The action began around noon when a man who calls himself The Knight of Little Red Wagon climbed aboard a flaxen-haired mare named Princess.
Right away, there was trouble.
"Whoa!" cried the 65-year old Knight in the English riding-breeches, as his nervous mare skittered fretfully, "go easy, girl! Settle down, now. Easy does it...."
He patted her neck for a while. Soothed, the frisky mare finally relaxed. Then, she began to canter past the turrets of the cardboard-constructed medieval castle, where dozens of bright pennants snapped and fluttered in the autumn breeze. It was an October Saturday in rural Maryland, and the Knight of Little Red Wagon had journeyed to this tournament-field on the shores of the picturesque Susquehanna River in order to try his hand at what historians call "the world's oldest equestrian sport."
Dressed in the traditional breeches, leather boots and heraldic sash, or "gipon," the Red Knight was about to make his first "run at the rings."
In the distance, there was a sudden blast from the trumpets. The crowd of about 400 leaned forward expectantly. Then came the sound of the booming loudspeakers:
PREPARE TO CHARGE, SIR KNIGHT!
The rider tightened his reins. Looping Princess through a slow circle, he swung around to look down the 80-yard dirt track with its three, overhanging arches. Carefully, he rose up in the stirrups until he was completely clear of the saddle. His left arm, which would provide the necessary balance, went to the mare's flaxen-maned neck. He braced and waited.
With his right arm, the Knight of Little Red Wagon raised the seven-foot, steel-tipped lance into the "tilting" position.
CHARGE, SIR KNIGHT, CHARGE!
For a split second, horse and rider remained motionless. They stood poised - the scarlet-clad Knight, and the panting steed - like a sculpture lifted from the medieval world of Lancelot and Guinevere.
Then the "Knight," whose real name is Phillip Clarke and who runs a farm in southern Maryland when he isn't "tilting on the field of battle," barked out a single command: "Hyah!"
At the same instant, he twitched the reins.
The mare broke into a gallop. Together, they zoomed down the muddy track. Crouched high in his stirrups, and fighting for balance, the Knight aimed his lance-tip at the first of the three arches and first of the three dangling rings: Ping! He nailed it cleanly - a point!
So far, so good.
But then, trouble: Princess swerved. It was only a tiny miscue, a slight zig to the right - but it was enough. Because
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