Some thoughts on being the referee, and other HEMA event musings.
Swordfish season is upon us. For me this means competing, coaching, teaching and reffing. It’s the busiest, most exhausting and most rewarding weekend of the year for me.
In anticipation of this much celebrated weekend (and in anticipation of hours staffing in the ring) I’ve written an article on my reflections on staffing in general, and reffing in particular.
Introduction The value of having a good staffing team is something anyone who has been a part of running a tournament understands. It can make or break the reputation of an event. Word of mouth spreads quickly in our small-world community.What once was a matter of rounding up your club mates and friends and thrusting flags into their hands on the-day-of has been replaced by the careful hand-picking of reputable judges, referees and tournament managers weeks and even months in advance of an event. In reality, there is always a little scrambling on the-day-of, and not every member of staff will be ideally qualified, but that’s mostly due to the fact that the bar keeps getting raised higher and higher. This is a good thing, albeit frustrating for an event manager. In the nordic scene we are fortunate enough to have people who travel to several events a year solely to judge. More and more people are catching onto this trend, and the benefits are many: you typically get free access to the event, travel expenses are often compensated, your integration into the HEMA scene is accelerated—not only socially but also politically and administratively, you gain a front row seat to some of the best fights in the scene and, most profoundly, you earn prestige and respect. Keep it up and you will be sought out. Take your job seriously and managers will ask to have you on their team and fighters will relax at the knowledge of you working their arena. An often overlooked benefit which can take effect without notice is the edge on fight-analysis you inevitably acquire if you pay attention. Spending 20 hours over the course of a weekend watching exchange after exchange from the perspective of someone who has to make a professional assessment on each and every one inevitably makes you apt at the job. It’s natural that the pruning of good staff took a foothold in the ring as this has been the most visible platform for staff, but recently we have seen a new elite growing behind the scenes, namely tournament managers and their administrations. Tournament managers are gaining reputations, something they’ve been able to do by making themselves visible primarily on social media. A good manager, like a good judge, isn’t obvious during the actual event, he’s silently pulling strings behind the scenes making sure everything runs smoothly. If you notice him, there’s either been a crisis he’s had to respond to, or he’s not doing his job right. The way I see it, there are two routes to acknowledgement as management pursued in HEMA today: making grand declarations about the hours spent behind spreadsheets into the wee hours of the morning so everyone knows just how hard you’ve been working, and gaining the street cred that comes from your name being heralded by others. The former is aplenty in the HEMA community and the latter is more rare (but that too is changing). To be fair, I think the cries of the former are innocent—he or she has been working hard and wants the acknowledgement deserved, but think of it this way: if it’s that taxing on you, maybe you’re going about it the wrong way. At the other end of the spectrum we have the semi-professional Tournament Manager a la Carl Ryrberg. Last year Carl made the decision to take a step back from competing in order to focus on other pursuits. (Those of you who are serious about competition know how draining it can be mentally, not only on the-day-of, but in the weeks of training leading up-to.) While Carl isn’t competing anymore, he’s probably more relevant than he’s ever been in the form of a tournament manager and co-owner of the insta-success HEMA Competition Manager together with Björn Carlander. He saw a void and filled it. Not only has he become the premier tournament manager on the nordic scene over night, but his competency and software are already being exported abroad. You’ll never see Carl seeking social strokes for the hours he spent bent over his laptop, but what you will see is tournament organisers and participants praising his solid, cool-as-a-cucumber leadership and promoting his product. So what is next? Will we see someone who is ideally connected in the ways of gathering staff? Will we see someone with a solid model for handling registration and payments? I think what we are seeing is a Tournament Staff Elite rising and ambitious individuals in the community will spot the holes they can fill with their own brand of competency.
