Losing A Shootoff the Hard Way
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fivepigs
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Losing A Shootoff the Hard Way
50x60 is hardly a score worth bragging about, but it was good enough to tie for match winner last weekend at the Sunnyvale Rod & Gun Club's monthly smallbore match (held the second Saturday of each month in Cupertino, CA). After a fruitless attempt at persuading my hard core opponent to settle the thing with a coin toss, I found myself in a sudden death shootoff.
The SR&GC match runs concurrently with normal range firing hours, so in order to expedite things shootoffs are run immediately after the last relay using however many animals are left standing. In this case, we had thirteen turkeys for a two man shootoff.
Three shots later, neither one of us had missed and I was starting to wonder if my remaining seven rounds would see me through. (I'd grabbed what I thought was a full box of ammo that morning, only to find it was half empty when I opened it at the range.)
Thinking about my ammo situation, I missed the next shot. Unfortunately, so did my opponent, so the torture continued. By this time I was feeling none too steady. Somehow I managed to hit the next two, more by luck than anything. My opponent, who looked rock steady, also hit both of his. With only three turkeys remaining, the peanut gallery began discussing the ramifications of shooting off on a single animal and how that would work. Going downrange to set more turkeys was out of the question due to time constraints and the need to accommodate normal range firing periods.
I was so nervous on my seventh shot that the view through the scope started to make me seasick. I have no idea where the bullet went. I'm sure it was nowhere near the turkey. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping my opponent would hit his turkey and end my misery. When he missed, I began to suspect he was doing it to me on purpose.
Digging deep, I somehow managed a hit on my next shot. So did my opponent. Now we were down to one single turkey. Granted, we were outside the NRA rulebook at this point, but we agreed that the match should be decided by whoever first hit that last standing turkey. I had two rounds left.
Throughout the shootoff, I'd been consistently shooting first. Now, I decided to let my opponent shoot first, figuring he'd rush his shot and miss. Then I'd have all the time in the world to pick off that last turkey. It was an admittedly risky strategy since it depended on him missing. But miss he did. Now all I needed was one last hit. I had everything to gain and nothing to lose, with plenty of time. My brain went into overdrive thinking about it. And, of course, my adrenaline gland picked that moment to pump a double shot into my system. All of a sudden it was like trying to shoot skeet with a rifle. I missed.
"Listo," said the range officer for the tenth time. As I chambered my last round, I decided to shoot as quickly as I could. Waiting would only result in another adrenaline rush. Amazingly, the dot stopped dead center in the turkey and the shot broke like clockwork--a textbook perfect break. The turkey fell straight back with a satisfying clink. Ha, I thought. I'd pulled it off!
Then the range officer looked me in the eye and said, "Fuego."
The SR&GC match runs concurrently with normal range firing hours, so in order to expedite things shootoffs are run immediately after the last relay using however many animals are left standing. In this case, we had thirteen turkeys for a two man shootoff.
Three shots later, neither one of us had missed and I was starting to wonder if my remaining seven rounds would see me through. (I'd grabbed what I thought was a full box of ammo that morning, only to find it was half empty when I opened it at the range.)
Thinking about my ammo situation, I missed the next shot. Unfortunately, so did my opponent, so the torture continued. By this time I was feeling none too steady. Somehow I managed to hit the next two, more by luck than anything. My opponent, who looked rock steady, also hit both of his. With only three turkeys remaining, the peanut gallery began discussing the ramifications of shooting off on a single animal and how that would work. Going downrange to set more turkeys was out of the question due to time constraints and the need to accommodate normal range firing periods.
I was so nervous on my seventh shot that the view through the scope started to make me seasick. I have no idea where the bullet went. I'm sure it was nowhere near the turkey. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping my opponent would hit his turkey and end my misery. When he missed, I began to suspect he was doing it to me on purpose.
Digging deep, I somehow managed a hit on my next shot. So did my opponent. Now we were down to one single turkey. Granted, we were outside the NRA rulebook at this point, but we agreed that the match should be decided by whoever first hit that last standing turkey. I had two rounds left.
Throughout the shootoff, I'd been consistently shooting first. Now, I decided to let my opponent shoot first, figuring he'd rush his shot and miss. Then I'd have all the time in the world to pick off that last turkey. It was an admittedly risky strategy since it depended on him missing. But miss he did. Now all I needed was one last hit. I had everything to gain and nothing to lose, with plenty of time. My brain went into overdrive thinking about it. And, of course, my adrenaline gland picked that moment to pump a double shot into my system. All of a sudden it was like trying to shoot skeet with a rifle. I missed.
"Listo," said the range officer for the tenth time. As I chambered my last round, I decided to shoot as quickly as I could. Waiting would only result in another adrenaline rush. Amazingly, the dot stopped dead center in the turkey and the shot broke like clockwork--a textbook perfect break. The turkey fell straight back with a satisfying clink. Ha, I thought. I'd pulled it off!
Then the range officer looked me in the eye and said, "Fuego."
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excerpts from my ninth grade creative writing exam
That story reminds me of a similar tale that may have happened to me...
The winds were angry that day, my friends. As usual, I was running late to the match, but this time I didn't have to make up a phony excuse. I made a solemn promise to visit my mother in law on her birthday, and I wasn't about to break it. Visiting hours were about up at the correctional facility where she lives, so I managed to bribe the screws with a half a pack of Kools to move up three spaces in line. After I said hello and "where's the money you owe me," I was out of there like a cheap high velocity Aguila, beacause nothing was going to stop me from depositing lead in the berm on this day.
I pulled my old Ford 150 into the range with a minute to spare. In thirty seconds, I was able to load six shots in my ten round clip, and take my spot on the line. Today was my day. I managed to knock down 39 animals in a row, sometimes even more than one with a shot, because the frames were flimsy. But then, you know what happened. My mind began to wander. And then my eyes began to wander. Over to the scorer's table, where there was a gorgeous blonde comingling with several large men with southern accents wearing gaudy suede vests. Somehow, I was able to pull myself together. I only had to knock over one more monkey for a perfect score. I took up the first stage, and.. oops, gotta go to the john. More later, maybe....
The winds were angry that day, my friends. As usual, I was running late to the match, but this time I didn't have to make up a phony excuse. I made a solemn promise to visit my mother in law on her birthday, and I wasn't about to break it. Visiting hours were about up at the correctional facility where she lives, so I managed to bribe the screws with a half a pack of Kools to move up three spaces in line. After I said hello and "where's the money you owe me," I was out of there like a cheap high velocity Aguila, beacause nothing was going to stop me from depositing lead in the berm on this day.
I pulled my old Ford 150 into the range with a minute to spare. In thirty seconds, I was able to load six shots in my ten round clip, and take my spot on the line. Today was my day. I managed to knock down 39 animals in a row, sometimes even more than one with a shot, because the frames were flimsy. But then, you know what happened. My mind began to wander. And then my eyes began to wander. Over to the scorer's table, where there was a gorgeous blonde comingling with several large men with southern accents wearing gaudy suede vests. Somehow, I was able to pull myself together. I only had to knock over one more monkey for a perfect score. I took up the first stage, and.. oops, gotta go to the john. More later, maybe....
Last edited by tbone49 on Wed Aug 13, 2008 8:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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