The Other Player

So, I play capoeira, the Brazilian 'fight-dance-game'. I have attempted a description before, and you could read that if you were interested or you could look at a video which might give you a better sense of it. The details of capoeira do not however, matter too much for what follows, which is sort of about capoeira ... and sort of not.

The heart of capoeira is in the 'roda' (circle) in which two players 'fight-play'. Each player moves, kicks, feints, aims trips and blows, and escapes those of the other player. The aim is to demonstrate your skill and cunning (and occasionally wit), and to permit the other player to demonstrate theirs, while simultaneously placing them, subtly, at a disadvantage through your superior play. Depending on the mood and rhythm, the play can be aggressive or cooperative. Sometimes a fight, sometimes a dance, all contained within a game.

I am a poor player, clumsy and static. I lack the athleticism of the better players though I can, on occasion, surprise them when I manage, against the odds, to 'pull off' a  movement I have practised. Fitness is a problem too, so I get clumsier and less mobile as the effort begins to tell. None of this impacts on my enjoyment, though on occasion my pride gets a little dented.

I try and pick my moment to enter the roda, 'buy the game' as it is termed, and I have a plan. This is, of course, where it all starts to go wrong. I cannot help it, I am a planner. The problem is that the other player, my opponent, has not read my plan. They are going to do what they want to do, which is probably, assuming they are playing well, to expose my vulnerabilities of which the most major is ... that I have a plan. It is clear to me, I want to use 'vingativa', an aggressive move to throw the opponent of balance, getting in close to their leading leg. Where has Serio gone? He was there moments ago, now he is at my side ... and now he is aiming a kick, cartwheeling ... good grief. This is, I suppose, a straightforward variant of the military maxim 'no plan survives first contact with the enemy'.

It is necessary to replan, and I fill the time that this takes with more straightforward moves, but each requires at least some thought, and is exhausting, sapping my reserves of energy and, of course, the situation changes rapidly. At some point another player will buy the game and strategy will take a permanent back seat and the need to simply survive will take over. It is entirely possible that my play improves in this situation, which is not, frankly, saying much.

What are the better players doing? They seem to have an adaptability that allows them to react to the game as it emerges. They have a confident repertoire of moves that they can build upon and link in different ways and for use in different contexts. They have the ability to adjust their technique to the energy of the game and to their own level of exhaustion or otherwise. Their play is responsive, engaged but purposeful. Sure, they test their new moves and try different strategies, but it is within a practiced matrix.

Apart from the obvious, that I wish I were a better player, I discern some general lessons in this (the philosophy of martial and combat arts has always interested me).  Most work in organisations is done with, metaphorically, another player in the roda, a competitor or perhaps more subtly a game against the shifting, changing environment. The goal is to achieve the fluid advantage of the capoeirista. This is not an argument for improvisation but for a flexible, emergent, understanding of strategy and what it might mean. The alternative is a shambling and static cycle of planning and replanning that depletes resources and opportunity.

Perhaps I should spend less time thinking about management and more time practicing my vingativa.