Copyright © 2003 Christine Morgan

Introduction:

The theme for May is action. In most roleplaying games, fantasy novels, and movies, action = combat. And as I write this, there's a war on, the news full of gripping accounts of attacks and rescues and all that heroic stuff.

But it's also the start of baseball season. Given that it's hard to write a column about anything war-related without getting into politics and beliefs and personal opinions and all, I decided that it might be fun to take a look at sports and recreation.

I enjoy baseball. I follow our local team - go, Mariners! - on television, and while I'm not quite up to shelling out the big bucks and driving half an hour to take in a game at the Safe, I plan to catch an Everett Aquasox game or two this summer. I even, on occasion, put aside my antipathy to the Little Leaguers at the park across the street (the noise conflicts with my night-shift sleeping schedule, and thanks to the increased traffic and the narrow streets, my car got hit-and-run sideswiped on the day of the Little League event where they assembled all the teams for photos).

I will watch football on television, but not in person. Why? Well, because in baseball, there's only ever two or three guys moving at the same time. They're widely spaced. I can keep track of what's going on. In football, there's a sudden clashing crunch of helmeted, padded bodies. Unless there's a long pass or a dramatic run, I would not have the foggiest idea without those computer-generated lines and squiggles to track the activity, and the slo-mo instant replays.

I watch certain of the Olympic events, too. Okay, so part of it's for the beefcake factor - men's diving and men's gymnastics, for instance - and part of it is the never-yet-validated hope that for once in my life, they'll televise the fencing. But I admire a lot of the rest of it, as well. The capabilities of the athletes. The sheer grit and endurance it takes them to reach the pinnacle of the sport. And the occasional cataclysmic wipeouts most common in the Winter Olympics … I hail from a generation raised on that "agony of defeat" skiing disaster on the opening of Wide World of Sports.

Lately, too, I've developed an interest in observing the extreme sports and adventure racing. Mostly because I like to sit safe and warm at home and wonder what in the world makes any sensible person want to kayak over Niagara Falls or dangle from a sheer cliff on a line no thicker than a pinkie finger. We watch the Eco Challenge whenever it's on, and enjoy reality shows that put people through hazardous stunts.

And, of course, when it comes to spectator sports, I confess a deep and abiding love of robotic combat. One of my greatest thrills recently was seeing several of my beloved Battlebots guest-star on an episode of CSI. Two faves in one, how cool is that?

Sports in History:

Lion cubs play at stalking, pouncing, and wrestling to hone the skills they will need as adults. It would have been the same for our early ancestors. While growing from childhood to maturity, they would need to practice if they hoped to survive.

Many of these early pastimes would have revolved around hunting, fighting, and surviving in a harsh world. They would allow people to develop their senses and abilities in a safer forum, so that when the time came, they'd be more ready, and hence more able to live through the real thing. They could run, swim, sneak, balance, aim, throw, hit, jump, and climb.

Eventually, the sports became just that: sports in their own right, for purposes of fitness, competition, or entertainment. The weapons became specialized into sporting gear. The actions themselves were governed by more and more precise rules.

Another function of early sports was to provide young males a way to burn off their excess testosterone and aggression without getting themselves as readily killed. I don't mean to exclude females - the ancient Greeks had women participants in those early Olympic games, for instance. But the majority of sports players throughout history, particularly until very recently, have overwhelmingly been male.

To this day, athleticism is more prized in a male than in a female when the opposite sex is listing qualities in a prospective mate. It's the same in the animal world … two stags butting antlers are not only competing with each other, but advertising their virility and prowess for the consideration of the does.

Sometimes, sport wasn't enough when it came to dealing with that male aggression. Hence dueling, and war (best intentions aside, the column did brush back to the topic), which some sociologists have theorized are culturally-sanctioned ways of eliminating the surplus male population.

In addition to my other television viewing habits, I adore the History Channel show Conquest (and not just because the host is a total hottie with an accent to die for). I was struck during a recent episode on the Musketeers how dueling has undergone a change since the days of rapiers and plumed hats. It used to be that dueling was the province of the upper classes, a way for young men of good breeding to establish their status. It was a matter of honor. It's still around … but shifted from the noblemen to the lower classes, the inner-city gangs who have swapped rapiers for switchblades or guns, and plumed hats for gang colors. But the idea of honor, of avenging insults and defending one's name and reputation, is still there.

