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Showing content with the highest reputation on 11/29/2023 in all areas

  1. I'm going to be completely blunt - or perhaps BRUTAL. I'm watching a video from a no name shooter; whose biggest claim to fame is 2nd place finishes? Who has zero concept of where this game came from or why it has progressed to where it is currently... I'm watching a shooter who posts 30+ second stages and then disparages the target sizes and arrays as too close... I'm watching a shooter being insulting toward the equipment modifications and yet cannot complete a stage without hiccups... This is somehow the FUTURE of Cowboy Action? This is yet another example of somebody unable to win under the current system - so instead of trying harder, practicing more or striving to improve their self, attempts to create their own game that they feel will benefit them. I aint impressed.
    11 points
  2. The real question is: How do you get back up afterwards?
    9 points
  3. First off, he doesn't quite know the history of SASS/CAS. Second, does he really think that what he's proposing is new??? Lastly, he really seems to think that because he likes this, that there's an actual market for it. There might be...but they won't be CAS. The majority would not be able to do the things he's asking folks to do. Yeah...women rolling around on the ground...carrying a pistol in hand while running down range with a rifle in the other hand. This person ... sorry...I believe is delusional (relative to what he's proposing). Phantom
    8 points
  4. Those cowboys have a right to be concerned. Those pistols all have "Hare" triggers!
    8 points
  5. Graduated from the School of Hard Knocks, nothing to repay.
    6 points
  6. Up in Missouri, it wasn’t the grass that made me itch — it was the chiggers.
    6 points
  7. The really important improvement would be more EMOJI'S
    6 points
  8. On this day in 1775, a Philadelphia tavern owner is commissioned as commanding officer of the newly formed Marines. Samuel Nicholas received his commission only 18 days after the Continental Congress passed a resolution requiring that “two Battalions of Marines be raised” to support the recently organized Continental Navy. The day of that original resolution -- November 10 -- is celebrated as the birthday of the United States Marine Corps. Nicholas was another “Fighting Quaker”! He was the son of a blacksmith, but he’d worked his way up in society a bit. By the time the war started, he was a tavern owner and founder of the Gloucester Fox Hunting Club. He also belonged to an exclusive club called the Schuylkill Fishing Company. Because of his background, he had friends and connections in many classes of Philadelphia society. It was thought that he’d be the perfect person to recruit the tough guys who would be needed as Marines. He could definitely recruit. He raised five companies of men in a relatively short period of time. In fact, it proved harder to get supplies than men. Nevertheless, he and his Marines were soon deployed on their first mission in the Bahamas. The operation was successful, and Nicholas hoped to be sent on more missions with his men. He didn’t get his wish. Instead, he got a promotion that basically ensured that he’d be stuck performing administrative tasks. Nicholas spent the summer and fall of 1776 recruiting more Marines. In December, he got his wish for more action, at least for a little bit. He and three Marine companies joined George Washington, then retreating from the British army. (Americans had just been driven from New York.) Washington, it seems, wasn’t quite sure what to do with the Marines. He asked whether “they came out resolved to act upon Land or meant to confine their Services to the Water only.” In the end, the Marines were asked to row Continental soldiers across the Delaware River before the Battle of Trenton. They did not engage in that attack, but they were involved in the actual fighting at the Battle of Princeton one week later. The Marines with Nicholas were involved in a few more skirmishes during the following months, but Nicholas later returned to Philadelphia to resume his administrative duties. He was trusted and respected, but he was also apparently frustrated by his role. According to one early 20th century historian, Nicholas wrote of his “mortification” to discover that because of his promotion, he had become a “useless officer, at least in sense of danger.” He wanted to be more involved in the actual fighting. Nicholas served for almost the entire Revolution before returning to civilian life. He passed away in August 1790 during a yellow fever epidemic. He may have been frustrated with the lack of “danger” in his work, but he at least lived long enough to see America finally gain the freedom for which he had worked so diligently. P.S. The picture is an ink drawing showing Nicholas presenting his Marines at the hoisting of the Gadsden flag. --------------------------- If you enjoy these history posts, please see my note below. Gentle reminder: History posts are copyright 2013-2020 by Tara Ross. I appreciate it when you use the shar e feature instead of cutting/pasting. #TDIH #OTD #History #USHistory #liberty #freedom #ShareTheHistory
    6 points
  9. I see Father Christmas of the Toppling Christmas Tree just forgave 813,000 Federal Student Loans. This could cost taxpayers more than $400 Billion per the Congressional Budget Office. I am all for people getting and education and I am all for giving people loans with reasonable interest rates, but this sends another message of “See, we don’t have to abide by contracts. We just whine and cry long enough and the government will step in and take care of it…Sure, I am going to vote for that party.”
