nationals -3- day two – krieghoff cup
wow, i had the worst squad ever, i don’t even care if they read this, infact, i almost hope they do, i paid too much to do this with this kind of absolute ludicrously.
i am about to be mean, i almost hate myself for it, maybe i am just venting, fuck it, even though i am sure they meant well, here it is, as fact as i experienced it:
i was put on a squad of four. one dad, two sons, me. ok, cool, they all had on matching shirts and vests from a club i had heard of, so just before we started, my hopes were high. then we started, we started on station 6, a following pair of high rising trap shots, a tough pair, but they didn’t do well, i did fair to poor. yikes. they had a golf cart for 2, but the three of them always squeezed in station to station, but this wasn’t enough, the father, a spitting image of santa clause (only picture st nick homeless, dirty and sloppy around the edges) carried around a stool to sit on at each station, damn. i was walking but had to wait for them at each station, even when i was first, they took their sweet time to stroll up, often even holding up the squad behind us, each time i figured they catch on, they did not. older son walked around talking like a robot, i thought it was a joke at first, it wasn’t, it seems thats just how he talks. younger son forgot his gun from station to station twice, yes, of course, the long transfer too. at one station, there was free ice cream handout, when the trio saw this, they left the station we were about to start to go get it and eat it, rather then eating it after, when no one would of had to wait on them, they ate, and made us all wait. boy one shot, boy two shot, i waited off to the side, trying to not let their oddness/rudeness effect me, father was shooting. earlier he had cut his arm somehow and was bleeding, not a small cut mind you, but at least 3 puncture wounds that were dripping blood, every so often he licked his fingers and rubbed the wounds. then he ate ice cream, all the while covered in sweat dripping through and around his neck, face and beard. why does this matter you wonder? well, i shot after him, so i walked over to the stand and gun rack to pick up my gun, it wasn’t there. i knew i hadn’t left it at the last stands rack. so it took me a second to realize what had happen. this santa motherfucker was using my gun, sweating on it, getting old ice cream on it, not to mention the cuts and general man dirt he was rubbing on it simply using it. it’s one thing to maybe grab the wrong gun off a rack, but load it, mount, shoot 6 shots and not notice? YOU DUMB ASSHOLE, get your blood/ice cream/man goo off my gun…… i smiled it off and shot my station, i got a 6 of 6.
then the worst came out in me, but it was long overdue. i stepped into a stand and the two jackass sons were behind me, too close, talking loud, making loud noises, throwing rocks at each other (near the gun rack, i had already moved mine to avoid it being hit by a rock and so santa wouldn’t touch it again) they were also slapping each other and on the verge of a fight…. i turned around and said excuse me, then again, excuse me, finally, EXCUSE ME, then they noticed, ‘can you two stop, your fucking around is really distracting.’ the trapper smiled and nodded at me in agreement, the jackasses shut it long enough for me to shoot. i shot and went to the next station.
the father came up to me and actually thanked me for shutting them up. he said it happens all the time and he was expecting someone to turn around and pop them some day……
what the fuck.
hard to know if they actually cost me targets, but fuck, was my first K cup and no fun was had, it was stressful, mostly because of the asshole squad, but the targets seemed to really test me too. i even hit 4 of the 8 at station 5, two midi, off a scissor lift at 30-40 yards+, damn.
worst squad EVER.
74/100.
as of 8:56PM TX time, i am 3rd place C class, half the C class has yet to shoot, this will have to stand for 72 hours, sigh.
target count = 100 registered + 75 practice = 175 = 525 total.