There is a virtue in amateur radio that is as rare as a quiet QSO on 14.313 MHz: humility. Most of us know the word. Some can even spell it. But live it? Hardly anyone does. Your Hansl had a look around — and found an exemplary case. One so beautiful it should be made up. But it isn’t. Well, it is. Well, maybe. Hi.
The Hero: Rudi Rapportjäger, OE0RRJ
Rudi is a radio amateur. For 23 years. We know this because he mentions it in every QSO. “Rudi here, OE0RRJ, licensed for 23 years, continuously active.” As though the licence were a seniority grade to bring up in a salary negotiation.
Rudi recently entered a contest. Not just any contest — the regional section of an international competition. Category: Single Operator, Low Power, a handful of participants. And Rudi came — drumroll — fourth.
Out of five.
But that’s not the story. The story is what happened next.
The Press Release
The day after the results were published, a post appeared on a local community page. Written by — you guessed it — Rudi himself. In the third person. “OE0RRJ achieved a remarkable fourth place in the international competition, once again demonstrating the capability of the station location and the consistent optimisation efforts of recent years.”
He wrote about himself. In the third person. As if he were the press office of his own existence. The level of self-perception here is — remarkable. It’s like awarding yourself a certificate and then framing it. Wait — he did that too.
The QSL Wall
Anyone entering Rudi’s shack — and he invites everyone who doesn’t say “no” fast enough — is immediately struck by the QSL wall. Not figuratively. Almost literally. Three square metres, framed, illuminated, with a little LED strip like in a museum. The awards hang next to them: DXCC, WAS, WAC, plus a few that nobody knows because they’re issued by clubs with three members — including Rudi.
“This here,” says Rudi, pointing at a piece of paper with a stamp on it, “is the confirmation of my 500th SOTA chaser point.” It’s a screenshot. Printed out. Framed. With a mount.
The QRZ Page: A Biography in Pictures
Rudi’s QRZ.com page — provided QRZ.com is working — is not a profile. It’s a monument. Eight photos of the shack. Four of the antenna farm. Three of the car with a mag-mount. A selfie on a summit with a radio in hand and a facial expression as though he’d just discovered the South Pole.
The biography reads like a CV for a position nobody advertised: “Licensed since 2003. Focus areas: HF, VHF/UHF, digital modes, satellite, EME, SOTA, POTA, contesting, homebrew, test equipment, antenna development, emergency communications and training.” The only things missing are “breathing” and “tying shoes”.
Underneath, in bold: “Fourth Place — Regional Section CW Contest 2025”. With a graphic. That he made himself. In PowerPoint. Hi.
The QSO Ritual
Every QSO with Rudi follows a protocol. First the callsign. Then the report. Then — before you can even say “Thanks, 73” — the monologue: “Running an IC-7610 into a 3-element Yagi at 18 metres, fed with Ecoflex 15, SWR below 1.2 on all bands. Power today 100 watts, although I could do 750. But I’m deliberately running QRP today.”
100 watts is not QRP. 100 watts has never been QRP. 100 watts is the opposite of QRP. But in Rudi’s universe, anything below maximum is a sign of ascetic self-restraint.
Humility: A Definition
The word “humility” comes from the Latin “humilitas” — a modest view of one’s own importance. In amateur radio, this translates as: you have a hobby. Nothing more. Nothing less. You transmit and receive electromagnetic waves. That is wonderful. That is fascinating. But it is no reason to call a press conference.
Humility means: you win a contest and say “That was fun.” Not: “I have demonstrated the capability of my station location.”
Humility means: you activate a SOTA summit and enjoy the view. Not: you post 14 photos, three tracks and a drone shot captioned “OE0RRJ/P at the summit cross — what a day!”
Humility means: you come fourth out of five and say — nothing. Because fourth out of five is not something you write about. Certainly not in the third person.
Why This Is a Problem
Not because Rudi is a bad person. He isn’t. He’s an enthusiastic ham who loves his hobby. The problem is: he confuses enthusiasm with significance. And he’s not alone.
Every local club has at least one Rudi. The OM who mentions at Field Day what antenna he has at home. Who asks a question at every talk that is actually a statement about his own station. Who responds to every “Nice signal!” with a five-minute technical monologue.
And then we wonder why newcomers don’t come back after the third club night.
What Humility in Amateur Radio Would Look Like
An OM with 50,000 QSOs in the logbook who doesn’t mention it. A ham who has been on every summit and still asks: “What antenna do you take along?” A station that comes in at 599+40 and responds to “What antenna?” with: “Oh, a wire.” People who live their hobby instead of staging it.
They exist. They’re just quieter. Which, in a hobby based on transmitting, is admittedly paradoxical. Hi.
The Moral
Rudi Rapportjäger will carry on. He’ll come fifth in the next contest and create a graphic about it. He’ll update his QRZ page. He’ll still be mentioning his fourth place in ten years — “back when conditions were good.” And he’ll never understand why some OMs roll their eyes when his callsign appears on frequency.
But perhaps — just perhaps — he’ll read this article. And recognise himself. And laugh. And say: “Fair point. Maybe that was a bit much.”
And that would be the most humble moment of his radio career.
73 de Hansl Hohlleiter
The only satire editor who has never come fourth. Because he’s never entered. That’s also a form of humility. Or laziness. Hi.
Transparency Notice
This article was researched and written with the support of AI (Claude, Anthropic) and reviewed by the editorial team. All persons and callsigns are entirely fictional — any resemblance to living or transmitting OMs is purely coincidental and would, frankly, be a little concerning. The described behaviours, however, are real. Very real. Ask your local club. The satirical exaggeration serves entertainment purposes — and perhaps a little self-reflection.
