Canadian Elite a month earlier, the machines and reels they're using are all old. Broken old things we would sneer at, at a NAC. Slightly lower quality than VA equipment, in fact. But by and large it seems to work. I guess they have more armorers and less money than we do in the US.
Around 11:30 they announce equipment check has begun at the armorers' table. All they do is glance at my mask, punch it once with a punch test, and stamp it. No body cord check, no weapons control, nothing. I guess I replaced those two old beat up bells with brand new ($17 each) bells for nothing.
Around noon they post the initial seeding list. There are 105 competitors, and I'm seeded 85th or so. I was surprised at how small it was, used to 220 people in Men's Epée events at NACs. It turns out this is the weekend a lot of top world fencers take off, with 3 or 4 World Cups in a row in the month before. So a lot of the strongest guys weren't there.
Around 12:30 they post the pools, and around 12:40 they repost them with corrections. The format is a little weird, and I didn't fully understand it until later. It's like this. The top 16 are held out and go straight into the round of 64 (in places 1-16) which is fenced the following day. The top 16 after the pools are also held out and go straight into the 64 (in places 17-32). The remainder fence DE's to 32, and they are put into the 64 (in places 33-64 [I still don't know if those 32 are reordered by seed or if they retain the slot they're in]). It's 80% up from the pools, including the 16 who don't have to fence DE's. So 89 people fenced in 13 pools of 6 and 7. 71 make it up, and the bottom 18 are out. The top 16 are taken straight to the 64, leaving an incomplete tableau of 55 to fence to 32. This means the top 25 (the top 16 plus the top 9 who get byes) go straight into the 32.
In my pool I won 4 and lost 2, with indicators of +6. This seeded me 28th from the pools, which is 12th in the incomplete tableau of 64. Marcus White won only 1, lost 5, and didn't make the cut. Tony Wormack was 2-4 and did make the cut.
My one DE to make the round of 64 (and earn World points) was vs Gary Linton, at around 3:30pm. He fences in Philadelphia, and his 17 year old daughter Kimberly is an excellent épée fencer (25th at the Canadian Elite). I defeated his brother in my pool 5-1. It was Gary's 50th birthday that very day, and he was the luckiest man all weekend. I lost to him 14-15 in the third period, after having been ahead 6-2 in the first period, and 14-13 just before the dismal end. (The gruesome story of my stupidity has been omitted to avoid compounding my bitterness.)
My final place was 66th. People finishing below me include Eric Hansen and Ben Atkins (7th and 10th in the US). 66th also means one of the two people seeded higher than me who didn't get a bye was also upset, which is some (very small) consolation.
So I discussed at great length with Marcus, who coached me in the bout, what things I did wrong, what I might have done differently, etc. Tony won his DE to make the 64. I got undressed, we made plans to meet the other Americans for dinner, and we all went back to the hotel to shower. That was about 4:30pm.
I showered and went to the hotel bar, where I bought the worst Long Island Iced Tea I've had in years, and then two good Belgian beers. You can see what my plan for the evening was.
We went out to Le Globe for dinner with all the Americans. All the waitresses were beautiful, the atmosphere great, and the food unbelievable. For some reason the manager gave everyone at our table a digestif on the house, and I ended up carrying mine out under my jacket because I was just drinking too slowly for everyone's taste. We went to a bar called Tokyo, where they have a couple tables set into the floor so you feel as though you're sitting in a hot tub the entire time.
In Tokyo, there are even more pretty girls. I drink a little of this and a lot of that, and soon everyone that made the 64 has gone home to sleep except Tony, who I choose to berate until he leaves about being well rested tomorrow. Just after I decided it was time to stop drinking, I met the Canadian women's handball team, who insisted on buying me a beer. What do they choose? An exotic import garnished with fruit: Corona with a lime wedged in the neck. Ugh. I don't really remember what I did with it, but I'm sure I didn't drink it. Anyway, shortly thereafter I trudged home alone and went to bed. The clock said 4am.
Next morning around 10am Tony calls to make sure I can drive him to the venue. We eat breakfast and all three get into the car much more easily with only one fencing bag. I don't really remember the sequence of events clearly, but I do remember not being able to wash the smell of cigarette smoke off myself from being in that bar so long the night before. They have 8 strips left set up. The round of 64 is done in 4 flights. After that they take down 4 strips, and do the round of 32 in 4 flights, the round of 16 in two flights, and the round of 8 in 1 flight. This is all done by 4:30pm, leaving the top 4. The finals were scheduled for 7pm.
Remember Gary Linton? His opponent was to be Arnd Schmitt, currently ranked 2nd in the world. It turns out Arnd's plane was turned around and he never showed up. So Gary gets a bye into the round of 32! Gary was so completely outclassed, his opponent was barely able to allow him 6 touches, and the director openly (and good naturedly) laughed at a couple of the actions. But all the Americans were behind him and he got a whole lot of cheers for those 6 touches. He was in fact the luckiest guy all weekend.
Tony lost his first DE. Tamir Bloom lost to Jon Normile in the round of 8, putting Jon in the top 4! It's not very often an American gets a medal at a World Cup.
So we hung around for the two plus hours after the round of 8 was done until the finals began. There was a heated game of 3-on-3 touch football with a ball made from duct tape. They sold out of hotdogs at the concession stand, and a biergarten opened in the bleachers. I don't remember the name of the beer, but they were the sole sponsor of the tournament (it was in Canada, after all).
The finals were MC'ed entirely in French, and they went like this:
Milanoli absolutely humiliated Schmidt. Imagine Larry Lindberg on steroids, with point control and speed like you've never seen, and a greasy long haired Italian look. It was an inspiring bout.
They did do weapons control and body cord checks for the 4 finalists, apparently to avoid confusing the crowd and/or keep things moving quickly. But the Wheelchair Sabre final involved a busted sabre and a broken body cord that added at least 15 minutes of confused (and very boring, as a spectator) troubleshooting.
Now it was something like 9:30pm, and they had a reception upstairs in the VIP lounge. There was only finger food, and those who had fenced (or played duct-tape-football) were all ready for dinner. So we went back to the hotel, showered, went out separately for dinner, and met back at the same bar, Tokyo. Tony handed out some Cohibas he'd gotten from the Columbians, everyone congratulated Jon. Seth (being 17) talked about women and the difficulties they pose, and everyone partied. I'm not really sure what time I got home, but it wasn't as late as the previous night.
I met Tony and Marcus at 10am to eat breakfast, trade Canadian for US money until everyone had what they needed, and depart. I was on the road at 11am, stopped twice for gas and once for a Roy Roger's roast beef sandwich, and back home at 8:30pm.
And that is the story of my first World Cup. I can't wait for my next chance, and I haven't heard back from the national office if the Cuba WC in June is open to all North American entries...