There are two NBAs in America. One is the National Basketball Association. The other? The National Bug-A-Salt Association.

I had never heard of the second—until one warm Colorado evening changed that forever.

The Setup

The scene couldn’t have been more perfect. Five of us gathered on a back patio just south of Denver. Drinks in hand, we settled into chairs around a low coffee table topped with shrimp, cheese, crackers, carrots, and celery. The air was warm, conversation easy, laughter close by.

Then came the flies.

Not a swarm—just a few bold intruders, circling the food, landing brazenly on the shrimp. We waved them off with napkins and hands, pretending not to mind, but everyone knew they weren’t going away.

That’s when Jeff, our host, stood up and slipped into the house.

The Shock

He returned carrying something that nearly made me spill my drink.

It looked like a weapon—long, black and yellow, with a pump handle and a sight. I mean it resembled what I envision an anti-aircraft bazooka looks like. Or what a compact, rapid fire, military style Uzi looks like.  For a fleeting moment I wondered if I was about to witness a crime scene in the making.

Jeff smiled. He cocked it. Flipped off a safety. Raised it toward the coffee table—and fired.

A burst of salt sprayed into the air. A housefly dropped, mid-buzz, like a shot-down plane.

I sat in stunned silence. A dinner party had just turned into a live-fire exercise.

The Bug-A-Salt World

This was my introduction to the Bug-A-Salt rifle, an invention dreamed up in 2012 by Lorenzo Maggiore. The concept is so simple it feels like parody: load ordinary table salt, pump the handle, and blast away at flies.

And yet—it works. Flies can’t dodge a scattershot of salt traveling at speed. More than six million Bug-A-Salts have now been sold worldwide. They’re legal, non-toxic, and oddly addictive.

In Jeff’s hands, the thing was a marvel. He nailed one fly after another, grinning like a marksman who had found his true calling.

My Turn

Naturally, I had to try.

But here’s the thing: I have never fired a gun in my life. Not a rifle, not a pistol, not even a BB gun. My experience with weapons begins and ends with fly swatters.

So when Jeff handed me this plastic rifle, I fumbled. Pumping the handle felt awkward. Finding the safety latch was confusing. The moment I raised it, everyone instinctively ducked for cover.

I fired. I missed—completely. The fly lived to feast another day.

What I felt wasn’t just embarrassment. It was a deeper sense of being out of step with the world. Somewhere along the line, humanity had moved from swatters and sticky strips to rifles with fiber-optic sights—and I had missed the memo.

Reflections

I come from a simpler time. A time when dealing with flies meant a quick smack with a swatter, or maybe hanging one of those sticky traps from the ceiling. Watching Jeff run a one-man air-defense system over a plate of hors d’oeuvres left me amused, amazed, and slightly unsettled.

It was a reminder of how the ordinary shifts beneath our feet. One day you’re swatting flies. The next, your host is deploying a salt-powered shotgun between sips of Chardonnay.

Final Thought

So yes, I’ve now seen the other NBA in action—the National Bug-A-Salt Association. And if you plan to unleash one of these rifles at a cocktail party, I have one piece of advice:

Warn your guests first.

Otherwise, prepare for shock, awe… and maybe just a little salt in the cheese.

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