PAGE 8 I THE MEREDITH HERALD | SEPTEMBER 30. 2009
THE BALLESTRA
Chelsea Stith
Contributing Writer
It finally happened! This big
event that I’ve been promising
to write about for weeks! But I’m
afraid you’ll just have to come to
Sansepolcro yourself, because 1
really can’t do
the Ballestra
justice.
For once, the
event actually
started on time.
I was expecting
the usual Italian
lack of punc
tuality regard
ing the 17:00
time printed on
my ticket, but
I came a few
minutes early
anyway and
was glad that
I did. The re
spective courts
of each side
had already
marched in,
and the proces
sion with the
Ballestra banner
started just as I sat down. Then,
after a ceremonial exchanging
of gifts—a decorative plate and
some kind of artwork in a frame
that I couldn’t see well—and lots
of speeches, the archers from
Gubbio marched in wearing purple
tunics and looking very imposing.
Then, after more speeches, the
Sansepolcrans strode in looking
like they owned the place (well,
they practically do). And then
came a bunch of Belgians. No,
they aren't a normal part of the
tradition, but they had come along
to watch and I think the tourna
ment heads wanted to give them
a warm welcome. Privately, I think
they thought that their own tunics
and tights would look better next
to the Belgians’ top hats, epaulets,
and white gloves. As it was, the
contrast had me in stitches.
All the archers lined up, and
the champion of each side took an
opening shot. Then things got a bit
chaotic, as there were six cross
bow stands. Each man balanced
the front of his crossbow on a post
and the back of it on his shoulder,
took a very long, very, very careful
aim, and pulled the trigger. Sounds
simple, right? Not with six men
shooting at a time, and not when
the little target about six inches
in diameter already looks like an
overstuffed pincushion. Sparks,
feathers, and often entire arrows
flew after many of the shots. Near
the end, a little boy who was
maybe seven or eight got up with
his dad and aimed his tiny little
crossbow at the target. I was really
hoping he’d get to actually shoot
a miniature arrow, but I’m not sure
that it would have made it all the
way across the piazza.
Once every man (and one little
boy) had taken his turn, the judges
took down the target, hemmed and
hawed, marched the thing around
the piazza, and then disappeared
to deliberate while the crowd was
entertained by more drumming and
flag-throwing by Sansepolcro’s and
Gubbio’s teams.
My favorite was the crazy guy
who had a flag in each hand and
twirled a third with his feet and
knees. Another man had also
brought his son along; the little guy
was wearing the same uniform,
waving a pint-sized flag, and taking
three steps in his little boots to his
father's one. It was also interest
ing to watch the archers. One
younger man from Sansepolcro
came over and was talking to his
wife and son. He looked so excited
and optimistic. Most of the men
who compete are in their fifties and
somewhat stoic, so it was sweet
to see this guy giving his family
a thumbs-up sign, a shrug, and
a smile. (People say that Italians
talk with their hands, but that's not
precisely true. They talk with their
hands, elbows, shoulders, and
faces too.)
When the judges came and
announced the winners, happy-
family-archer-guy got third place
and about burst all the buttons on -
his tunic. I think that second place
went to
Gubbio,
and first
to San
sepol
cro, but
every
body was
hugging
every
body
else and
hoisting
people
on their
shoul
ders and
jumping
up and
down so
it was
hard to
tell.
And
the.
Photo Courtesy Chelsea Stith
did you really think it was over?
The drummers and flag-wavers
marched around the city for the
third time that day. And after that
there was one last triumphal pa
rade of the champions and the tar
get with the three winning arrows
and the drummers and flag-wavers
again and every archer that had
competed and all the court ladies
in Renaissance wear and the Bel
gians for good measure.
And next week everyone starts
practicing for the spring competi
tion in Gubbio.
I really think these people are nuts.
AND I LOVE IT!
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WHINES & GRIPES
To the math department: why are FTCs necessary?
Seriously, when am I ever going to whip out my Tl Inj
teractive and Excel Spreadsheet to solve a so called|
“real life problem” Oh yeah, when hell freezes over.
Why does the Barefoot hallway ALWAYS smell like pee?
To the girl that thought I hit her car: I did not hit your piece of crap car,'
and if you were really that upset, you would've left your name on the
note.
Dear BDH: Have you ever heard of variety? A pasta bar for two
months straight? No, thank you.
To the girl across the hall: STOP FREAKING HAMMERING. Love,
your neighbors
Does Meredith Security have anything ELSE they could possibly do
besides ticket cars? Seriously, get a life.
Will someone please for the love of God PICK UP THE GOOSE
POOP!
DEAR ANTS: GET OUT OF MY CAR.
Dear RA: someone stole our dry erase board, and
you didn’t do anything about it. We think it was you.
Please send submissions to herald@meredith.edu
_or place in WhinesJ. Gripes box in the Cate Center