On being “The” Referee I don’t assume to know what it takes to be a be an above-the-crust judge or tournament manager, so I’ll leave that analysis to people who actually assume those roles, but I have probably spent more hours in the ring as a referee than anyone else in the scene. I’ve solidified my position as one of the most sought out referees both in my own scene (the nordic one) and abroad. In the beginning I loved it. The prestige and social interaction that came with it far outweighed the fatigue that came form hours at a time on my feet. The challenge of policing a new rule set and finding the sweet spot between authority and likability was something I approached with enthusiasm and professionalism. And then a couple of things happened. First I got more serious about competing. I’ve entered tournaments basically since day one, but it wasn’t until 2015 that I got serious about it. The kind of serious that makes it difficult to maintain anything like a normal social or family life outside of HEMA. Initially this was unproblematic—beneficial even—as I could get free access to the events I participated in in exchange for a few hours work. Then it started getting in the way more and more. I was worried the energy spent working the ring would reduce the amount of energy spent competing in it. And it did. Either my performance suffered or my presence in the ring did. In my effort to conserve energy I lost my edge as a consistent, no-bullshit authority in the ring. I handed out stern looks of annoyance when I should have kept a straight face and handed out a warning. I handed out warning number 2 or 3 when I should have been taking points away. I counted bouts in anticipation of a 15 minute break. Eventually, I dreaded picking up the staff all-together. This was my identity and I was drifting from it. I used to get annoyed a couple years back when people asked “So, do you ever fight too or just ref?” I actually got that question more than once. This bothered me because I still see myself as the first woman to take gold in an international open tournament. I still am that—no other competitor will ever take that title away from me—but I am also a referee and it wasn’t until people stopped asking that question that I saw it for what it really was: recognition of my professional presence in the ring that was so respected it was legitimate for me to be there for no other reason. Now there are other referees making their mark in the scene, both in the nordic region and in the U.S. This is fantastic, we need more good referees and the best outcome is to have them spread geographically throughout the scene. In the north we are well on our way to establishing a solid network of competent referees who work under the same rulesets. Further, it means there are guys in my home scene who are arguably getting better than me. This has forced me to ask myself the question of whether I want to keep up my current tempo in the staffing network, or pull out in favour of focusing my attentions on competing. Maybe I’ll do something like Carl and throw my full-force behind refereeing and organising once I decide to take a step back from competing. That being said, until I reach that point I’ve resolved only to take jobs when I’m motivated and am in a position to dedicate myself to the role. Otherwise, I’m happy to pay the full event fee for the chance to get the pure participant performance (I did this in Rome for the first time in years and enjoyed myself immensely). Regardless of whatever existential refereeing crisis I may be going through at the moment, I still spend a lot of time reflecting on my time in the ring analysing my performance. My style has changed a lot over the years as I’ve gained experience in dealing with a wide array of different personality types and rulesets. When I peaked, I was able to quickly adapt from bout to bout—from the bouts that tick by effortlessly without any distinction to the bouts seeming to centre around an old rivalry between two very prideful and aggressive opponents. My motivation for writing this article is to get down those reflections on paper and share them with others who are serious about staffing. I don’t think what I have to say is only relevant for other referees, but for everyone involved in tournament organisation. I’m not going to spend any time talking about how you should dress sharp and read the rules—I hope everyone gets intuitively by now—instead I’m going to focus on what I’ve learned over the years, some of it personal.
Event flow Beyond managing the bouts, as a referee, you also manage the entire ring and all its elements and with this comes great responsibility. While it is the tournament manager who has the overall responsibility for the event, it is the referee who essentially sets the pace for the tournament and it is his leadership that either moves pools along at a smooth rate, or results in the kind of schedule set-backs that haunt the dreams of Carl Ryrberg. In order to achieve the former you have to run your ring with the iron fist of a sympathetic dictator. Be fair, but be firm. This is your mat, the judges and secretariat are your staff and everyone else is just a visitor on your turf. When you run your mat with this kind of confidence-bordering-on-arrogance, you demand a respect from everyone around you. Of course, confidence cannot be synthetic, it has to be backed by a command of the role which comes from a mix of experience and a possession of the right personality traits (no, refereeing is not for everyone). I’ll go into more detail on personality later. So what is it that enables a referee to keep her arena flowing smoothly? In my experience it boils down to two things: trust and respect. Sounds like I’m giving common relationship advice, right? That’s because the dynamics of an arena are all about relationships—your relationship to your judges, your secretariat, your manager and the trickiest of them all, to your fighters. Managing a pool of 6 fighters seeded to contain the full range from the best of the best to the noobiest of the noobs requires a degree of adaptability and diplomacy on your part. To be fair, some pools only contain perfect gentlemen and their complacency and displays of respect are attributed more to their general character than your own efforts, but most of the time, and especially at larger tournaments, you’re going to get a mix of types in your pool. Your going to have the guys who have done this a million times before who show up on time, are wearing standard everything (a gear-checker’s dream), are always on deck, know the rules and know you. This last point is key: they know you. You’ve already established a healthy referee-fighter relationship with them many times over and they know your style, what to expect from you and that “break” means break. This is not the same as being close with them in a personal way—that’s a separate topic deserving of its own section which I’ll return to later. It’s possible you never so much as clink beer glasses post-event, but in the arena you go way back and this adds an element of routine to the process. And then you have the guys who, regardless of clearly having read the rules thoroughly (I’m seeing highlighted bullet-points and and notes in the margins), seem to lack basic common sense. They have 36 questions and follow-up questions to the tune of “But what if he hits me on the way out of the ring as you say break and maybe it’s flat and you didn’t hear the judge call point the first time and one foot might be in but it’s hard to tell and one hand left the grip, but it was for a grapple?” These guys have thought of every possible (never mind plausible) scenario in this dimension and the next and just NEED clarification. Politely shut this type down. He means no harm, but he cannot be allowed to commandeer your position on the floor. Keep the Q and A section with your fighters on point; never allow them to digress. Allowing the fighters to lead the discussion quickly kills your position of dominance over them. You decide the topics, you decide how long to spend on each and you decide when the conversation is over. During the pools your job is to keep the bouts flowing seamlessly from one bout into the next. If breaks between each bout become too long it means you don’t have control over the arena and your fighters. If a fighter shows up late, give him a warning. If him and his coach are still struggling with gear while his opponents has been waiting patiently in his corner for 15 seconds, take a point away. If the secretariat is nervously waving the red ribbon around repeatedly calling the fighter on deck—another point deduction. Make them understand that being ready for their bout is their problem not yours.
