- Joined
- Nov 24, 2005
- Messages
- 10,038
Had to post back about combat blades & share an experience that changed my perspectives. TRUE story:
Almost 40 yrs ago I was walking out of a drugstore and some greasy looking dude in a Lincoln screamed "move that piece of sh*t punk!!"
Being mortified & angry - "over the top" - I reached into the back seat of my convertible and not finding my little pistol immediately, grabbed some sort of Gerber fixed blade knife I owned to stab this jerk if he got out to fight.
I turned around, blade in hand to see this huge guy in a silk suit with hair slicked straight back. glaring at me. He looked at my wicked blade and laughed as he hiked his hand inside his suit jacket, exposing the but of what appeared to be an S&W or Colt .357. (Large grips revolver)
The last sound I recall before my screeching tires, is the sound of the knife dropping to the pavement and my mumbling some sort of apology.
I've often wondered why I wasn't shot. This was is broad daylight in Wash. D.C. If he was a cop I'd have been shot or in jail. The attire, the car, his mannerisms and those New Jersey plates convinced me that I had caught a break from a guy who really didn't want to have to shoot me and draw unnecessary attention to himself. If you know what I mean?
I love knives, but knife combat is easily trumped by anybody who can squeeze a trigger with a degree of accuracy. You've been served.
Almost 40 yrs ago I was walking out of a drugstore and some greasy looking dude in a Lincoln screamed "move that piece of sh*t punk!!"
Being mortified & angry - "over the top" - I reached into the back seat of my convertible and not finding my little pistol immediately, grabbed some sort of Gerber fixed blade knife I owned to stab this jerk if he got out to fight.
I turned around, blade in hand to see this huge guy in a silk suit with hair slicked straight back. glaring at me. He looked at my wicked blade and laughed as he hiked his hand inside his suit jacket, exposing the but of what appeared to be an S&W or Colt .357. (Large grips revolver)
The last sound I recall before my screeching tires, is the sound of the knife dropping to the pavement and my mumbling some sort of apology.
I've often wondered why I wasn't shot. This was is broad daylight in Wash. D.C. If he was a cop I'd have been shot or in jail. The attire, the car, his mannerisms and those New Jersey plates convinced me that I had caught a break from a guy who really didn't want to have to shoot me and draw unnecessary attention to himself. If you know what I mean?
I love knives, but knife combat is easily trumped by anybody who can squeeze a trigger with a degree of accuracy. You've been served.