-
The Fedora Lounge is supported in part by commission earning affiliate links sitewide. Please support us by using them. You may learn more here.
FEDORAS IN SELF DEFENCE
- Thread starter Dreispitz
- Start date
Corky
Practically Family
- Messages
- 507
- Location
- West Los Angeles
The City Stick from Cold Steel is another option...
The City Stick from Cold Steel is another option. Steel head, graphite shaft.
Cold Steel City Stick
The City Stick from Cold Steel is another option. Steel head, graphite shaft.
Cold Steel City Stick
- Messages
- 17,257
- Location
- Maryland
Dreispitz said:cunningham´s advice to hit the opponent´s hands is pretty effective
i can tell from own experience. went fencing, yesterday ..... well .... nice litle sprain fracrure.
Did it get jammed or direct hit? I have done both a few times too.
mayserwegener said:Did it get jammed or direct hit? I have done both a few times too.
I landed a two handed forward stab to the fencing partner´s chest. He was in a higher guard position and hit my hands finishing his downward cut (or blow, rather
). As opposed to sabers the sword to one and a half hand only has a cross guard. Sometimes even the thickest gloves cannot absorb the impact entirely.
- Messages
- 17,257
- Location
- Maryland
Dreispitz said:I landed a two handed forward stab to the fencing partner´s chest. He was in a higher guard position and hit my hands finishing his downward cut (or blow, rather
Sounds painful. I have been hit pretty hard but with olympic style sabre fencing the blade isn't thick or heavy. I have had my thumb bent back many times (sprain and broken finger nail) when guards meet usually on some type counter action. Hope you recover soon!
AlterEgo
A-List Customer
- Messages
- 320
- Location
- Southern USA
True story:
When I was living in Dallas, a buddy invited me to meet him at the AA Arena for a Stars game. I got caught in God-awful traffic on I-30, and, having no cell phone and knowing that he was waiting for me by the fountains with the tickets, I got off the expressway into an Exxon station where there were pay phones outside. From there, I could call him on his cell to let him know I was going to be late.
I was still inside my car fishing his cell phone number out of my wallet when I had a bad feeling. Nonsense, I thought--it's well lit, and there's traffic at a complete standstill on I-30 only 40 yards away. Nevertheless, I learned long ago to trust my intuition, so I grabbed my 9mm from the console and stuck it in the small of my back beneath my windbreaker. (I have a concealed carry permit.)
Oddly, all the change I had was dimes, and I had no idea how much a pay phone call cost because I hadn't made one in years, so I took the hat off my head, poured all the little ten-cent pieces into it, and strode with it from the car to the pay phone.
I was periodically turning around to watch my back side, but the thin dimes kept trinkling through the ornery pay phone before it finally digested five so I could make the call. There must have been a good ten more dimes left in my upturned Akubra.
Before I dialed, I twisted around once more, just in time to see to see an Hispanic dude coming at me with a VERY LARGE Buck hunting knife, demanding my billfold using languge much too unseemly to repeat here. Interestingly, he did speak good English, unusual for Dallas.
At that point, he was only 8 or 10 feet away and moving in fast, so upside-down hat full of dimes in my left hand, I flung it forcefully to my left. Not only did the hat provide a momentary visual distraction, but the dimes also gave it weight to fly further and faster, and when some of them spilled out--ping, ping, ping on the pavement--that peculiar sound prolonged the distraction. In the meantime, I drew the semi auto and pointed it at the bad guy's center mass.
To say he was surprised would be an understatement. His jaw dropped, the knife trembled, and his trousers darkened with a fluid I need not mention. I would have been well within the law to take him out, but, instead, I politely suggested he run for his life, which he smartly accepted.
You see, shooting someone involves inevitable delays, and I was already running late for the hockey game.
Stars won, and so did I--both on a hat trick.
When I was living in Dallas, a buddy invited me to meet him at the AA Arena for a Stars game. I got caught in God-awful traffic on I-30, and, having no cell phone and knowing that he was waiting for me by the fountains with the tickets, I got off the expressway into an Exxon station where there were pay phones outside. From there, I could call him on his cell to let him know I was going to be late.
I was still inside my car fishing his cell phone number out of my wallet when I had a bad feeling. Nonsense, I thought--it's well lit, and there's traffic at a complete standstill on I-30 only 40 yards away. Nevertheless, I learned long ago to trust my intuition, so I grabbed my 9mm from the console and stuck it in the small of my back beneath my windbreaker. (I have a concealed carry permit.)
Oddly, all the change I had was dimes, and I had no idea how much a pay phone call cost because I hadn't made one in years, so I took the hat off my head, poured all the little ten-cent pieces into it, and strode with it from the car to the pay phone.
I was periodically turning around to watch my back side, but the thin dimes kept trinkling through the ornery pay phone before it finally digested five so I could make the call. There must have been a good ten more dimes left in my upturned Akubra.
Before I dialed, I twisted around once more, just in time to see to see an Hispanic dude coming at me with a VERY LARGE Buck hunting knife, demanding my billfold using languge much too unseemly to repeat here. Interestingly, he did speak good English, unusual for Dallas.
At that point, he was only 8 or 10 feet away and moving in fast, so upside-down hat full of dimes in my left hand, I flung it forcefully to my left. Not only did the hat provide a momentary visual distraction, but the dimes also gave it weight to fly further and faster, and when some of them spilled out--ping, ping, ping on the pavement--that peculiar sound prolonged the distraction. In the meantime, I drew the semi auto and pointed it at the bad guy's center mass.
To say he was surprised would be an understatement. His jaw dropped, the knife trembled, and his trousers darkened with a fluid I need not mention. I would have been well within the law to take him out, but, instead, I politely suggested he run for his life, which he smartly accepted.
You see, shooting someone involves inevitable delays, and I was already running late for the hockey game.
Stars won, and so did I--both on a hat trick.
Matt Deckard
Man of Action
- Messages
- 10,045
Never bring a knife to a hat fight.
Similar threads