On being The Bitch I was captain of my cheerleading squad in high school—saying I’ve been called a bitch more than once is an understatement. I may be used to hearing it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to digest. Those who know me have explained to me that it’s the way I carry myself coupled with my shyness. Frankly, it makes me come across as arrogant. This quality about me is bad for making friends but good for business. I’m pretty sure my RBF has both spurred and avoided many arguments in my day. When it comes to being an authority in the ring, I don’t think “being the bitch” is advisable. You want people to respect you and fear you to an extent, but not dislike you. Events where people have called me a bitch behind my back are the same events where I feel fighters are not respecting me in the ring. There is a fine line between acting a bitch and acting an authority. Both require a degree of arrogance, dismissiveness, and sternness but the difference is that authority is fair whereas the bitch is plain mean. You won’t gain anything by being mean to your fighters if they provoke you but you will gain a lot by justly and consistency putting them in their place.
Personality This ties into being seen, or not seen, as The Bitch. As I mentioned earlier, referring is not suited for all personality types. I’d like to be encouraging type who sings “you can do anything so long as you put your mind to it”, but I’m not going to lie to you. If you’re the kind of person who others would describe as “nice” over any other trait, this role is not for you. If conflict makes you uneasy, this role is not for you. If you’re the type who needs balance and for everyone to be happy, this role is not for you. If you don’t believe in hierarchy, this role is not for you. if you are of the school of thought that rules are to be interpreted loosely, this role is not for you. If you believe the good guy should always win, this role is not for you. If you’re easily stressed out, this role is not for you. If others being rude to you causes a reaction in you, this role is not for you. If you find arrogance distasteful, this role is not for you. If you’re weary of getting whacked in the face with a rogue sword which has just been disarmed, this role is definitely not for you. As a referee you need to be completely content with making some people unhappy in order to follow the rules. You don’t have to like the rules, but you must enforce them consistently. You need to hear people call you a bitch both to your face and behind your back and not let it get to you. You need to hear others criticise you and take that criticism constructively and choose whether to apply it or discard it. In summary, you need to be able to not only simulate being cold, but also believe it yourself. If not, it’ll break you down over time. When you step into the role of referee, you should, in essence adopt the mind-set and facade of a (non-violent) psychopath.
Don’t take the bait I’ve seen otherwise solid people drawn into petty, unnecessary arguments in HEMA in all arenas. We all know how dangerous it can be to take the bait in online discussion, but the last place you want to find yourself caught on the hook is when you’re in a black vest in the ring. Emotions run high, especially during important elimination bouts at high profile events. Usually stoic men and women can become rabid dogs. Make a call they don’t agree with and they can snap. Never, under any circumstance, take this personally. Even if they call you out by name, assume it has nothing to do with you but that you’re simply there for them to target their frustration on. Anything offensive said should be dealt with calmly on the spot with the appropriate penalty and then, if necessary, hashed out later together with the tournament manager and away from the gaping eyes of the audience. Word of losing your cool travels fast. Don’t give them a reason to talk. Remember, you want the cool, relaxed, confident demeanour of the psychopath.
Love your staff It’s easy to get caught up in the flow discussed earlier and take the other staff working the ring for granted. In a way, it’s good that you take them for granted—you and them are supposed to operate as one symbiotic organism keeping the heart of the tournament pumping—but they, like you, need to feel appreciated for their efforts. Make sure you introduce yourself to the entire judging team and secretariat before the pools start. You don’t need to extend the same sternness to your staff that you do to your fighters. True, you need to act the leader, but you can relax and laugh with these guys. If a judge argues with you or questions your calls then, yes, be firm and put him back in his place, but on a general level be pleasant. Be sure to call all your judges in for occasional pep-talks, especially during longer days, to make sure everyone is happy. Some can be very shy and won’t voice a concern until you ask them directly. Praise them for making good calls and when you point out mistakes, be forgiving yet decisive. At the end of the shift, thank each judge and table staff individually for their hard work. It is likely you will work with these same people again in the future and the more comfortable you become with them the easier it will be to run your team.
