Wednesday, March 10, 2010 Filed in: Self defense, Techniques & Training
Rivalries among neighboring schools are nothing new. They start in high school, and continue into college: here in my slice of heaven, it's the Oregon State University Beavers versus the University of Oregon Ducks. In Texas, it's the Aggies and the Longhorns. Alumni from the respective schools can get downright cantankerous when discussing the "other" team.
So too with shooting schools. Graduates of one school (or, more commonly, one instructor) hold their alma mater or guru to possess the "true way" and refuse to even acknowledge that others exist. In the worst cases, the arguments end up sounding an awful lot like "my Dad can beat up your Dad".
This came up the other day in a discussion I had with AFGWWWTRA. The term that sparked the conversation was "disciples", and I think that conveys the thought quite nicely. Once one has invested time, effort, and money into an area of interest it's hard to accept that there are other, competing, interests in the world which might just have validity as well. The guru becomes infallible, because if he/she isn't the disciple has wasted time, effort, and money - and who is ever going to admit to that?
I'm not immune; I went through a mild episode of school spirit some years back, but since then I've progressed a bit. I'm open to new ways of thinking and new methods of doing, and my attitude has gone from "so and so says this and it is immutable" to "show me why." The litmus test of any technique or opinion is not the logical fallacy of argument from authority, but rather that it makes sense given an open and agreed-upon criteria.
In an odd coincidence, I just started reading a book that explains this behavior, and as it turns out the concepts involved may have profound implications for self defense. They go well beyond the guru, school, stance, grip, or anything else, and deal with our behavior at a surprisingly base level. In other words, discipleship in and of itself, irrespective of doctrine or dogma, may affect how one performs in a violent encounter.
I'll have more to say when I finish the book.
-=[ Grant ]=-
Spent part of last Tuesday at the range, schmoozing with A Famous Gun Writer Who Wishes To Remain Anonymous (hereafter referred to as "AFGWWWTRA".) We tested a few guns, talked about revolvers - the kinds of things you'd expect a gunsmith and a gun writer to do on a range.
AFGWWWTRA happened to have a Ruger Alaskan model in .454 Casull that was being evaluated. Since I hadn't yet gotten the chance to shoot one, I really wanted to see what it was like with full-house loads. I elected to shoot a couple of cylinders worth while AFGWWWTRA took pictures of the whole debacle. (AFGWWWTRA, it turns out, is easily amused by masochistic idiots. I'm sure it was meant as a compliment.)
The first cylinder was fired, sedately, in single action from the 25-yard bench. At that point I was thinking "heck, that wasn't bad. I wonder what it'd be like in rapid fire?" The second cylinder full, standing from about 7 yards, was fired as quickly as I could get the gun back on target between shots.
The second cylinder hurt more. A lot more. As in: my poor wrists may never be the same. What the hell was I thinking?
Just to retain my machismo cred, here I am in the midst of that sequence, the mighty .454 loads in full fireball-producing glory:
Courtesy of AFGWWWTRA
Note the flash from the round just fired, and yet the gun is back on target and the hammer is about to drop again. Yes, I am just that damn good! (I must be - I tell myself so all the time!)
-=[ Grant ]=-