Aussie mateship is a strange thing. I have seen blokes who have treated their best mates worse than I would treat a rabid dog, but within a day or so they would be drinking together again, all forgiven. Forgiven but not forgotten, because in the true spirit of Aussie sport, you wait for a break in the traffic and don't ever let a chance go by.
I have known Shaun for a long time now. Probably ten years or more. A keen UIT pistol shooter, his pet event is Olympic Rapid Fire. Over the years I would see him at the odd Nationals and I often called to see him on business in his home town in country New South Wales.
His best mate was Ben. Another Rapid shooter, Ben was fifteen years older than Shaun, a seasoned campaigner who had "been there, done that", and who was well known for not giving anything away. Both Ben and Shaun were at a big Open shoot I attended in New South Wales last year. They had travelled several hours in the same car to get there. As usual Shaun was giving him heaps at every opportunity, and as usual Ben would take the abuse quietly, occasionally allowing himself a sly grin.
Shaun and I were sitting outside the clubhouse. We had both finished shooting for the day so were going through the usual post-match post mortem over a cup of coffee, when Ben ambled by. Shaun was quick to seize the initiative:
"Ben! Some guy down on Range Two was mouthing off about you before. He said you were one of the most miserable bastards he'd ever met. But I stuck up for you, Ben. I told him you're THE most miserable bastard he's ever likely to meet!"
Ben just smiled at this and wandered off. I thought Shaun had been a little out of line in talking that way to his best mate, and told him so. After choking on his coffee he told me a story that changed my mind.
Twelve years ago, when Shaun was a promising junior, Ben took him under his wing and became his training partner. Ben was at his peak then, and could match it with the best in the country. Under his guidance Shaun became a top junior. He could afford the best equipment as his family were not short of a quid, he was a quick learner and was eager to spend long hours training at the range.
Both being extremely competitive they devised a weekly wager on the outcome of a half course of Rapid Fire, the loser to supply 500 rounds of RWS match ammunition to the winner.
Even then RWS was expensive. Month after month went by, and Shaun had condeded many thousands of rounds of RWS R25 Rapid Fire ammunition, but he was still determined to beat Ben one day. Slowly the gap closed until the day finally came that the student overtook the master.
And what of the bet? Ben congratulated him, shook him by the hand and produced a tin of air pistol pellets.
"What's this?" asked Shaun incredulously.
"Five hundred rounds of RWS match ammunition", answered Ben smugly. "We didn't specify it had to be Rapid ammo!"
The remainder of the dialogue was short, to the point and unprintable. Ben had caught Shaun a beauty; the value of the tin of pellets about one-tenth of one of the many bricks Shaun had lost over the past months.
They did not talk for some time. It is certainly the most expensive prank I have ever heard of, but also one of the most beautifully crafted. Strangely enough their bond of friendship strengthened in the long run. You've just got to respect someone who has the gall to carry something like that off.
Money can't buy love, not even friendship, but it sure can buy a great lesson in life.