[Steppes] SCA Darwin Award

[Ronnie Hodges]

I'm mindful that every time I hear someone say, "Hey, ya wanna see som'thin' 
cool?", I get ready to take that someone to an emergency room.

Because this one is a true Darwin-theory story, it one beats, "Okay, it's 
ready for you to light."

*****
>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!"

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