by Teddy Bourne

 And so to the big day! The venue, festooned with flags and Olympic emblems, looks a far cry from all those church halls that the COF was used to in his youth; national flags everywhere, and all COFs are decked out in bright new white kit (however briefly). The organisers are eager to shine, and everywhere there are officials exuding efficiency. Efforts are always made (at least for the first three days) to keep everyone out of the actual fencing arena except competitors and officials; with luck one of your first-round top seeds will be held up by security guards and scratched. (It helps to draw a security guard aside and tell him you're highly suspicious of those unshaven types in Russian track-suits.)

The weapon control men generally go beserk with strictness in a way that would do credit to the Marx Brothers. ('A Day at the Circuits'?). Even the sabreurs are stricken with vague doubts about the flexibility of their weapons and their fears are not eased by the inevitable flow of telegrams from home crammed with dubious double entendres on this theme. The epeeists (always touchy about such things) are reduced to nervous wrecks and can be seen haunting the Control like so many Ancient Mariners struggling to get at least one weapon passed. Normally a little mark is painted or stamped on the sword when it passes through Control, but in order (perhaps) to reduce terrorism, the Montreal technicians hit on the ultimate Monty-Pythonism they introduced an invisible control-stamp. You could see them with an ultra-viofet light, but most of the team seemed to have come without one.

The competition itself is not so very different from other coarse competitions, except for the unusual feeling (mistaken) that a lot of people are watching. The presidents all wear special yellow jackets; a strange choice of colour for such brave men. The running (or rather fencing) results are flashed up on a huge electronic scoreboard and the scene is surveyed by rows of press seats, each equipped with its own television (though whenever these are passed each set proves to be tuned into 'Sesame Street').

When the COF gets home, in fact, he will find that everyone has been trying to watch him on television, and is bitterly disappointed that he wasn't featured. COF will be left with the job of explaining that his ignominous departure in the first round is not quite major box office.

Of course, being back home is an anti-climax, particularly with no gong with which to cheer yourself up. The COF will, therefore, make the most of the official Government reception, at which he can once more re-live his secret 'international athlete' identity , and discover that even the Prime Minister knows what an epee is now. He will then sit back and have a 'good rest' for two or three months, telling everyone how relaxing it is to lead a 'normal life', and how he's going to take up amateur dramatics and golf now he has so much spare time. You can bet your pommel, though, that by mid October you'll find him off again to the Salle, bright-eyed and conspicuously track-suited all ready for the coming season's coarse fencing delights.

Part II of this series dealt wIth the detaIls of competitive coarseness, but now, in response to over whelming public demand (the Editor and my bank manager), Part III looks at what the Olympics are like - not for highly-trained coarse fencers like Mafioso (see prevIous articles) or 'Disonishenko' but for fencers from the truly amateur countries like Thailand and Great Britain.

The appearance of Part III at this time is particularly opportune, because, thanks to the Olympic Games, coarse fencing is now more in the public eye than ever before. People who previously wouldn't haye known an epee from an epigram now jump at the chance to show how much they know about the art of 'concealing transmitters up one's jumper'.

The first duty , then, of the Coarse Olympic fencer (COF) is to uphold the publIc belief that all Olympic athletes are extremely fit. 'Do you really need to be fit for fencing?' they ask. 'Most certainly,' should come the reply, slightly shocked . ~And do you have to train a lot?' 'My goodness, I'll say,' the COF must answer, 'I spend several hours at the Salle four nIghts a week, and I go runnIng and do circuits and do weIght traInIng all the other days.' He need not add especially to reporters that his time at the Salle is spent chatting and drinking tea, that the run is only for a mile (done in eight minutes, and then providing only the weather is fine) and that the weight training wouldn't tax the biceps of a medium-sized flea.

The COF can then really impress his listeners with true stories about how hard (a) the Russians and ( b) the British pentathletes (who are almost fencers) do train. An important point here; it is vital for COFs to steer clear of discussions about medal-winning countries like Sweden or Switzerland, which are almost as amateur as we are. However, most of his listeners will not have realised that the pentathlon fencing was not the fencing fencing; if he is clever enough he may be able to convince them that it was a fencing team gold that we won.

Before departure for the Games there will inevitablv be a 'Team Week-end' to foster togetherness and raise morale. This will be held at Aldershot Barracks, in the hope that the team will absorb some Army discipline in the process and thereby make life easier for the captain when they get out to the Games. When the time comes for the team to haye dinner at the Officers' Mess they will be ordered to wear jackets and ties, the idea being to enable the captain to spot the open-necked trouble-makers early on, and earmark them for special surveillance.

When a coarse fencer sets out for the Olympics he will notice many contrasts. Gone is the mad rush from the office on Friday afternoon, the arriyal at Knöckwurst-am-die-Grill, exhausted, at midnight, then fencing on Saturday, and home with duty-free booty on Sunday. Instead, in his new smart blazer

(with 'Fencing' written on the pocket so that the press can tell at a glance that he's not a celebrity) he is gathered together with a real team party well in advance, kept waiting, taken to the airport, diverted to Prestwick, and flown across the Atlantic two hours late. (Actually perhaps it is like going to Knöckwurst again). The team will eventually arrive at the village, exhausted, at midnight. There remains only the lengthy and gruelling accreditation procedures before the COF is allowed to stagger to bed and collapse. (Oh, for those restful old ordinary foreign competitions!) The COF should then take three clear days to recover from jet-lag and the tiring journey before starting the serious final preparation for his coming ordeal.

The new smart blazer mentioned above is only part of the finery heaped on the COF. He will be supplied with a whole uniform from sun hat to Y-fronts, and can spend several happy hours at the collection point or tailors trying to find a set which doesnt seem to have been made for a heavvweight wrestler or a rowing cox. For Munich the British team were patrioticalfy supplied with umbrellas, while at Mexico they were the laughing stock of all spectators at the start of the opening ceremony, because they had been ordered to carry their issue Pakamacs. Laughter changed to envy, however, when the 10,000 pigeons of internationa1 amity were released over the stadium.

No coarse fencing team, having arrived at the Olympics, would want to look like a bunch of amateurs (Heaven forbid!) and the COF will therefore go to unprecedented lengths to look keen. He will get up ear1y and go for a run in the dew, where his leisurely gait will impress opponents with how much he has in reserve. In addition, he must keep up his fencing training, and may even be required to take a lesson every day. (Go carefully here, however, only the truly dedicated can withstand this kind of pressure.) It is of course essential not to overtrain, and therefore it is advisable to stop exercising about a week before competing say three days after you arrive. (This will tie in neatly with the three-day recovery period mentioned above). Diet is known to be important to athletes, and a lot of nonsense has been written about planned intake, high-glycogen regimes, and so on. COFs should ignore all such advice, and, when unleashed in the Olympic Village, where food is both unlimited and free, simp1y gorge like hogs and hope for the best.

As the start of the competition looms near the team officials and coaches will start to think about boosting team morale. In lessons the teachers will bend over backwards not to shatter their pupils' brittle confidence, while off the piste negotiations are buzzing to arrange a training match. There is nothing like a resounding 8-all victory over Thailand to send the team marching into action with hopes and chins held high.
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