[Steppes] SCA Darwin Award

[Ciard49@aol.com]

http://www.darwinawards.com/slush/

Darwin Awards

 Medieval fire torture  

2004 Reader Submission
Pending Acceptance


I'm happy to report that this story will only qualify for an honorable 
mention, since the subject is a good friend of mine. To avoid embarrassing him, I'll 
call him Adam. 

It was a warm spring night in Bowling Green, Ky., and the SCA was in town. 
That's the Society for Creative Anachronism, the medieval-life reenactment 
group. They were having a weekend event at Beech Bend Park, nestled in a woody 
curve of the Barren River. 

Two of my friends were heavily into the SCA, and had pitched their tents with 
the other sword-wielding and baggy-pants-wearing celebrants. They invited me 
and my friend Adam to join them for one evening's campout. Since both were 
lovely blondes (as well as charming friends), we readily agreed. They provided us 
with "garb," faux-medieval clothes that would enable us to blend into the 
crowd. A tabard and baggy pants were enough for me, but Adam wanted something 
more. 

Every SCAdian, as they are known, practices some sort of skill, whether 
cooking or singing or some craft, or just energetically whacking each other with 
duct-tape-covered fake swords. Adam wanted to go all the way. He can juggle, 
which was a start, but still not quite enough. He wanted to be impressive. He 
decided to breathe fire. 

Adam had seen this stunt performed before, with pure grain alcohol. But he'd 
never done it, and being under 21 at the time, couldn't buy pga himself. 

He wanted me to buy it for him, and I was willing; but I didn't get off from 
my waiter's job until after 11 p.m., which is when liquor stores close in our 
town. And he hadn't thought ahead to ask me the day before the event. So, 
still determined to blaze with glory, he went looking for a substitute. 

Let's see ... what flammable liquids can an incautious young man buy in a 
Kentucky Wal-mart at 11:30 at night? There were several choices, none good. But 
Adam settled on Coleman stove fuel. 

It was clear, didn't smell that strong, and he could pour it into an empty 
wine bottle for "period" accuracy. I wasn't sure about this, but Adam decided it 
was close enough. 

Once at the event – called "Border Raids" – I stood talking to one friend 
while Adam said, "C'mere, I've got something to show you," and led the other 
behind a large cloth tent. About 20 feet away stood half a dozen guys in chain 
mail armor, warming themselves around a fire. They could see him directly, but I 
couldn't. 

Seconds later, a deep "WHOOOM!" burst from behind the tent, accompanied by a 
gout of orange flame. "Whoa!" cried all the guys around the campfire, turning 
to applaud. But their applause died, as even through a double layer of tent 
fabric I could see this ... afterglow. 

"Holy shit! He's on fire!" the mail-clad men yelled, and ran over to pound 
out the flames wreathing Adam's head. 

What he hadn't realized was that stove fuel gave off fumes very unlike pga. 
As he swigged the fuel, some of it trickled down his chin – fortunately, he'd 
shaved off his goatee the day before. As it was, fumes wreathed his head and 
spread down his throat. In the ensuing conflagration, he managed to burn the 
hair off the BACK of his head, while hardly touching that on top. His eyebrows, 
however, were scorched too. Rivulets of flame ran down his neck, and he 
suffered chemical burns in his throat. 

Adam was still standing, and at first didn't think he was seriously hurt. But 
the burns started to sting in a few minutes, and I led him to the 
chirurgeon's tent. They quickly saw that neither medieval technology nor modern first aid 
would suffice, and I drove Adam to the hospital. 

He stayed there several days and became quite an object of interest on that 
floor. The burns on his neck healed without serious scarring, his hair regrew, 
and the octave he lost off his voice came back in about six months. 

Perhaps five years later I went to another Border Raids gathering in 
different city, accompanying the same female friends but sans Adam. It had been a long 
and entertaining day, and was concluding with an energetic belly-dancing 
demonstration around a bonfire, accompanied by throbbing drums. I turned to the 
stranger standing next to me and commented on how exciting the event was. 

"Aw, this is nothin', man," he replied. "If you think this is exciting, you 
shoulda' been here about five years ago. This crazy dude set his head on fire!"

Submitted on 03/18/2004