TargetTalk

Afanasijs Kuzmins, at age 65, is within striking distance of the leaders after the first day of RF. If he has a good second day, he may be in the 580's. He's 5 points out of the final now, and anything can happen in the final.

Maybe all of us more seasoned shooters should still dream?

Stan

IPshooter wrote:Afanasijs Kuzmins, at age 65,

...... and in his 9th Olympics.....

Shut up!

Half the fun of Targettalk is listening to the old farts whine about their problems. Isn't there a medical term; senile agitation? (Not sure if it applies, but it sounds good!)

Because some folks are not happy unless they're bitchin', let's humor them.

Who's whining?

I think it's great that someone can still compete in our sport long after other Olympians have hung up their spandex.

It's not you who's whining.

I, too, think it's great that they hang up their Spandex and change into those polyester disco pants that were so cool you didn't wear underwear with them. (Bet that image stays with you.)

Joking aside, there are some great old shooters out there still kickin' names and taking butt.

Based on my observation and recent development with mature individuals over 40 (some of them over 50 and 60 years old), I have to say that age is not an obstacle in Olympic style pistol shooting, it has some hurdles to overcome, but it is not a major problem. ;)

Yep....my Optometrist just fitted me with my new 1-inch thick shooting lenses. Can't wait to try them! ;-) no, shoot with both eyes open :-)

I know he's not even close to gospodin Kuzmins' age, but let's also honor Rajmond Debevec, who today made Bronze in his 7th. OG's at 44, with hopefully some more in the future!!!

He is 49, Plenty of time ;)

Country Slovenia

Date of birth 29 Mar 1963

[quote="Russ"]He is 49, Plenty of time ;)

Country Slovenia

Date of birth 29 Mar 1963[/quote

You're right, my bad.

You're also right about his "plenty of time" ahead, as long as he keeps competing.

Being 49 myself, this is a cheering thought. I'm not finished with the World Muzzle-Loading Championships by a long shot.

I can hardly wait to retire so I have more practice time. I'm 64__.
BTW I believe the correct term is Wheezing.?

philip_T wrote:I can hardly wait to retire so I have more practice time. I'm 64__...

and you think you will have more available time when you retire?

Rover wrote:....Half the fun of Targettalk is listening to the old farts whine about their problems. Isn't there a medical term; senile agitation?.....

The other half of the fun of TargetTalk is listening to naive young wankers who miss the fact that they are aging daily like everyone else, and as they move through the life cycle there are many behind them who are younger. In a blink, you, too, will be an old fart. To those behind you, you already are. ;-)

Bravo-Jon-Bravo :-)

Lest you think I'm totally unsympathetic to the problems of the aged:

I took my 21 year old wife out for dinner the other night. The place was crowded and I received many insults, and cries of, "Child Molester" and "pervert".

It totally ruined our Tenth Wedding Anniversary celebration.

Rover wrote:Lest you think ...

I see what you did there. :-)

You have good taste. After all, if you're going to steal, steal from the best. Steve Martin used to tell that joke back when you could tell it in public without the blogosphere going into apoplectic fits of moral outrage...because there was no blogosphere back then.

Those were the days. Now you have to be Doug Stanhope (and preferably drunk) to successfully use that material.

Ben <-- former amateur standup

There are no original jokes; but I guess you know that.

At least I got the drunk part down right.

Happily I just found this on the web for yiz bastids:

Old Guys and Gun Shows!
Copyright 2007 - Stephen Redgwell

Are you going to a gun show? If so, will you tell me which one, so I can avoid it? As much as I would like to meet you, let's chat over a cup of coffee at Tim Hortons some time - NOT in front of the used lever gun table at the arena! You're old and it's scary!

What's that? You say you're not old? Let me paint you a picture of your future then. It's 8AM on Sunday morning and you're not really awake. You arrive at the show - usually held at the local arena or community centre - and are shocked by the lack of good parking. Some other (smarter) attendees have beaten you there and that means you are forced to park at least a hundred feet from the main entrance! This would be okay if you were under 60 - it would be a short walk for a youngster like that. The bad news is you're an over 60, out of shape male with a beer gut, thinning hair and several bothersome medical conditions. This is your Bataan Death March.

Standing beside your truck, you realize that you are in a sea of other oldsters. You'll join the slow, painful migration of aging flesh as everyone sluggishly shuffles toward the entrance. While in the crowd, you hear bones cracking. Everyone is cursing at body parts that don't work like they used to. In short, you hear the noises of seniors trying to move without breaking. And there's that unmistakable aroma of "old person" in the air. It's easy to visualize what it must be like to live near an elephant grave yard.

You hear things like, "They should have more handicapped parking." or "See that red pickup? It's Joe's. He manages to get a good spot near the entrance every time!"

That is the voice of a vet - a gun show regular that goes primarily for the conversation and comradeship of other older men who have nothing else to do on a Sunday morning.

"Hi Bill. How's the sciatica?" asks a grey haired pensioner of indeterminate age. His buddy is dressed in a Ducks Unlimited hat, shirt and trousers. "It's bad this morning, Dale. My arthritis is acting up too. It would be hell in the duck boat today..."

Another man complains about prices, not aches and pains. "Did you see the price of that Lee Enfield? The guy wants $75! It's not worth $10! Damn crook. I gotta stop coming to these stupid shows..."

Two long time friends exit the building for a cigarette. They huddle together with the rest of the smokers in an effort to get out of the drizzle. One says to the other, "For crying out loud, Ed, give the guy his $50. It's a frickin' Leupold! You can send it back to the factory for repairs. Who gives a [bleep] if it doesn't work right now. It's lifetime warrantied!"

His buddy doesn't want to part with any cash, "Nah, it's used. Is it even worth $50? I don't know if it's broken. What happens if I get it mounted on my 30-30 and it doesn't work? Who wants to wait for it to be mailed to the States, get fixed and come back? I could be dead by then..."

Inside, you witness what must be considered hunting hell. When you die, if you've been a bad person, this is likely what you'll face for all eternity. People are standing around in the middle of the aisles, confused, or chatting and blocking traffic. You can't understand what most of them are saying because your hearing isn't what it used to be. Most tables don't have prices marked. You forgot your glasses anyway. The coffee is terrible. It's loud. That idiot from your gun club is there again. Why doesn't he ever stay home? Your leg is paining you. There's no place to sit down.

Anyone moving faster than a limp is reckless and a punk. God damn kids! What's his rush...You'd like to tell him off, but won't. Older people curse under their breath at anyone under 60, but rarely verbalize in a crowd. You may have been an alpha male once upon a time, but that time is long gone and you're scared of being attacked. The fact is you're intimidated by anyone with good circulation. If you can walk without assistance, you're considered a predator.

You slowly circulate through the show, seeing most of the same junk that was there last month. Nothing has changed. It's cost you five bucks to get in and all you've managed to do is grumble about the lack of 'good stuff', bitch about prices, complain yet again about the bad coffee and point out that this is a stupid way to spend a Sunday morning. Everyone you talk to agrees. You decide to leave around 11:30 and get some lunch. Walking out the front door, you start saying your goodbyes to friends.

"See you next show?" asks an oldster in a dirty, camo ball cap.

"Absolutely." you reply, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Ah... I see you have been to our local gun show.....you forgot the overpriced cold coffee and stale biscuits !!