Tejo, Sport of Ancient Colombian Warriors

'Tejo', a sport that supposedly originates from the ancient indigenous people approximately 500 years ago. Some say it was used to test a warriors skill, others say it was used to test if a member from another tribe was worthy enough to marry one of their fair maidens. Rumour has it that the indigenous used golden disks which were flung from a distance of 20m or so to hit a triangle of golden objects, whoever knocked down the triangle was the winner, other versions say they would throw the golden disk into a hole and whoever landed theirs in the hole first was the winner. Whether this is true or not, the game remains original to Colombia but has been modified since with heavier solid metal objects, known as 'Tejo's' instead of golden disks. The target is a square metre of clay, a horseshoe in the centre and a packet of gunpowder that rests on it to make it more exciting if your Tejo collides with it, creating a big explosion and billow of smoke. Of course lots of cervezas too!! It all works on a points system depending on how close your tejo lands to the centre, more if you set off the gunpowder.

Not being Colombian, I had never played the game before but I had heard of it and I was very keen to give it a try so with my brother in-law, Roger, we set up a group that included my father in-law, Don Oscar, An ex-champion of the sport, our friend Matt from Canada and Rogers good friend Ancizar too. I'm not sure who was under more pressure to deliver though, Don Oscar or me, the expectation for him to prove his honour or for me to simply not look like a fool. The novice versus the pro. The odds were not stacked in my favour. Don Oscar, had given me some tips on how to prepare myself for the game organised for that weekend. How to swing your arm in a pendulum motion, preparing it for the final throw, the steps to take to aid in delivering additional propulsion, breathing technique and finally the final throw.

Saturday arrived and we made our way to a local club, upon entering the club it was filled only by men and not a single woman. This is as much an arena for male bonding as it is for competition. I can picture these guys working all week long and their tradition is to go directly to the club, drink beers, talk politics, having banter and of course play Tejo. The place itself was split into two areas, one was much smaller, the distance from the throwing spot to the target was easily 25% the distance from the other area, the Tejos were smaller in size too, it almost looked like an area for children to accustom themselves to the sport but these were grown men playing here. We received our Tejo's, each weighing 4lbs (2+ Kg) or more before making our way to the playing area provided to us. The distance was easily 20m if not more and the thoughts of my aim wondering and clobbering some unlucky individual on the head was constantly on my mind. There was little dividing us from our neighbours and sometimes they would lean into our lane as they drank beer and watched their opponents compete. It was nerve racking at times, especially as my technique was just terrible, despite my brief tutoring session with Don Oscar, I wasn't playing well and I was becoming more conscious of it too the more we played. Any natural form would soon become firmly saturated as my mind concentrated on too many things at once, how to hold the Tejo properly so it didn't slip out of my hand too soon, the swinging motion, the steps taken to aid in propulsion, avoiding the wandering spectators, the final swing and throw. With each turn I was becoming a greater mess and just getting my Tejo to land in the clay box felt like a win. At one stage I was told, I had no rhythm, too stiff and looked like a robot! This wasn't a dance off but they were right, I wasn't adapting and my mind was overwhelmed with it all that it was stopping me from relaxing and finding that natural form.

Its fair to say none of us played well in this arena, thankfully we weren't playing for points as i'd have an embarrassingly low score, even Don Oscar wasn't having a good time but luckily for him I was playing and the limelight wasn't on him. The tejo's weren't the right weight he said, too heavy and I had to agree with him..... It was the Tejo and not me!! 1 - 0 to Don Oscar.

We finished our beers and left the club, while I had enjoyed the banter and had fun, my performance was bugging me. Roger suggested we go to another club and continue playing, even if I didn't play well, the entertainment and the cold beers was too good to turn down. When we arrived at our new venue I could tell straight away this was going to be better. The lanes were shorter and the Tejo's lighter. We had some breathing space between our neighbours too and the whole setting was much more comfortable. Immediately I could feel myself beginning to relax. The stiff robot was loosening up and was beginning to find that natural form. The satisfying feeling of the Tejo landing firmly in the clay and reaching close to the bull-eye was emphatic as we all competed to set off the gunpowder. We'd tease and torment each other and wash it down with a cold beer. The more we played the better I was getting, I hit the horseshoe a few times but none of us set off the gunpowder yet, despite our neighbours who on the odd occasion would set it off and give us all a fright. Ancizar made a suggestion that whoever set off the gunpowder didn't pay for the beers etc. So now there was more motivation than ever to get that little white triangle of gunpowder to explode. As we played the sun began to descend and the setting became more perfect, its golden glow settling on the surrounding plantain leaves and vegetation, lighting up the venue, creating a warmth and atmosphere that it felt like the spirits of the indigenous had a part in all this, reminding us that the game requires gold to feel authentic and so we played on in our golden lit club for as long as it would last.

Now that the bar was set we were all desperately trying to hit the target, Don Oscar taking it to another level by switching Tejo's in a desperate bid to improve his performance but tonight wasn't his night. The luck of the Irish was in the house and BANG, I hit the target, for a millisecond I wondered did I really hit it? Yes, I had, the flash is fast and the noise is dramatic but the billow of smoke confirmed my disbelief. I raised my arms in victory and high five'd my companions. Now I didn't have to pay but more importantly my pride was in tact and my earlier performance was forgotten. We played on and Ancizar took the lead setting the gunpowder off twice. Don Oscar wasn't on form, it had been many years since his competitive days and he was looking a bit ring rusty but still gave it his best. Roger hit the horseshoe over and over, sometimes sending the packet of gunpowder spinning into the air continually tormenting him. Matt who started off really well in the previous club was lagging behind, he's a big guy and the smaller arena and tejo's wasn't working for him. His tejo, clobbering off the edge of the board, smashing off the backing and once, flying into the car park. He took it in good spirits though and played on determined to improve. By now it was getting late and the end was nearing, Ancizar was in the lead. He had played consistently well all night. We quickly played on, all desperate to hit the target and set off the gunpowder. Some feeling the pressure more than others. I stepped up to the line, concentrated on my target and let the Tejo fly, BANG once more. Yes, high fives flying and another swig of cold beer. It was a tie between myself and Ancizar, time was running out and in the end we settled for the draw but what a fun afternoon and evening. We all left eager to play again, laughing and in good spirits but for now we'd settle for one last beer and drink to our health. Tejo, a game as old as the ancients, still entertains and bringing people together. Long may it last.