Quick Draw

Much of my morning was spent at the Sands Hotel Casino as a representative of radio station KBUL. I was there to do some broadcasting and later take on KIIQ in a friendly Cowboy Fast Draw competition.

World class shooters come from all around the world to participate and I quickly made friends with many of the fast draw experts there.

The set up was simple. A balloon attached to a wall and a high-speed camera designed to capture the moment the balloon popped after being shot.

After several rounds and a “for practice” preliminary shoot-out, it was time to get down to business. On my right hip was a Colt .45 and on my left hand a rawhide glove.

The object was to draw your six-shooter as quick as possible and bust the balloon that was positioned a foot or so away, by slapping away at hammer while squeezing the trigger. Once the balloon popped and the camera completed its job, a reader-board with the time measured in tenths-of-a second, would declare the winner of the round.

Having handled six-shooters and other weapons as a serviceman, a Man-Tracker and deputy reservist, I had a distinct advantage. And I proved it as I was quicker on the draw in the first of three rounds.

However after a little side-line schooling for my competitor, he beat me the next two-rounds and I placed second. For his effort, my competitor from KIIQ received a nice silver belt buckle.

I wasn’t feeling very sportsman-like and returned to the KBUL studios, complaining.

On the air at that time was Deb Spring. Both she and I had worked at KIIQ and we felt very little love for our radio competitors at the time due to various schemes they ran to undercut our listenership.

Radio can be a cutthroat business, especially when it comes to ratings and money.

She waved at me, inviting me into the studio to share with her what had happened during the radio station shoot-out. I whined and complained to her that they were getting coaching from the sideline and that was why I lost.

Next thing I know Deb has me on the air with her and we are chatting about the shoot-out. And jus’ as I started to go into my whine and complain routine, she halted me, by changing the subject to how the competition is designed.

Thankfully, Deb saved me from my big mouth as I prepared to put my foot in it by saying, “They cheated, by getting assistance when we weren’t allowed help.”

As I walked out of the station that afternoon, I felt ashamed of myself for being such a poor sport. I knew at that instant, I wouldn’t have deserved that silver buckle — win or lose.