I've made fun of replica swords many times in this space, but I want to assure readers that it's only because the collectible weapons are dumb and stupid. However, I have to admit that I, too, feel the geekish drive to hang a drop-forged piece of metal from the wall. I think it's some sort of genetic thing, a throwback to the days when the survival of one's tribe depended on the ability to justify ridiculous purchases.
However, I think I've found a solution to my conflict. My friend Gary, who is a volunteer emergency medical technician, informed me of the existence of a wonderful thing called a Halligan bar.
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If you're a firefighter, or someone who works with firefighters, or someone who lives with one or more firefighters, or someone who makes, markets or sells equipment for firefighters, or someone who has traveled forward in time to read my columns, you probably already know about Halligan bars.
A Halligan bar is a single-piece metal tool designed explicitly and brilliantly for totally busting stuff up in the name of rescue. As I understand it, it's the standard tool for an astonishing number of fire departments, because it's awesome at what it does.
Here's why I feel more comfortable with the idea of having a Halligan on my wall than, say, showing off a Glamdring replica or a bat'leth.
First off, a Halligan is not a replica of anything. It is entirely the thing it is, designed to do what it does. There is nothing ceremonial or decorative about this tool. You can tell that it seriously resents locked doors and wants them to die.
Secondly, I'm much more likely to use a Halligan than a sword. There are many situations in life where you wish you had a knife, and a few unfortunate ones where you might wish you had a gun, but if you find yourself wishing that you specifically had the Sword of the Daywalker, either you live a more interesting life than me, or a less interesting life than pretty much anyone.
Now, to be fair, I can't specifically think of a moment where I wished I had a large metal bar with a pick and an adz on one end, but I'm convinced that that's just because I never knew it was an option. It's like bánh mì – Vietnamese sandwiches. I never knew they had to be an important part of my life until I knew they existed. At any rate, there have certainly been times where I had to – or just wanted to – totally disassemble something in an authoritative manner, and I lacked the tool to do it.
And when you get down to it, a Halligan makes a better weapon than a fussy sword makes a forced-entry tool. It's hard to come up with a situation where I would be personally involved in combat with melee weapons – most of the scenarios I can devise involve a powerful alien race using Wikipedia's "random article" option to pick humanity's champion – but I figure my opponent probably won't care much whether they get gutted with William Wallace's Claymore or smacked with the New York City Fire Department's favorite hunk of metal. I know null-set about weapon fighting either way, but if someone makes a boffer Halligan, I promise to give it a try at the next con I attend.
Finally, comparing the prices of a proper Halligan and most replica swords, they're both equally expensive, which is to say kind of ridiculous for something that's going to just hang there on your wall and totally fail to impress the ladies. Luckily, I can think of a handy way to finance a Halligan purchase: writing a column about them.
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Born helpless, nude and unable to provide for himself, Lore Sjöberg eventually overcame these handicaps to become a rescuer, a resuscitator and a resupinator.
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