I think a Handicraft staffer started it in 1999, when he brought two with him to camp. Everyone liked the good old-fashioned American fun in hacking at each other with a padded stick, and the idea spread. But the originals were too heavy for everyone except their owner, and many more appeared over the next few years. A commissioner in 2000 made his bent like a samurai-sword, and decorated the handle. The rifle director made them for his family out of insulation and metal poles. One of his and one of my first ones became part of the 2000 staff totem.

But it was my second attempt that became the most popular. I made them light enough for anyone to use effectively, and it made the fights fast. But they were also fairly fragile. Of the six I started the summer of 2002 with, only three survived to the end.

I took those three with me to the Monday campfire of the last week, and arrived about 1o minutes early. I had anyone who wanted to play form two lines in front of the stage, and gave a sword to the person at the head of each line, keeping Excalibur for myself. Then they came at me, and I provided the pre-fire entertainment that night, fighting two scouts at a time, and beating about nine out of every ten.

But, as usual, the campfire was late in starting, and 15 minutes into my 5 minute show, I was exhausted. Like a candle about to burn out, I gave it everything I had. I dispatched about 10 scouts in thirty seconds, and then a kid from Troop 43 Ore-Ida came up. He wasn't especially big, but he was strong compared to the other kids. And he was also a little mad, because I had beaten him quickly his previous two or three times up with a quick fake and then a head shot.

In any event, he started hacking at me, and it was all I could do just to block him.Each time I raised Excalibur to make what 15 minutes before would have been an easy block, I all but got knocked over. He eventually hit me, and I raised my hands in surrender. Then the other kid, also from Troop 43, swung downward and hit me in the left hand.

I collapsed, screaming in pain, onto the stage, and then looked at my hand. My pinkie finger was obviously dislocated. I gathered up my weapons, Ryan called the medic, and we headed down the hill. Knowing full well the medic wouldn't pop it back in, I asked Ryan to get Wendi, whom I knew would. She did, and I was back in commission before the end of the campfire. But my finger was huge all week. But even that didn't stop me from playing capture the flag.

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