I had the wildest dream last night that I just have to tell you guys about.
I found myself in the audience at a boxing arena just prior to the start of the main event. There was a huge crowd in attendance and the air was electrified with anticipation and excitement . As I scanned the faces around me many of them seamed somehow familiar. Then it came to me, these were the faces of men I had seen on the dust jackets of some of the great books I have read on big game hunting. There was Akley, Kittenberger, Lydekker and O'connor, Harris, Sheldon, Selous and Whelen.
Suddenly a bell rang and my attention was drawn to center ring where the fight announcer had suddenly appeared. First he introduced the great champion. The people roared with idolation as the champion raised his arms to the crowd. It was easily evident that the champion was getting up there in years and carried the scars of many long years of fighting, as well as a few more pounds than he would obviously have liked to. Next the announcer drew our attention to the challenger. He was young and lean, his muscles chiseled like those of an ancient Greek statue. Again the crowed roared, this time in approval of the young challenger.
Soon the fight commenced. For the first three or four rounds the younger, lighter, faster challenger pummeled the champ seemingly at will. The weary champ tried his best to deliver but could only hold & cover trying to dodge the stinging blows of his opponent. I said to those around me "This is a massacre... something should be done.... someone should stop this fight!"
The old gentleman sitting next to me pressed his index finger to his lips to quiet my pleas. Then he said to me "Don't count the champ out just yet, for he has years of experience and knowledge. I think he just may be waiting for the right opportunity."
As the bell rang again for the start of the next round the challenger leaped forward cockily, meeting the champ nearly at his corner. The young man was too cocky, too sure of himself and momentarily let his guard down, taunting the champ. This was the moment the champ had been waiting for. He released a thunderous right hand to the jaw of his young rival sending him spiraling to the mat. The fight was over. The champion retained his crown.
I turned to the man next to me. To my surprise it was none other than famed PH and writer Finn Aagaard. I said to Finn "I'm obviously dreaming, but what does this all mean?" Finn looked at me with a wry grin and said "The champion represents the tried and true, the venerable old standard .223 Remington and .243 Winchester cartridges... the young rival... he represents the .223 and 243 short magnums." Then he paused for a moment then added "That or it was the venison summer sausage you had just before going to bed last night."
I heard the bell ring once more. But this time it was my alarm clock waking me for another day of work.
So what do you guys think, divine revelation from the hunting gods or just a case of indigestion?
Brett
