Losing A Shootoff the Hard Way
Posted: Tue Aug 12, 2008 9:23 am
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."
