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Don't do anything
stupid!
You've made it to station six in the fourth round without missing, but you
still have eleven birds to shoot. An eighty-nine isn't going to do
anything in B class at this shoot.
You're on a good squad. Everybody wants you to get this hundred. They've
all been supportive and encouraging. They all congratulated you when you
shot a ninety-seven and won B class in the .410. Hard to believe you
didn't know any of them before Thursday.
The targets are moving around a little. With a cold front blowing in from
the northwest, the high bird is fast and flat, and the low bird seems to
get higher each time you see it. So, hold well under the window and move
up to the bird.
"PULL"
An orange blur comes out of the high house and streaks across the
field. It never rises any higher than the window.
Focus …focus… that's looks good.
BOOM.
At the report, the rear half of the target crumbles into about a dozen
pieces. The front half makes a wobbly arc out to the shot fall area in
front of the next field. It seems to pause in mid air and taunt, "I almost
got away".
What happened? You should have smoked that target! That wind must be
pushing the bird faster than you thought!
From behind me, I hear "Come on, work the low one. Hit 'em harder this
time".
All right, it was dead. Just maintain your concentration a little longer
and you'll get that elusive 100 straight. You'll go out to the shoot off
field and try to become the next Texas State 12 gauge cham…
Concentrate you idiot!! Low six! Wind is blowing left to right! The target
will probably try to go up, but don't anticipate it. Just see it and go
with it.
"PULL"
The orange blur comes out of the low house and seems to go straight
up.
What a rocket! Go to it…go to it… yeah.
BOOM.
This time the target disappears. In its place is a cloud of dust,
roiling and fading with the wind, thousands of tiny particles that soon
dissipate into nothing.
Ink ball! How did you hit that target that hard?
The squad whoops their approval. I turn around and see five grinning
faces. Even Jamie, our referee, enjoyed that one.
Keep your game face on.
I try to give them a modest smile, but…
You're going to the dance! You've got your first hundred straight and…
You're not there yet! You still need to hit the double on six and even
then, you've only shot a ninety-three! Con-cen-trate!
The shells seem too big to go in my gun. I fumble with them for an
eternity before they finally go in.
"Take your time"
Take your time? It feels like you're taking too long! A state champ would
never take this long to…
Cut it out moron!!!
Okay, a pair on six. You just hit the singles. The birds are a little
squirrelly, so you really need to work! Keep your eyes on the target and
your head on the stock.
I find the same hold point that I used for the low bird and mount the
gun.
Something's wrong!
The gun didn't find the right spot on my shoulder. I bring it down and
take a step back.
Deep breath.
The wind kicks up a notch.
Start your routine over. Your feet need to be parallel and a little wider
than your shoulders. Point your gun at that target fragment out in the
field, just to the right of the distance maker. And focus your eyes on
that window. The target is going to come out of the top left corner.
"PULL"
The low bird tries to go straight up again, even higher this time. But
I'm ready.
You own this bird. Go up…go up…now!
BOOM.
Another cloud takes the place of this target, distinctly visible
against the incoming front. I want to take a few seconds to savor it, but
somewhere on this field there's another bird in the air.
Where's the high bird? Where's the high bird? It should be right there! It
must have gotten under your barrel!
Subconsciously, I feel the pressure between my face and the stock
lighten. An orange flash appears to the right of my gun.
You're behind it! You're behind it! Move your gun! SWING…SWING…SWING!
I focus in on the little orange vermin. It's way past where I normally
shoot it. I see the rib sweep through the target.
BOOM.
The target keeps flying and disappears behind the low house.
What the hell was that?
I turn and look at Jamie. She can't bring herself to say it, but the
expression on her face tells the whole story. High bird lost. The hundred
straight is gone.
Stupid! You couldn't see the target, so you picked your head up to get a
better look at it. The shot looked good, but you missed over the top. Way
to go state chump!
When the round ends, a couple of the guys shake my hand and
congratulate me on my ninety-nine.
"Great shooting!" they say.
Jamie still looks at me with that same expression. She knows exactly
how I feel.
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