At the risk of sounding even more sexist, too, I can't help but suspect that the so-called 'extreme sports' were primarily invented by males. Women may participate in them, but I still imagine that it had to be a guy who first wondered what would happen if he tied a thick elastic band around his ankles and jumped off a bridge, or balanced on a waxed length of wood or two and plunged down a snowy precipice, or decided to jump a motorcycle across a gorge.

So, when the time came to sit down and write this issue's column, I got to thinking about the role of sports in the fantasy genre. There's not a lot, really. Though I read comparatively little fantasy fiction for a fantasy writer (I'm weird that way), I like to think I've had a fairly broad education in it. Even so, I couldn't come up with many examples.

Quidditch and Beyond:

I've heard it said and seen it written in reviews that about the only original thing in the entirety of Harry Potter is Quidditch (all else, these reviewers claim, and with varying degrees of scorn depending on whether they're authors of children's books or not). But Quidditch, they admit, was a piece of brilliance.

Assuming, by the way, that anyone reading this has grown up in a 50's era fallout shelter like Brendan Fraser's character in that silly movie, and doesn't know what Quidditch is: Quidditch is a high-speed sport in which two teams zip around flying broomsticks, trying to score points, defend goals, injure each other, or end the game by means of one of three different kinds of balls.

Another example can be found in Myth Directions, the third book in Robert Aspirin's fun, nutty Myth series. In this book, a couple of the characters get in trouble for trying to steal a trophy from the Big Game, and end up having to assemble a team to play and try to win it honest-like. With five-player teams including a rider mounted on a beast of choice (up to and including dragons), and the only restriction regarding player-to-player contact being a no-edged-weapons rule, it's a bone-jarring bit of exciting mayhem.

I suppose I should also mention the pod race from Star Wars Episode One, since I was reminded of it when writing about Quidditch - and for the sole reason that I felt the movie-makers could have shaved several minutes of "look what cool stuff we can do with our computers!" out of each and put in more, I dunno, story? And I am led to believe there's some sort of gladiatorial hoo-raw in Episode Two, though I can't really comment on it as I have not yet seen that flick.

A friend of mine, Brian Vigue, is one of those obnoxious people who is not only a brilliant artist (he does the covers for my books) but a fairly decent writer as well. I know a couple of folks like that, and as someone who is a chicken-scratch artist at best, envy them most fiercely. Anyway, he recently sent me the first draft of his novel to critique. He graciously gave me permission to mention it in my column, since it includes a fantasy ball game called Maypole.

His Maypole game involves two six-player teams in either 'defensive' or 'invading' positions, a ball, rakes kind of like lacrosse sticks, and enchanted flying shoes. It is played on a figure-8 track with goals, and swinging beams on poles to act as obstacles (or the source of dire injury) for the unwary player. Like Aspirin's Big Game, it is a full-contact sport, with minimal protective gear.

Fantasy Races and Recreation:

In my own world, which is the one I write in as well as the one in which I run my game, I like to explore the 'traditional' fantasy races, such as elves, dwarves, orcs, and gnomes. Just as their cultures have very different ways of conducting themselves on the battlefield and in the social arenas, so too do they have some diverse ways of spending their recreational time.

The elves of the Emerin are best known for magic, longevity, and their advanced, structured society. They have elevated their combat skills into art forms (we play using GURPS, so the Combat Art skills are what we use for this), particularly their archery. The emphasis for the elves is as much on stance, posture, style, and grace as speed and accuracy. Archery tricks and acrobatics such as doing a handstand to draw and fire a bow with one's feet - I saw it on a game show called Dog Eat Dog and right away knew it was just the sort of pointless exercise that the elves would spend years perfecting - are popular as well.

When it comes to organized spectator sports, the Emerin is home to two national stickball leagues. Stickball is essentially baseball, which is not generally a contact sport. In the minor leagues, magic is permitted. Pitchers make use of the spell Poltergeist (again, these are all in GURPS), the bats might be enchanted with Accuracy, mitts might have the spell Catch Missile on them, outfielders might make use of Levitation spells. In the major leagues, of which each of the six Emerinian counties sponsors one, magic is forbidden and the players must make do with their natural skills alone. This, the willful forbearance of magic, is considered quite daring and impressive in a society where magic is the very basis of everything they do.

Another pastime of the elves is called Statue. This event is a test of physical control and mental discipline. The participants stand upon a stage, observed by a panel of judges. The object of Statues is for the participants to move into each of the five classical positions (pertaining to the five elven gods) with no motion discernable to the judges. They are awarded points for the degree to which they successfully accomplish each position, and lose points if they are actually seen to move. Because Statues can last for hours, or even days, the participants must also be able to go without sleep, food, drink, or tending to other necessary functions.

