What’s Up, Doc?
Anyone who lives in Northern Michigan knows that November is a very fun and exciting time of year, especially if you consider dodging bullets shot from the rifles of drunken hillbillies fun and exciting! That’s right, it’s that special time between summer and winter that we all know and love: deer season. This is the time when the manliest of men spend hours upon hours sitting out in the woods, exposed to sub-zero temperatures, with the simple goal of slaying one of nature’s most ferocious beasts, the white-tailed deer. What’s at stake? Honor, pride, venison, and a chance to prove the awesomeness of your manhood, just to name a few…
Note that while I could be achieving all of this greatness right now, I’m still sitting here in my nice, warm house, writing this column…
I’ll be honest – hunters scare me, and it’s not just because they carry around big guns and generally subscribe to the ‘shoot first, figure out what the hell it is later’ policy when it comes to their craft. Ok, that does have quite a bit to do with it, actually, but maybe you have to come from a more robust state, if you will, to understand what I’m talking about here. I’d be willing to bet that people out in California don’t have to worry about lunatics running around toting, oh wait, Los Angeles is out there, isn’t it? Well, that puts them in a category all by themselves, now doesn’t it?
But at least if you’re out living your life in Los Angeles, making independent films or living off your step-father’s money or whatever it is that Los Angelians do, the dice are in your favor that, if by chance somebody does start shooting at you, well, let’s just say there’ll most likely be a little return fire following shortly! Allow me to stereotype for a minute by stating that everyone in Los Angeles is packing heat of some sort or another; I watched an interview on the news the other night about a guy who is responsible for both cutting the umbilical cords of newborn babies and issuing them their first weapons permits, so don’t tell me I’m going out on a limb here! My point, and I do have one, is that at least out in Los Angeles everyone has the same odds…
I always get a good chuckle (and often an icy glare) when these big time hunters try to define what they do as a sport. Now, the way I understood it in my favorite class in high school, Phys. Ed., a sport is a type of event in which two or more people compete for a common goal. Football players beat the hell out of each other while attempting to carry the ball farther than the other team, hockey players beat the hell out of each other while attempting to hit a little chunk of rubber with a stick across a frozen pond, and baseball players stand around in the sun all day attempting to bore the other team to sleep so they can make it home in time to watch The Simpsons. Please note that in each of these cases, violence often plays a part at one point or another, yet miraculously nobody ends up going home dead. If I understand the point of hunting as good as I’m about to pretend I do, this isn’t necessarily the case when Uncle Benny and his buddies go out into the woods with a box of shells and a six-pack.
As far as hunting is concerning, it may be considered a sport from the perspective of the hunter: he spends hours and hours walking around in the woods just hoping to find an animal that isn’t already dead, then he’s got only seconds before it notices his goofy, fluorescent-orange ass and heads for the hills. Sounds exciting and challenging, but let’s look at it from the perspective of the deer. What options do you have other than, well, run??? It’s not like the deer gets a chance to shoot back or anything, and only if they could would I honestly be able to consider it an actual sport. Give these little critters semi-automatic rifles and let them enjoy some of the sport! Otherwise, somebody needs to start making the rounds in late October to spread the word for these guys that it might not be a bad idea to just sleep in a bit until, oh say, Christmas. By then we’ve all moved on from the killing spree and the only lives we’re really interested in taking are those of the reindeer-shaped Christmas cookies that Mom sent for the holidays!
Yummy and delicious, but you still won’t hear me calling my hunt for that decorative holiday tin filled with goodies a sport…
I believe that, for the benefit of both parties, the concept of hunting should be left to trained professionals who have been practicing their trade for years, namely Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd and Daffy Duck:
Duck season! Wabbit season! Duck season!!! Wabbit season!!!
Man, that sketch never gets old…
