The Mad Crippler

I Am The Mad Crippler

It started at deer camp.

Somewhere between missed shots, empty tags, and another season coming up short, my friends gave me a name—The Mad Crippler. Affectionately, of course. After yet another failed attempt to bag a deer, it stuck. And honestly? It fit.

Twelve years later, not much has changed.
I still can’t hit the broad side of a barn. I swear.

But every single year, I show up with the same mindset:
This is the year. This is the one. I’m getting a big one. Hell, I’ll be happy if I just go home with SOMETHING.

And almost every year?
It ends the same way—somewhere between disappointment and humility, occasionally rescued by my buddy (now officially known as the Lord of The Hunt) who actually knows what he’s doing.

But here’s the part that matters—
I still love it.

I love the early mornings, the anticipation, the stories, the absolute chaos of trying, failing, and showing up again anyway. Skill hasn’t caught up yet… but passion never left.

So this is me, standing here exactly as I am:
Not polished. Not perfect. Not even particularly good.

But I’m here.

I’m The Mad Crippler.
I refuse to quit. I won’t give up.

I just Celebrate the Suck.