As the International Axe Throwing Championships begin May 27–31 in Toronto, top competitors describe a sport held together by nicknames, custom axes, and relentless mental focus—while stressing how they avoid airport misunderstandings and keep injuries, fatigu
For Matt Roberts, the hard part doesn’t start on the throwing line—it starts in an airport.
Each time the axe thrower travels for competition, he packs his axes in a rifle bag and adds a printed itinerary for the tournament he’s attending. “If they open it up, it looks a little less sketchy,” Roberts said.
This week. Roberts and hundreds of the world’s best axe throwers are descending on Toronto for the International Axe Throwing Championships. taking place from May 27-31. The event’s field includes the tight-knit. welcoming competitors who spend countless hours practicing and traveling on their own dime to compete for little to no pay—an effort they say is powered by their love of the sport and the people in it.
“In axe throwing, everybody can be a bit quirky and weird, and I think that quirkiness and weirdness is actually what bonds everybody together,” said Austin Agosti, the 2024 international champion.
Adeline Kubicsek, a top-ranked thrower based in Pittsburgh, put it more plainly: “Big old group of weirdos.” She added, “We’re each other’s people, and we bring the best in each other out.”
In the International Axe Throwing Federation (IATF), players rarely call each other by their government names. Instead, competitors lean on nicknames that can become part of the way opponents and teammates recognize each other.
Roberts, who is the No. 1 seed in this week’s world championships, is called “Cockroach” because of his ability to stay alive in competitions. Dave Alviso, the defending international champion, uses “Canexican” to denote his Mexican and Canadian heritage. Kristen Giles, the 2026 U.S. champion, primarily goes by “Stormy Stormerson,” though she sometimes changes her name on tournament entry forms to confuse other competitors.
Kubicsek is “Queenie HBO,” a nod to her mentor, Brandon “ShowTime” McClester. Agosti was given the nickname “Daddy” weeks into his career, and to his chagrin, it stuck.
“Honestly, I can’t tell you the last time I was called by my actual name,” Agosti said.
The IATF doesn’t categorize competitors by age or gender. Players range from teenagers to senior citizens and come from varied athletic and professional backgrounds—engineers. attorneys. and healthcare workers included. There’s also, as the field description goes, a perhaps surprising dearth of lumberjacks and firefighters.
In Toronto, the 256 throwers who qualified for the international championships will compete in a raucous environment with action and friendly trash talk.
“We joke a lot that it’s not golf, it’s not Wimbledon,” Roberts said. “In a venue there’s lots of other matches going on, everybody’s jeering and talking and cheering and booing. It’s a lot of fun, but there’s definitely a lot going on. You kind of have to tune out and focus on what you’re doing.”
Axe throwing’s competitive rules are built around precision and pressure. In IATF competition, the target has three concentric rings: the smallest bullseye measures 7 inches in diameter, the outer ring is worth one point, the middle ring three points, and the bullseye five points.
Each player gets five throws per round. On their fifth throw, they can aim for one of two 2-inch wide green dots called a clutch. The clutch has to be verbally announced before the throw, and if hit it’s worth up to seven points.
Regular-season matches use a best-of-three-rounds format. League playoffs begin as best-of-five and progress to best-of-seven. Tiebreakers require a switch from hatchets, which weigh between 1 1/2 pounds to 2 1/2 pounds, to big axes that weigh up to 3 3/4 pounds.
The international championships open with multiple days of undercard tournaments, including doubles, ambidextrous axe throwing, big axe throwing, and knife throwing. It all leads to the Wilson Cup finals on May 31.
Distance matters too. In hatchet competition. players throw from behind a black line 14 feet and 2 inches from the target—about the same distance as a basketball free-throw line measured 15 feet from the backboard and 13 feet. 9 inches from the front of the rim. In big axe competition, players stand 18 feet and 4 inches from the target.
Agosti described the mental feel of the sport by comparing it to foul shots. “I equate a lot of axe throwing to shooting foul shots in basketball because it’s a very similar feeling,” he said. “Everyone’s watching you, you’re the only person on the line.”
Throwing mechanics vary. Some players use two hands to throw; others throw one-handed. Alviso, a former baseball pitcher, generates power from his legs and focuses on his release point. Agosti flicks his wrist like he’s shooting a basketball to achieve maximum rotation with minimum friction. Kubicsek relies on her forearm with a slight wrist flick.
Because axe throwing is based on skill rather than power, competitors can come in many shapes and sizes.
“You can have somebody who is built like a linebacker and then you can have somebody that is like 90 pounds and 4-foot-10, and they’ll be on the same playing field just because of skill level,” Kubicsek said.
The sport’s field includes Kimmy “Giant Slayer” Supnet, who became the first woman to podium at IATC when she finished third in 2024, and stands around 5 feet tall. Several teenagers are also fearsome competitors.
