I think SASS is probably the best thing to happen to shooting sports in recent history. They have 10 times the membership of USPSA or IDPA, and their membership and funding have helped build - and protect - some magnificent shooting facilities. It's a very nonthreatening shooting sport - that aspect entices a lot of people to shoot that might not otherwise be interested.
But it's easier shooting - the guns don't recoil much, the targets are big and up close, all steel - so no taping, and scoring is a no brainer. A hit is a hit, perimeter or A zone. It takes a lot of skill to win, but it's different.
They did a lot of stuff right, and they have the membership to show for it. Plus, you get to participate in the masquerade aspect, from a period that many Americans hold in romantic high esteem. And the stages are incredibly ornate and imaginative, within the constraints of the SASS design limitations.
That said, I wish they'd be a little less hostile to other shooting sports, their founding membership seems to have inculcated a specific hatred of USPSA/IPSC in particular, and I'm not sure exactly where it came from because the disciplines aren't all that different.
If Doc Holliday were walking around today, he wouldn't be packing an Uberti SAA.
Having been in SASS for over 16 years, yes SASS was started by some folks who didn’t have alot of use for IPSC shooters. SASS was supposed to be about people and families getting together and having fun. When I compete I more interested in the costume than a high score. I don’t know about Ubertis as I carry Colt 44-40s and a Winchester ‘92 and a Winchester shotgun 12 gauge model 97. The gamers are the guys with the small caliber and the light loads. The guys that are in for fun like myself are shooting the 44s and the 45s. Speaking of fun, it’s more fun to shoot at targets from moving gold mining carts and bucking mechanical horses than it is to stand at a firing line in some of the IPSC outfits I’ve seen.
My only complaint came when I showed up with a gunbelt at which a couple of their purists turned up their noses, until I showed them a photograph of my maternal grandfather wearing it, a relic of Wyoming's Johnson County Wars.
They were also annoyed that I was wearing dirty coveralls instead of the fancy Western duds they favored, and I apologized, having soiled the things a bit the day before when I was firing a coal-powered steam locomotive with a scoop shovel, the motor driven auger feeder being out of service for new bearings. But the overalls and Hickory cap were also authentic to the period, though I probably should have worn my derby.
Helpfully, my girlfriend at the time was a Lakota sweetie who answered every question put to her in the language her grandmother had taught her. And she outshot me in the Frontiersman black powder handgun category, though she was in a *greenhorn* class.