Another way I wasted my youth was in the Society for Creative Anachronism. One of those living history groups. Fighters in medieval armor beating up their friends with rattan “swords” on the tournament field. During single combats or mêlées, experienced fighters acted as marshals. They were there to keep things safe. To stop the action if somebody got hurt, or lost his helm, or a child wandered onto the lists. When I marshaled at a tourney, I always had my walking stick with me. Those swords and maces were dangerous. I depended on my stick to turn aside the slings and arrows of stupid mischance on the field.