TattooedGun wrote:I've met people like this myself. Unfortunately, especially people new to competitions tend to overestimate their ability, because they've shot "fast" without a timer, people don't really have a clue what speed is until they get into competition. Then when the pressure is on people find they haven't practised their fundamentals nearly enough to be able to do them whilst under stress...
The guy in the example I gave was actually quite experienced which added to the

value of it all. I've only had one experience with a newbie really giving it the big 'un.
Brand new, unfired 'tactical' version of a Benelli M2 in hand (with ghost ring sights, ported barrel and fixed magazine tube - all the ingredients for a sub-par PSG gun for Standard division), brand new, crease-ironed current issue camo top and trousers and cap with 'Death From Above' moral patch on the brow....
As per usual anyone new gets put at the bottom of the squad list so they can see how to shoot a course, get familiar with the range commands etc, but without fail as each person in front of him finished their run and then came back to put their gun away, he was giving them tips on what they "should've" done, and each gem of advice clearly based on Call of Duty or a Chuck Norris film. By the time we'd shot all the stages there were people with shorter overall times than his best single stage, his 'uniform' was covered in mud and he''d somehow broken an M2. He didn't come a second time thankfully and i've never seen him since.
Dark Skies wrote:Blackstuff wrote:I REALLY don't understand this type of bravado and its found in all types of shooting not just long distance (and every group of people in life in general I suppose). And i'm sorry to say that i've found it proportionately increases the further south you go. Call me a cloth-capped northern-monkey if you like but bragging BS merchants seem to get more and more common the closer to the capital you get in my experience
S'funny because I've noticed that in reverse. I once lived next door to a Yorkshireman and his brother who would hold forth on pretty much every subject, no matter how trivial, and they would always be right / come out as best.
It got to the point that I had to check the back garden before I'd venture out for fear of one of them leaning over the fence and holding me hostage to one of their tales or frowning reproach about how I ought to do stuff.
What a pair of saddos - constantly trying to impress a fourteen year old. I dunno - maybe they were grooming me for a flat cap.
Ah now you see a Yorkshireman/Yerksh'men is an exception to the rule. I call it 'The Clarkson Effect'.
