5 Unwritten Rules of Axe Throwing

Before we get started with the 5 unwritten rules of axe throwing, I have a couple announcements to share with those dear readers gathered here today. Just two little milestones to share: First, this is the 300th post on The Axe Badger, which is pretty amazing when you consider that this whole site started a mere 3-years-and-a-month ago. Second, it’s my ding-dang birthday today! 42. Sheesh.

Anyway, on to more important matters: There are a ton of rules in axe throwing. Sure, the ones that are part of the game itself (oft up to some interpretation and the source of so very much friendly, rational discourse on AxeBook), but also more experience-based, cultural rules that can only be learned by running afoul of them or, more likely, spending a little bit of time at a marathon or tournament away from your own venue.

But, ever the steward of your success in the sport, ol’ badger is here to illuminate some of the more difficult-to-know rules. You know. So you don’t embarrass yourself. So take off those clown shoes and put on your learning ears, here they are!

1. The thing you’re looking for will be in your axe bag, only after you’ve looked there 3 or 4 times.

Your chalk. Your car keys. Hell, sometimes your own axes: axe bags often act as an extension of our own aura, but that’s not the only magic they have. Indeed, those little shits will hide your sunglasses for the entirety of a tourney only to reveal themselves, at night, when you stop at the seediest gas station for a Monster and third pack of gummy bears.

Here’s the trick: whenever you get to the venue, loudly say (within earshot…er…pocket shot?) of your axe bag “I CAN’T FIND MY STUFF ANYWHERE!” It’ll start the automatic countdown of your own accoutrement reappearing.

2. No matter what you eat during a marathon, it’ll sit funny in yer tum tums.

I’ve experimented with this in the past, ranging from only eating berries and nuts like some sort of drunk squirrel to eating an entire thanksgiving sides meal. No matter what–NO MATTER WHAT– my tummy starts to do “This is Hip Hop” moves while I’m throwing.

Much like the smell of a bookstore can make some people need to drop deuces, the smell of an axe house, when mixed (mysteriously) with adrenaline, alcohol and street meats, can cause the ol’ rum-tum-tummy to lose its little mind.

The fix is simple: Attach a camelpak full of plain oatmeal to yerself. Sip on that glurm whenever you get hungry. Imagine doing that now. Imagine it right now. The texture.

3. Your axe will betray you. it’s a test.

There’s a lot that can go wrong for even the most seasoned thrower. Dropped axes, sticky hands, something-gets-in-your-eye-during-round-two — the list is endless (or, you know, the list is three things I could think up really quickly). But it’s not because you’re stressed out, no, no. Axe throwing is only fun.

The truth is this: Your axes are obligated to betray you at least once during a tourney. It’s part of an old pact the axe gods made with Commissioner Wilson long, long ago:

What I’m about to share with you may come as a shock. But frankly, I think you deserve to know. Axes are, primarily, intended to chop up wood. Not like, boards, but wood in the form of trees and branches and stuff. Believe it or not, wood isn’t naturally board-shaped. It’s tree shaped, and axes are for that.

But ol’ Wilson & Co. had other ideas, and in order to get the axe gods on board (whoaaaaaaaa play on words wow), they needed to agree to this simple spell, cast by one of those awe-inspiring, very-specific axe gods:

the use now for throwing,
we axes relent
but once every tourney
thine axe says “get bent”

And, you know, Wilson was like “sounds good,” and didn’t think much about it — but the spell took hold, and now you’ve gotta deal with that at least once during every tourney. Just to remind us that we’re not in control.

Overcome this rule: It’s pretty simple, really. You just gotta spend quality time with your axe, reminding it that now it’s a throwing axe, and not a firewood choppy axe. After a couple hundred hours of “reminding” your axe about this via practice, you’ll notice a sharp drop in the amount of times it betrays you. Oh, and every 3 months get a new throwing axe.

Wild, huh?

4. it’s okay to be angry about a match, but not too angry, and not for too long.

Listen. Look. Look and listen: we’re all gonna have our feelings. Those are good. I am pro-feeling. And despite lots of reddit posts about it, I am a human being with human being feelings: I get angry when I let myself down during a match.

And when that happens, I try to excuse myself for a moment, sneak away into a quiet place, scrunch up my face and curse the day I first picked up this goofy sport. But then I go back to the lanes and yuk it up with other throwers.

Some people need a bit longer than that. Some need even less time. But here’s the truth: there’s an unknowable range of “acceptable” angrytime feelings. I have no idea what that range is, but I know when someone goes beyond its bounds. If you’re observant, you’ll find that correct range and stay within it. Hell, if you’re really lucky you don’t get too frustrated by match mistakes and you’re in the clear already.

Here’s the fix: Whenever you feel the grumples rising up in your body, look to the largest group of throwers around, shout “I’M HAVING FEELINGS TIME” and walk off. They will all nod in recognition and leave you alone for…uh…1 to 5 minutes? A quarter hour? Whatever feels right.

5. You will not remember a person’s name. you will remember a person’s axe throwing name.

I have the good fortune of meeting lots and lots of people during my tenure in this sport, and I feel honored and lucky to get that opportunity. I cherish each and every experience (even the ones that are strange or negative, because hey it helps me grow).

But I’ll be good gottdamned if I remember a single person’s actual name.

I’ll probably remember everybody’s axe name until the day I die, but you could say your name over and over again at a tourney like you’re some sort of weak-ass pokemon, and it’d glance off my memory centers like an axe reminding you about the covenant.

Here’s the fix: Carry around a bunch of those “HELLO MY NAME IS” stickers. Each time you meet someone, force them to put one on with their actual name. As far as I’ve seen, axe throwers (like crows), are desperate to collect things, so they’ll go along with it if everyone else is.