There was a time, in the not so distant past, when opposing forces could kick back after a night of flying and engage in the camaraderie of the BBS.
Good natured ribbing, inside jokes, tongue-in-cheek jabs, and most importantly honoring and respecting both your team mates and your opponents. Landing a good run of kills, even for someone like me who rarely does so, takes a distant second to a
from a worthy foe, or a sincere word of praise from friend or foe alike.
This past weekend, while recovering from the nightly escapades in NOLA, I was reading some ancient (and not so ancient) forum posts from names gone by. Just a night and day difference.
These were the kind of guys that studied their opponent: his ride, his tactics, his wingmen. Armed with that knowledge, he adjusted one or more of
his ride, his tactics, his wingmen (and/or their tactics) and challenged himself to overcome or at the very least get better.
I am not at all trying to paint a Utopian, revisionist view of the past... there have always been barnacles, lesions, weeping pusspockets, and sad, sad little donuts of men who command a plywood table in their parents basement.
At some point, however, the old guard lost center stage... and the yappy dogs, those Internet tough guys who think they are building some sort of street cred by wading in to defend their friends by slinging old and tired insults moved up to the forefront.
Little cliques of keyboard warriors who band together like street urchins to steal apples from the market.
Those of you rushing to defend Redbull: He doesn't need it. He's a big boy, and can clearly take good natured ribbing (and give it back!) in fun. Those of you trying to defend him by insulting are soiling his name by association.
Those of you just here to insinuate, ridicule, and impugn: You will be much better served by emulating those who went before you. Those who used the term "runstang" as a taunt to get an opponent to make a mistake... not as the gold standard for why you lose to a Mustang.
As for numbers, unless you are a silly ME-262 on the deck, I promise you that 99% of the time you will only have to contend with one of us and his wingman at a time. We WILL aid each other, so I suggest bringing a few friends you can trust (HOing nonstop is also somewhat effective).
I can also promise you that the fight will be deck to 10k, generally between 3-6. If you see us egress, it's due to damage, fuel, or ammo. No, we aren't going to turn fight your Hurricane, Spixteen, or F-4. When you come here and cry because we wouldn't, no number of pals will make your bleats any less pitiful.
I am an easy kill... my ACM capabilities rank as "Usually doesn't shoot self down", my gunnery skills rank as "Knows where trigger is" and my SA rating is "Eyeless Potato". When you shoot me down, the greatest gift you can send me is a PM telling me not
that I suck, rather why - in that instance -
what I did sucked.
Also, our "horde" consists of 2-8 fighters, and by far and away the vast majority of the time it's more like 2-4, and usually half of those pilots will be double or single digit ranked, and the other half will be quadruple digit ranked. This means bring a friend or two, and not just a greeny in icon range. Now and then we escort bombers, and sometimes those raids do a little large, but who doesn't like seeing a million buffs?
Anyway,
to the thread (Especially RB), and here's
to a new era of camaraderie, sportsmanship, and the stuff by which legends are birthed: good fights.