On personal relationships For many of us our HEMA sphere is also our main social sphere. This is one of the things about the HEMA community that makes it so addictive. I have my wolf pack and I’m sure many of you have yours. I love my friends fiercely and would take a bullet for many of them. Some I call family. Of course I want them to win. When I’m on the sidelines, I’m their biggest fan, but when I’m in the ring in black vest—and I mean this with complete and utter honesty—I don’t know red from blue other than by the color of their armbands. I can easily take a point away from my best friends knowing that, if they disagree, they will still respect my decision to make that call. This is partly because I’m lucky enough to have intelligent, reasonable people as friends. I’m still heartbroken when my friends lose a match, but I’m able to segregate these emotions from my professional resolution. This took time. In the beginning it was award and it took positive feedback and respect from my friends to gain the ability to take such a cold approach to policing them. The same challenge extends to fighters you don’t necessarily know on a personal level but whom you admire as figures in the community. If it’s someone who tends to win and who everyone wants to win, it can be hard to trust yourself on calls you want to make against them. Giants fuck up too. The heroic, eloquent, generous leaders of our community can also slip and curse when they don’t get a point awarded to them they think they should have. Maybe they should have had that point and the judges miscalculated. Never mind, warn them. If you call a ring out you know you saw and a fighter who is an authority and his coach, also an authority, disagree with you, hear their protest if the rules allow for it, but be firm in your decision. Don’t let a different kind of authority outweigh the one you command in your ring. There is an exception here and that is involvement on a romantic level. Working the table is fine if your spouse is fighting, but judging and refereeing is a bad idea. Even if you think you’re the pinnacle of professionalism (and you very well may be) even if the bout runs smoothly without any out of the ordinary exchanges, it could come back to bite you. When someone wins and important fight half the audience will be ecstatic and the other half, not so much. That other half can be noble and take the loss with integrity our they could be out for blood. Judging someone you’re in a relationship with makes you an easy target in claims of mistrial. Don’t give them a reason to target you or the integrity of your management team.
Post-event remorse No, I’m not talking about that sinking feeling you get on Sunday afternoon when the hall starts thinning out and you hug your friends goodbye, trying to figure out which event you’ll see them at next. That is post-event depression, what I’m talking about is post-event remorse which is a special kind of blues reserved for referees. Post-event remorse is the demon who sits on my shoulder on the flight home to Oslo and whispers that one bad call I made over and over again into my ear. That call that changed the outcome of a bout and possibly sent the wrong fighter to quarter-finals. Or was it a bad call? That senior judge backed me in my action, and he’s usually right about these things. No, I made the right call… or did I? What it boils down to is a lack of confidence behind a decisive action made, and this kind of second-guessing is what makes or breaks good refs and judges in the long run. The truth of the matter is, situations are going to arise which make for a tough call and you have to trust your instinct. If you know the rules, pay attention and, beyond all else, trust your ability as a referee then you’re going to make consistently good calls. And that call–the one that may or may not have sent the wrong fighter to the next round—doesn’t have as much as an impact as you think it does. If the fight was that close then the outcome was infinitely close to arbitrary and either fencer would have earned a spot in the next round. To be clear, when I say “trust your instinct” I’m talking specifically to fellow referees and specifically about situations such as handing out penalties and calling dominance. I do NOT advise judges to “follow their instinct” but only to make calls based on clear visual evidence. My point is that this brand of angst is bound to tail you after some events and that it’s something we’re just going to have to stomach. Moreover, this angst should be embraced and reflected upon. It is by playing these possible “bad calls” over and over in our heads that we come to come to better understand our own impulses and leadership style. It is in these post-event reflections that we subconsciously tweak our style and become better referees.
Conclusion It should be noted that you don’t have to like someone in order to work with them, and that’s usually the case on an event-to-event basis, but in the long-term, it helps to be friends with other staff elites. It’s more natural to work together, you trust one another, and you more often find yourself discussing the finer points of organisation over a beer wth honesty and mutual respect. You come a lot farther when you stick to your kind in pulling off events like ours. So much of it comes down to trusting others to do their jobs and be where they need to be when they need to be there. If you’re serious about staffing, in whatever capacity, make an effort to talk to the people who have been there before. I still get loads of useful advice from senior judges at every event and it’s exceedingly helpful. Likewise, talk to the newer members of staff. The first time judging can be daunting—not only because you’re afraid you’re not going to see everything (and who does?) but because you may not know anyone very well. If you’re lucky enough to be staffing with your HEMA besties, make an effort to include the new guy. Not only will it help him relax and enjoy the experience, but he’ll be more motivated to do a good job and contribute to his team. Give him constructive feedback and encourage him. Remember, for many of us, this is not only our hobby, but our passion. We staff work hard at events—we volunteer our weekends—but the regard is great. It’s always worth it.
This insightful article by Kristine Konsmo is a must-read for competitors, event organisers, and those involved in either refereeing or judging at HEMA tournaments.
