Fun no matter what: A warning at the center of axe throwing

I don’t think it’s a revelation to state that axe throwing has a strong group personality — that there is an almost manic-level of community belief that it’s all, and always, a blast. We joke about the cost of it, about the trials of travel, about throwing better and sucking less — and at the core of all of those rote catchphrases is a single, unifying belief: you’ll have fun, or else you’re not really taking part of this community.

I’m not talking about having a bad day. Or about getting emotional about a missed clutch or a donked match (though that’s a whole other can, right? Those jokers who lose their minds when something doesn’t go perfectly) – I’m talking about the uncanny valley of behavior axe throwers are expected to fall into because it’s an expected, default personality of the sport.

I’m thinking about this because of league last night. I managed to be the first person at the new Meduseld axe house (which I and others are trying to rename as VVolfheim given it’s on Wolf street, and because it’s in Manheim. It’s cool, get off my back) to get an 81. It’s nice. It’s a nice, fun, achievement-sort of thing I managed to pull off. But whether it was the heat or it was my own, I dunno, whatever, I didn’t really feel like celebrating it very much. It happened, people clapped for me, I waved like I was on a halloween-parade float, and then I wanted to immediately forget about it.

And this morning, that reaction gave me a lot of pause.

is there such a thing as wreckless excitement?

It was, by all accounts, the first time I was the first to do anything in my league–at least anything worth noting. I feel like I should have been a lot more excited about it, or maybe gained a sense of accomplishment or some such. But instead I was just bothered by the attention, and kinda bothered it was me and not anyone else.

And that got me to thinking about why I thought I should feel a certain way about it, regardless of how I actually felt about it (which was very little, tbh). Which leads me to today and this post.

I know people should enjoy axe throwing (why else should anyone do it? We’re not saving lives), but the longer I spend in this game, the more I notice that there’s a sort of…I dunno…collective mindset of wreckless joy. A behavior of excess. We drink a lot, we shout a lot, we spend a lot — and I’ve been spending more and more time thinking about why there isn’t room for a more authentic sort of behavior. Like, I feel like someone who isn’t ecstatic about a tourney would stick out in a big way. But why does that have to be so?

it’s not “no fun.” maybe it’s “genuine fun?”

I’m not calling for a puritan, no-fun allowed sort of shift. There is an amazing amount of joy to be had in axe throwing, no doubt. But there should also be room for other stuff, too. For quiet self-improvement. For a gentle sort of camaraderie. The axe throwing community is thankfully so diverse – and I think there’s a chance for us to also allow for diverse engagement with the sport as a whole.

Holy ba-goley, I don’t know what I’m trying to express, here. I feel like it’s silly to take this sport too seriously, and I think it’s odd to force (eh, maybe “expect” is more accurate) wild, unbridled happiness, too. This community is one of the best I’ve been a part of, and it’s also one of the most exhausting. The push for that always-on mania is just hitting me as weird, today.

I dunno, dear reader. This obviously isn’t a complete thought, yet. But frankly the post was either gonna be this or nothing, so here we are.