In a Pub, Slamming Back Poetry?

Two nights ago, four of us decided to meet at Cafe Deux Soleils on Commercial Drive where they were hosting a Poetry Slam. As it turned out, it was in fact an International Poetry Slam. The cafe was overflowing when we arrived. I hadn't put much thought into what the atmosphere would be like - but in the way that you sometimes meet someone others talk about, and you don't think they look the way you thought they would, but can't offer a description of what that would be other than that's just, that's not it - and I was surprised to see people spilling into makeshift aisles, leaning against counters and newspaper racks lining walls, hanging on to patio railings trying to hear from outside. Nor did I expect the sort of crowd reactions we heard. Donna had been practicing snapping her fingers on the way there, half expecting that to be the appropriate response to the poetry - something artsy. And I feared she was right. In contrast, they were thundering applause and hooting and hollering their approval. It felt more like a sporting event.
And I suppose that's it. You see it turns out that this Slam element means to imply that this is not a poetry reading in a library, but a ranting in a pub. This is not a tea and cookies, but rather beer in pitchers. And strangest of all - it's a competition. Not in the way that the first day of school is a clothing competition, or the way some neighbours have a lawn competition. This is a judged events with score cards and winners and dare I say ... losers. Poetry losers. Wow.
The loser aspect didn't seem to get to them and I suspect that they are really just playing at competing. I say that because the judging was clearly unfair and at the end someone stood on stage and said something about how it is not really about the points but about the poetry. All of which isn't really any different than a little league game of tee ball. What was different was that in place of a few hockey dads and soccer moms dropping their heads and half heartedly mouthing some sort of agreement, this crowd roared it's consent.
The points didn't matter to them. It was just another form of encouragement. Take the only booing of the night for example. It was aimed at the judges whenever the crowd deemed the scores too low and as a result the scores steadily climbed throughout the night in a slow building frenzy that echoed the pitch of the crowd.
That's all sweet as pie, but like a true sports fan, I'm still a little choked that Anise lost just because he went up early in the night.