But with so many Rules available why choose Anticamente? Why invest in a rules that compared to many other has less budget, the development is slower and has less chance of diffusion?
Strange to say, but step by step, several people doing this choice. Crazy? Perhaps, but apparently they are having fun and not seem so sorry of the chosen path. Not many, but they are really aggressive. If you find them on your way you can’t ignore them, because they will dream you with their battlefields, will teach you the real value of your choices on the playing field and make you love the wargame not for the number of people who take part but for the sheer pleasure of it. They don’t play Anticamente, they are Anticamente.
If we are not many today, tomorrow we will be more and after tomorrow even more! And when at last we shall be so many and you’ll look back, you can say: “Beginning, I was there!”
My commitment is to never give up and give all myself in taking forward this project. I’m not drive to marketing decisions, or economic goals, but only into respect of those people. And then I say to you, we few, we happy few, we band of brothers …
What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
From Enrico V of William Shakespeare