    5 points
  10. He wants to "bring in younger blood". Well, with that laying in on the ground scenario, he's lost most of the ladies and most of the older shooters. To which he's also added a foot race. Looking at the way he moves when he's running, he'd no longer be able to do it 10yrs from now. The idea of his Dead-Eye CQB Brutality Match seems to be geared toward younger male shooters. That seems to be his target audience. Way to kill a game that welcomes all shooters, male and female, of all ages.
    5 points
  11. Didn't watch but the first few seconds due to time constraints (mine). Did anyone notice what happened when he levered his rifle? I did.
    5 points
  12. Maybe they should rename it the Biden Inflation Tree...it won't come down then.
    5 points
  13. Personally I do not. Questions are answered on the wire.
    5 points
  14. I called OO. They got ahold of Pinetar abd Pinetar called me. All is well.
    5 points
  15. ...... do you think she means it this time ? ...... most of my worry is that she might end up here ...
    5 points
  16. If you have an iPhone, login to the Wire, and when you are posting, there will be an Add Files button at the bottom. Click it and choose Add Photo. That should take you to your photo library to choose which picture to upload. You 'might' need to give it permission to your photos. Touch the photos you want to upload and click ADD at the top. Submit your post. Totes
    4 points
  17. Nope, couldn't afford college. Had no idea at the time that I could just whine and govt. would pay it off. I'm so damn sick of paying for everyone else's education. Can barely afford my property taxes due to education taxes I pay to teach children that they can and should change their gender.
    4 points
  18. I have been doing this for 28 years and if Cowboy Action was like that I would have gone to one match and that would have been the end of it for me. If he thinks that's the future of Cowboy Action I want to wish him a lot of Luck, like Phantom said he's delusional!!!!!
    4 points
  19. Knowing the average age and average physical shape of the average SASS shooter there is no way in hell this is the future of cowboy action shooting.
    4 points
  20. Hmmmm, the more I watch the videos and think about it, making pencils might be a lot of fun. I’ve got 30+ years of scrap lumber hoarded away and making a pencil out of Honduran rosewood or cocobolo might be pretty cool. Wonder what Mrs. Lose’s Christmas present budget is this year?
    4 points
  21. DID YE TALK T’ GOD ABOUT IT? Sheriff Linn Keller removed his Stetson as he addressed their hired girl. He apologized in a most gentlemanly manner for causing her more work, and asked if she could possibly tend his suit, for he’d managed to get it rather dirty: from anyone else, it would have been a demand, an order, but from the pale eyed Sheriff, it was couched as a request, and she’d discovered that when he parsed it as a request, it was just that. This was relieving to their hired girl, for tending the household was no light task, and so far as she was able, she liked to plan her work ahead. Linn retreated with a careful tread up the stairs – in his sock feet, his boots were scuffed and dirty, very unlike their gleaming appearance he usually affected: only his hat escaped whatever misadventure that made him look … used. Linn came down the stairs, as silent as when he’d ascended: he’d come into the house still damp from washing up, and consultation with a mirror assured him that yes, he’d managed to get rid of the accumulated dirt: he looked around, remembering his young sons, alive and healthy (and clean!), and he gripped the back of a kitchen chair, then sat, slowly, bent over, elbows on his knees, and sank his face into his palms, shivering a little. The maid came bustling into the room, picked up his folded coat, shirt, vest and trousers, then froze, looking at the man: she placed the folded garments on another chair, slipped out of the room, came back with a cut-glass tumbler with three fingers’ worth of distilled California sunshine. “Ye look done in,” she whispered, a gentle hand on his back: Linn lifted his face from his hands, took the glass, drank. He handed the maid back the empty glass, nodded: another moment, and he was on his feet. “I’ve got t’ polish m’ boots,” he muttered, and the maid shrank back a little. Michael Moulton was the town’s attorney, and their land office agent: he’d lifted a chin to the Sheriff, crossed the street at a long-legged stride, spoken to the pale eyed lawman from whom silence cascaded like a cold downdraft from a snowy mountain. Linn looked at his old friend, concerned. “The Parsons boys?” Moulton nodded, a single, measured lowering of his head, a lift, eyes veiled as he did. “Those boys don’t have two shekels to rub together.” “So I gathered.” “And they were askin’ about filin’ a claim?” Again the single, measured nod. “Did they say what they were minin’?” “Not after I started talking how much filing a claim would run, then I spoke of the expense of hauling ore, the cost of freight …” “Hm.” Linn squinted into the distance. “Might ought I’d ride up there and take a look.” “Chances are it was just wishful thinking, Sheriff.” “Might be,” Linn agreed, “but if they hit even a trace of color, we could have a gold rush or silver or hell anything nowadays, mines are playin’ out left and right and men are desperate for one last vein.” The two men withdrew into the Sheriff’s office, and the Sheriff opened one of several wide, shallow drawers on a purpose built cabinet he’d had made some years back. He considered the contents of one drawer, riffled through the big sheets of paper, brought one out, laid it on his desk. Mr. Moulton turned to get his bearings, studying the hand drawn map – twin to the one he’d used that day, to locate the position of the Parsons boys’ inquiry – the Sheriff frowned a little, thumped the spot with a fingertip. “There’s nothing there,” he said finally, “no silver, no zinc, no lead, sure as hell no gold … why d’ they want to stake that?” “Salt it, maybe, sell it and make money?” “They don’t own the ground, they can’t sell it.” “Sell the claim, then.” “That,” Linn grunted. “Most likely that.” He shook his head. “Hell, if they’re goin’ to do that, they’ll bring a gold rush down on us and we’ll never recover!” Mr. Moulton had seen gold rushes and what they did to a town, and he agreed silently with the Sheriff’s sentiments. “I’ll head up there and see what they’ve got.” Half an hour later, the Sheriff’s stallion stamped restlessly as the pale eyed old lawman surveyed the scene. He frowned, leaned forward, squinted, willing himself to see more clearly – What’s that sticking out of that hole? Legs? One of the Parsons boys ran up to the hole, grabbed a leg, pulled: it was excavated into a sidehill, it looked like a collapse – The stallion surged powerfully forward, heading for the small scale but potentially deadly tunnel collapse at a mane-streaming, tail-floating, ears-laid-back, gallop. The maid looked at Linn, her expression serious. “Ye drank that like watter,” she observed. Linn looked at the tumbler, looked into its vacant depth, handed it to her. “Yep. Hole in it.” “Sheriff,” the maid said carefully, “be ye well?” Linn looked at her with a troubled expression, something she’d never seen before. “I was thinking of my sons,” he said, his voice most uncharacteristically faint. Linn seized the broke-handled shovel, attacked the cave-in like a personal enemy. He knew it would be bootless to seize the protruding leg and pull: too much of the boy’s body was trapped under the roof fall: he moved dirt fast, not in a panic but without any lethargy whatsoever, carefully avoiding trying to shovel such things as arms or other body parts. He seized the boy’s waist, hoisted, pulled: a shift, and he reset his feet, hauled up, pulled again: the dirt reluctantly released its grip, and the Sheriff brought the limp, unmoving figure from death’s grip, rolled him over. He’s not breathing. Linn looked around, frantic. How to get him to breathe! What did they use on the waterfront? Bent him over a barrel and rolled him back and forth … Linn remembered the near-drowning, how the dockworker was laid over a barrel, gripped by the ankles, rolled back and forth, how he’d heaved up a hogshead of saltwater and started coughing. I’ve got no barrel. He stood a-straddle of the boy, bent over, ran an arm under the lad’s belly, hoisted, then let him down: hoisted again, let him down again. The other boy’s pleas were distant, barely heard: the Sheriff felt helpless in the face of his tragedy, he felt uncertain. Lift again, hold, hold, hold, and lower. He felt movement: he lowered the lad again, rolled him up on his side, looked at the frightened brother, white-faced and kneeling, watching, shocked, wide-eyed, helpless. Linn reached down, rubbed the lad’s belly. He gasped, weakly. Linn rubbed again, harder. A longer gasp. Once more, he thought, and this time the boy coughed. Linn’s voice was quiet in the kitchen. “When he started breathin’ again,” he said, “so did I.” He took a long breath, stood. “Reckon I’ll get my boots taken care of,” he said quietly. “Got ‘em kind of dirty.” The maid rose with him, her hands clasped and anxious in her apron. “Did they find anythin’ where they dug?” she asked. Linn shook his head. “They found dirt, that was about all. Nothing they could claim.” “So we’ve no worry about a Glory Hole bringin’ scoundrels an’ loafers fra’ all o’er t’ plague our puir town.” “No.” Linn grinned. “I’ve seen a gold rush, Mary. No wish to see one here.” Mary withdrew a step to allow the man to pass, then: “Sheriff?” Linn stopped, turned. “Did ye talk t’ God about it?” Linn nodded, his expression haunted. “Yes, Mary,” he said quietly. “Yes, I did.”
    4 points
  22. The enthusiasm and utter joy on his face is wonderful. "Hey! Look what I can do! This is fun!" I'd like to see him after he's played with it for a month. Also be interesting to hand him a rifle with a bayonet. And here are comments from a guy trained in western weapons.
    4 points
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