“It becomes very much more of a skill sport, not necessarily a power sport,” Alviso said. “That’s kind of the beauty of it. It doesn’t really matter what your physical size is or your strength level. It’s just basically practicing. repetition. figuring out your release point. where you need to stand and a throw that you can perform under pressure.”.
Equipment can make a difference, too. Smaller axe blades are generally considered beneficial for throwing bullseyes, while longer blades are better for clutch throws. Players therefore have different axes for different types of throws, with all axes required to adhere to dimensions and weights.
Axes are commonly carried in racquet bags or rifle cases. Like baseball and tennis, many top-ranked throwers use custom-made axes to improve comfort and accuracy, and sometimes for aesthetics. Custom hatchets can cost between $100 and $250, while custom big axes cost $250 to $400.
Alviso has custom axes priced in the triple figures, but he also throws a $20 hatchet he bought from eBay. “More important than cost, he said, is experimenting with different axes to find the best fit.”
“I think having an axe that feels right with your throw is important,” he said.
Injuries do happen, throwers say, just not in the way many people assume. One misconception is that axe throwing is dangerous because an axe could hit someone, but participants say the risk is low due to strict rules about safe standing areas for competitors and spectators.
Instead, the more common problems are overuse injuries and muscle fatigue. Kubicsek developed tendinitis in her arm and keeps ibuprofen, a massage gun, and topical pain reliever on hand. Giles tapes the pointer finger on her right hand—where her axe rests—to prevent blisters. Roberts said his shoulder can feel especially sore after a big axe tournament.
The biggest challenge, however, is mental. There’s no defense in axe throwing, which means competitors must keep their focus as sharp as their blades. That requires intense concentration and a dose of gamesmanship.
Giles, for example, performs better when she’s throwing out of spite with a metaphorical axe to grind. Some players try to psych out opponents by taking longer to reset for the next throw. Others decide whether to call a clutch based on what they know about their opponent’s strengths or weaknesses.
“You can practice and throw and hit the target all day, but to do it when there’s 100, 200 eyes on you and you’re down and you’re playing someone who isn’t going to miss—being able to perform under those circumstances is a completely different thing,” Giles said.
That need to perform—under pressure, under observation, and often far from home—sits alongside what competitors say is a deeper reason they keep returning: a community that feels built to last.
Before Giles found axe throwing in 2021, she spent five years bedridden with an illness doctors couldn’t figure out. She eventually underwent surgery to remove 14 benign tumors with a total weight of 17 pounds from her body.
After being isolated for so long, the community element of axe throwing drew her in. “Axe throwing was really taking my power back, like building myself back from the group up after tragedy,” she said. “It’s empowering.”
In October 2025. Giles became the first woman to win an IATF Grand Slam tournament. an event that allows players to earn qualification to world championships. She won the next Grand Slam after that, too. She is also part of a rising cohort of women who support each other and are making their mark in axe throwing.
Kubicsek, seeded 11th in this week’s international championship field, previously worked at an axe throwing venue in Pittsburgh. She said she took pride in beating cocky male customers who challenged her to a match. Kubicsek is also the most recent champion of the Slayer Series. an IATF tournament open to anyone who meaningfully identifies as a trans or cis woman. non-binary person. or other marginalized gender.
Axe throwing’s diversity is one of the main selling points that attracts people of all genders to the sport. But Giles worries about the future of axe throwing as the IATF struggles to accelerate its growth into a major sport while running a sustainable business.
Financial incentives remain small. The total prize pool for the 2026 international championships main tournament is $23,500, with the first-place winner taking home $9,400. Prize money at most tournaments barely covers the cost of travel and an entry fee.
None of the top-ranked IATF players make a living from axe throwing. To save money on travel, they drive whenever possible and sometimes room together with other competitors. Agosti said. “I think if you won every (Grand Slam) tournament in the calendar year. you would make probably somewhere close to 15. 20 grand.” He added. “Honestly. in most tournaments. I would say you’re very fortunate to even break even.”.
Giles said she’d like axe throwing to follow cornhole’s path into mainstream attention. She pointed to the marketing momentum behind cornhole and said the American Cornhole League finals will be broadcast on ESPN networks in June. By contrast, the IATF championships will be streamed live on YouTube.
For the moment, axe throwing remains a sport of passion.
Roberts encouraged anyone interested in axe throwing—even recreationally—to try it at a local venue. He said throwing is cathartic, but more than that he cherishes the relationships the sport has allowed him to build.
“It’s been really cool meeting people from all over the world and making new friends,” Roberts said. “A lot of people that, if axes went away tomorrow, we’d still be friends and will keep up probably the rest of our lives.”
International Axe Throwing Championships IATF Toronto axe throwing Matt Roberts Austin Agosti Adeline Kubicsek Kristen Giles Dave Alviso World Axe Throwing Championships Wilson Cup prize pool