by Hap Rocketto
I have been, not unfairly, accused of being a bit single minded when it comes to shooting. It is one of my consuming passions. I shoot a lot and when I am not I am either thinking, talking, or writing about it. I am also competitive and always on the lookout for any opportunity to improve my performance.
These character traits may have an upside in shooting, and in life, but it has a downside in my social life. My wife has given up playing board games with me because I can get pretty intense. My daughters won’t sit and watch TV quiz games with me because I am always shouting out answers since I want to beat the contestants to the draw. My behavior embarrasses the girls. I am not sure if it is my preening hubris or that I am correct much of the time that annoys them the most.
Not born a natural rifleman, I know what little I have accomplished in the sport has been in spite of me, not because of me. I have had poor vision since birth, a short fused temper, and am lazy. A lot of time and money spent at the optometrist’s office have helped me deal with the imperfect vision. My desire to be as good as I can at shooting has taught me to harness my temper as I quickly learned that few lapses of self-control are punished in a shooting match as swiftly and surely as a loss of temper.
I was lazy and my laziness led me to be, at best, a mediocre student during my grammar and high school years. I was not self disciplined and was easily distracted by the many interesting things that I saw and read about. My saving grace was The Old Man’s thick, black, brass buckled garrison belt which provided the external discipline I needed to avoid both juvenile hall and dropping out.
The other external factor was I could have no grade below C. While the school might allow a lesser grade Mom and The Old Man would not. To be good at shooting meant I had to discipline myself. I needed to be organized and focused.
This point was clearly driven home to me after I failed freshman algebra and was consigned to the purgatory of summer school where I managed a D and was allowed to become a sophomore. On the first day of school, much to my surprise, I noted that, my cronies were taking geometry but I was back in algebra. A quick visit to my guidance counselor revealed that my parents had called and had my schedule changed to allow me ample opportunity to earn the coveted gentlemanly C.
The immediate result was that I was forced to develop the character traits, organization, attention to detail, and perseverance, to pass algebra with a C. I then applied them to my shooting. The net result was I managed to graduate from high school, earned a brace of college degrees, went on to teach, ironically enough, high school algebra, and earned a few shooting honors along the way.
I am still single minded but not as single minded as Jim, an old All Guard High Power Rifle Team mate of mine who lived on a ranch and feed lot off of a county road in Montana. Like me he was trying to make the team back in the late 70s. Unlike me he had a bit of an advantage as he was able to build a basic 600 yard rifle range on his ranch’s grazing land. He was pretty much home on the range.
One day, after several particularly poor strings of rapid fire sitting practice he gave up in disgust at his performance, the words of his old coach ringing in his ears, “When you are hot shoot a lot, when not, stop.”
Jim was unpacking his gear from the bed of his pick up and starting to carry it to his house when the county sheriff pulled in to his driveway.
The sheriff, an old friend and a fellow squad leader in their National Guard outfit, alighted from his cruiser, tugged at his pistol belt, gave him a pleasant greeting and then asked, “Jim, did you shoot several strings of rapid fire about an hour ago?”
“Yes,” Jim responded.
“Did you miss the target with one of your shots?”
“Yes, I did. How did you know?” Jim asked.
“Well,” said the sheriff, “That round flew out of your spread onto County Road 51 and shattered a car’s windshield. The vehicle went out of control, crashed through a fence letting a herd of cattle out onto the highway. They milled about blocking the road. A fire truck on its way to a burning out building on the Farnsworth place couldn’t make it to the fire, and the building was totally destroyed. So, what are you going to do about it?”
Jim thought it over carefully and responded, “Next time I think I’ll take a notch up on my sling, tighten my right hand grip, and make sure I have a better spot weld.”
