My Gun is Boring
After much difficult searching, I have recently arrived at the CZ-75 as my final choice of sidearm.
The example that I own has, since I bought it, had the trigger smoothed up a bit, first by some light polishing on my part, and now even further by mere use. For awhile, it wore a set of finely checkered Chocobolo stocks, but I have recently replaced them with the factory plastics; they just didn't fit my hand as well as the stock ...eh... stocks.
Stock stocks. Funny.
Anyway, the slide is currently at my gunsmith getting a set of meprolight night sights drifted onto it. Once they're on there, I have a strong suspicion that the gun will remain, ever after, exactly as it is.
I've considered getting Ford's to put one of their beautiful blue jobs on it, but I am of no inclination to fret that my hand print is now rusting into the backstrap when I holster it each morning. The factory finish causes me no such concern. This line of thought had me thinking, for awhile, that hard chrome might be a good choice, but I like black guns, and by all indications, the stock, matte black finish is plenty tough. I have NEVER seen a picture of a CZ where the factory polycoat was showing holster wear. What's more, I can repair any grievous scratches through application of black automotive touch-up paint.
This gun will look woefully plain and simplistic for the duration of its service life, and I am fine with that. In fact, I want another one, just like it, for a backup!
I have fallen in love with the CZ-75. It's darn near perfect for me as it comes from the factory. I can operate the its strong side safety with my left index finger, so it is, for all intents and purposes, completely ambidextrous. The factory plastic stocks fit my hand almost perfectly. The safety is in the perfect spot for me to high-thumb it, and my left thumb indexes just ahead of the slide stop, directly on top of the roll mark there, which serves as a wonderful tactile indicator that my grip is either correct or otherwise. It feeds empty cases, and it fed four radically different ogives and OALs bone dry, box stock, limp-wristed, and unbroken-in. If this were not a strong enough indication of feed reliability, since then, I've hand-polished the feed ramp.
A gun from most any factory, equipped as this one currently is (clean, 4.5 lb trigger, slicked-up action, night sights, and basic reliability work) runs a little over a grand in today's market, yet I can replace this one for six hundred dollars.
It is the most boring-looking gun I have ever owned. No beautiful bright blue, uniquely burled stocks, or element of rarity is present. It is a matte black CZ-75B -- the most common police sidearm in the world, if CZ's website is to be believed -- with no readily apparent modification. There is nothing special about this gun, whatsoever, and yet I feel satisfied with it.
I can't decide if this is a step forward or backward for me. Time was I could only be satisfied with a gun if it was drop-dead gorgeous, noticeably different from others of its kind, and uniquely representative, at least in my own mind, of my personality. In this case, however, I simply do not care. Not that I don't still like guns that meet all of those specifications mentioned above, but in this particular case, I find it entirely unimportant.
It looks decent; not beautiful, but presentable. It fits and functions well in my hands, all of the controls being within easy reach, even one handed -- right or left. It points well for me, the old sights lining up easily, as will the new ones, presumably, since they are not significantly different from the old ones, dimensionally. Finally, the one distinguishing characteristic setting this gun apart from all other semi-automatic handguns that I have owned is the simple fact that it works. It behaves in a manner entirely consistent with the intended purpose of its design.
I love it.
Somehow, though, part of me misses being the hardcore idealist, who wouldn't let plastic be found on his gun, and who, furthermore, wouldn't let his gun be found forgettable. I must confess that at times, I look at this frame, plane and black and awaiting its reunion with the newly-sighted slide, and I wonder how I can be at peace with it. Then I pick it up.
"Oh yeah; that's how."