The dwarves of Underearth have entirely different ways of spending their leisure time. Their sports and games are more violent and combative, depending on strength and endurance. They enjoy throwing axes or hammers at targets, and will hurl lengths of ironwood railroad ties the way caber-tossing can be seen at the Highland Games. Boxing, wrestling, arm-wrestling, and weight-lifting are all popular among the dwarves.

Because their work-a-day lives are so rigidly structured into Guilds, most dwarves reject the idea of team sports. They also don't care for spectator sports in general, preferring to have the option of joining in. The very idea of paying to sit and watch someone else play a sport is almost incomprehensible to the dwarven mind. They would rather attend a boxing match in which contenders are taken from the crowd, or a champion welcomes all challengers.

They will join loosely-organized Leagues, for axe-throwing or bowling, but these are always very casual. A dwarf's first allegiance is to his Guild, then to his family, and only then is there room left over for friendship.

With their subterranean world's technology at the steam and coal power level, the dwarves have invented a great deal of machinery. Railroads are common, connecting the scattered thanedoms of Underearth. Huge devices for construction and excavation (as well as war machines) are common. These innovations have led the dwarves to a new pastime - the thrill ride.

Dwarves love their thrill rides. Each major thanedom will own and operate at least one amusement park. But there are none of the whimsical harmless kiddie rides here. It's all intense roller coasters, spinning drums that pin the riders to the wall with centripetal force, towers that winch gondolas high and let them free-fall, and other heart-stopping, gut-wrenching, turbulent, high-speed rides. They are adrenaline junkies to the extreme.

But a visit to an Underearth amusement park is not for everyone. Even if the dwarves welcomed people from "Above," which they hardly ever do except for the occasional gnome, the marked difference in physiology between the races means that the rides would quite readily kill almost any elf or human. Dwarves have thick, solid bones and dense musculature that enable them to withstand g-forces and physical punishment that would reduce other races to jelly.

The gnomes, being a hardy and adaptable race both physically and socially, would stand a somewhat better chance of living through a ride on a dwarven roller coaster. However, they would probably only try it once, their innate curiosity leading them into something they're later likely to regret. Gnomes don't like being scared. They want their excitement a little more exciting and a little less death-defying.

Their culturally chameleonic nature has left the gnomes without much in the way of customs and traditions of their own. They pick and choose what they like on a gnome-by-gnome basis from whatever country they happen to be in at the time. Styles of clothing, food, worship, and basically everything else are subject to change at a whim.

But if there is one recreational activity that can truly be attributed to the gnomes, it's the dog races found on the Sixth Ring of the human city of Thanis. Gnomes rely on dogs for most of their beast-of-burden needs. The diverse types have been carefully bred over the years lend themselves well to their various tasks - drawing carts, herding the mice on the mouse ranches, burrowing after snakes or other rodents, even war-dogs trained to carry gnomish soldiers into battle.

Among them, of course, the racing dogs. They do not chase mechanical rabbits like greyhounds of today, but are trained to respond to their handlers' verbal and gesture commands. The gnomes introduced this sport to the humans, and it has become a popular gambling venue in the lower rings.

Last but not least are the orcs. As they are for the most part a savage race, barely evolved above brutality, they have not yet reached the point where training for battle, hunting, and survival have become sports in their own right. Orcs are fans of bloodthirsty gladiatorial combat - and excellent gladiators, too, though their main problem is realizing that sometimes there's an element of showmanship in the arena, and that sometimes the fights aren't to the death.

Two orcish pastimes, however, have gained a certain popularity and notoriety. One is Press, a test of cranial fortitude and endurance. In Press, the player will rest his head - sideways so that the ear is down - on a tabletop, anvil, block of stone, or other hard, flat surface. A shallow wooden box will then be balanced atop his head, and weights or rocks will gradually be added. Press is a betting game, with everyone wagering to see how much weight the player can take before he either loses consciousness, cries uncle, or suffers a cracked skull.

The other notorious game is called Spike, a deadly drinking game. Two players face each other over a table, from which juts a sharpened spike (usually of metal nowadays, though originally bone or wood). An impartial judge oversees the two as they take turns seeing who can bring his eye closest to the tip of the spike. The loser has to swill a drink, traditionally orcish rotgut, and the game is played in five rounds. Or until one player quits - earning fierce derision and a hefty fine - or loses an eye … because it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

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