Zumbo isn't a 'moron', as somebody or other suggested.
He was just the product of his times.
My own father, "Pop", would have agreed with him.
Born in 1911, Pop started hunting alone before he reached his teen years. He got his family through the depression with deer, poached with a Winchester '98 in 30-30. I still have it in the closet, right here [tap-tap]
When I started shooting IPSC in '83, I showed him what 'combat pistol shooting' was about. He wasn't impressed. He would have been more impressed with Jeff Cooper's "There ain't much that a man can't fix, with seven hundred dollars and a thirty-ought-six".
Pop started waking me up at 5am to go hunting when I was 12, and for the next 30 years we spent a lot of lovely weekends together not worrying much about whether we got meat. (I don't think I ate beef at home until I moved out on my own.) He custom-built rifles, usually war-surplus 1903-A3 Springfields, and I always had a beautifully stocked bespoke gun. My favorites were a 30-06 with a Rock Maple stock (he sold it out from under me in 1963, the scoundrel) and a 25-06 on the A3 frame in another beautiful blond maple ... which he built for my mother, but I inherited (and still have!) when she decided she didn't like to "kill Bambi".
Pop thought of rifles when he thought of guns. He only owned two handguns; a 1911 Colt and a Ruger Blackhawk in .41 Magnum when we decided to hunt Antelope with handguns. We never hit one, but we sure had a lot of fun working up the hunting load and trying to mount a 2x Burris scope on his Ruger so that the recoil wouldn't break the scope loose from the mounts. When he finally managed a firm mount (using gooey gobs of glass-bedding compound), the cross-hairs broke loose after a half-dozen sighting shots.
He never saw an M16, but I used one for a while in Vietnam. We both considered them "poodle-shooters" although we had never heard the term in those early years. For my father, a rifle was a work of art. One of his hunting pals teased him about his fancy rifles, eliciting from Pop a Perfect Squelch: "Some folks drive Fords, some folks drive Cadillacs." At the time, he was breaking in a 7mm Magnum that he had built on a Sako action, having decided that the 6.5 x 55 just wasn't exciting enough, and the .338 was too exciting because he had to put a Muller Muzzle Brake on it so he could shoot it. (My ears are still ringing.)
The point is, his generation had a very strict definition of a "hunting rifle". It was probably a bolt-action, because he always shot hot loads. It was of a caliber specific to the game he was hunting. I almost fainted when he toyed with a composite stock for his planned hut in Alaska, but he was right because he came back with a mountain goat and a moose. I guess he knew what it took Robert Ruark a few Africa-years to learn: Use Enough Gun.
And the poodle-shooters didn't do it. When you shoot ground-hogs at 400 yards with a 22-250 under a 10X Leupold, the 5.56 M16 doesn't show you much.
So I know where Zumbo was coming from. He came from the "Bob The Nailer" generation. One shot, one kill ... no real man needed a semi-automatic and besides, those suckers are butt-ugly.
It was hubris that brought Zumbo down. He thought he knew everything there was to know about hunting, and that this was all anyone needed to know about shooting.
I'm sure he'll be very happy in his new career clerking in Jim's Gun Shop.
Darn shame, that.