Today is October 25th, 2015. It’s St. Crispin’s Day. On this day in 1415, King Henry V kicked the shit out of the French in the battle of Agincourt. In 1854, on this day, the Russians (sorta) won the battle of Balaklava in the Crimean War. This day has inspired Shakespeare’s “Band of Brother’s” speech from Henry V. The fatal and idiotically non-heroic Charge of the Light Brigade happened on this day.
600 years ago today was the battle of Agincourt. If you’re unfamiliar with British military history, basically, during the 100 Years War (which lasted longer than 100 years–fucking Europeans) a small group of English archers and pikemen made an EPIC resistance effort and was able to slaughter a bunch of fully armored French knights on horseback. This legendary band of brothers put an end to centuries of French military dominance and pretty much made the mounted knight all but completely obsolete. So fucking metal.
This is important. Imagine if we came up with something that made the nuke obsolete. THE FUCKING NUKE, DOOD?? Nobody back in the day could even fathom the idea that a dude protected from head to toe in chain mail and plate metal armor, armed with a gigantic lance and a fucking bigass sword just in case, and riding a fucking gigantic horse also wearing horse-armor, could be stopped. If a knight on a horse wanted his way with you, man, he fucking had it. Just bend over and take it, you grubby peasant! This is why the Headless Horseman was no. 2 Halloween Monster on my power ranking list. Seriously. How in the actual fuck are you going to stop a knight on a horse if he wants to fuck you up? I’m sitting in my kitchen right now watching SUNDAY NFL COUNTDOWN in shorty-shorts, a wife-beater, and black tube sox. If a knight crashes through my front door on a horse, I am done for. Game over. My titties are TOAST.
I want you to imagine yourself on a cold-ass late October day in the French countryside. You’re stupid tired. You haven’t slept in a bed in months. You’ve been on the longest and shittiest camping trip of all time. Did I mention that it’s cold? Oh, it is the worst kind of cold. It’s not just cold; it’s wet and the sun hates you. Your nose hasn’t stopped running since you crossed the English Channel. And you haven’t bathed in your entire life. You’re a fucking savage and you smell like a sick dog’s anus. You smell so awful that you haven’t even bothered to clean the blood out of your nose since it got broken in the last battle a month ago. That’s right; your face is fucked up too. Your face is broken from getting punched out by a French knight with a literal iron fist. YOU GOT PUNCHED IN THE FACE BY A FUCKING KNIGHT, DUDE! It hurts so bad that it keeps you from falling asleep because your adrenaline will not stop pumping. You’re also ridiculously thirsty and starving too. The only thing that you eat (not even regularly let alone all that often) is rotten horse meat. Rotten apples; rotten, maggot-filled meat; rotten bread; rotten maggot stew; rotten everything! And you’re English so all of your putrid “food” is double rotten. When you aren’t sick to your stomach, you’re starving. That’s it. You’re either ralphing all over yourself and your medieval compadres or you’re so hungry you’re seriously considering eating the bark off of a tree if you haven’t stooped that low already. Your hands and feet are covered in blisters and you’re one more bog-march from getting trench foot and having your feet rot off your ankles. You can’t take off your booties because the blood from your feet has dried and stuck to whatever’s left of the soles of your boots. And it’s not just you. You’re in an army of disgusting peasants like yourself. All of you and your soldier companions smell like sick-dog anus. Your collect camp is a literal cesspool. This is 1415, THE WORLD IS YOUR TOILET! SHIT AND PISS WHERE YOU PLEASE! The freedom to piss and shit anywhere (most likely in your pants) any time you want is your only luxury. The only catch is that you gotta sleep in it. But that’s ok because your ass isn’t sleepin’ anyway. YOUR ON THE WARPATH, BRUH! WHAT’S YOUR WAR STAT?? WHAT’S YOUR COMPLETE LEVEL, FAGIT?? This is a reality. This is your life will most likely end. Could it be fucking worse? Probably not. But then it actually gets way fucking worse…
Not only is your face broken, you haven’t wiped your butt in weeks, you’re covered in puke and feces–not all of which is your own–but now it’s showtime! BATTLE COME DOWN! There are a thousand or so fucking French knights charging full speed at your toilet of a “camp” on horseback. 1,000 fully armored guys on horses with swords and lances are all screaming their heads off and charging at you at a thunderous full-gallop. If you’re one of the few dudes with a helmet, you take that shit off because the sound of the cavalry charge and screaming is too fucking loud. Your helmet, your only piece of protection, is amplifying this terrifying sound to such a level that it feels like your head is about to explode. You’re fucked. The French knights are closing in on your misfit band of hobos. All you got is bows and arrows. You all fire your arrows furiously. That’s all you can fucking do. Just shoot a bunch of arrows into this mass of mounted knights charging at you. You don’t even think. You just fucking pray and scream and shoot.
BUT HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT WORKED!! WHAT????? WE DID IT!!! HOLY TITTIES!!! WE’RE ALIVE!!! WE WON!!!! WE WON!!! WE FUCKING WON!!!!!!!!111!!!!!!1!!1!!!!!!~!!!!!
Against all fucking odds, you win the battle!!! This is dope!! Unfuckingbelievable. How in the fuck did we win??? GOD LOVES OUR DIRTY ASSES!!! JEBUS IS REAL!!! AND HE LOVES US!!! MAMA!! PEANUT BUTTER!!! ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!
That one dude in your camp who looks like Kevin Garnett is doing fucking knuckle push-ups. In front of you is a complete slaughter. This is disgustingly awesome. Only a couple of your guys are busted. All of the French Knights are fucked. PROPER FUCKED. There’s a field in front of you full of mangled horse corpses and deadass dudes full of arrows. It’s a St. Crispin’s day miracle! Turns out that fuckboy King’s speech was actual THE DOPEST! Your King just went from being a total lame-ass, loser-ass, your uninspiring but basically well-intentioned suburban-dad little league coach whose knowledge of the game is constantly in question to being the medieval version of Dave Grohl–but with a fucking sword! This is better than the Superbowl! You actually killed people! AND you won!
This is one of the first great underdog stories. War used to be humanity’s pro sports before we stopped doing that shit and realized it was an idiotic waste of time and talent. Plus, war isn’t spectator friendly. When it’s staged it kinda loses its appeal– could be rigged! Like the end of Gladiator! Footbaw is better anyway. So I’d like to bid everyone a HAPPY ST. CRISPIN’S DAY! Go out and celebrate 600 years of badassery in whatever fucking way you want! The more METAL the better!