
Sure. I could show you a picture of Mike and his gun with his fancy 49 from Week Five. Or a picture of John, using his bank of 49. Nice shooting, boys. They call them "Top Guns" for a reason.
Sure. I could tell you how hot it was this week. I could tell you about Mike's request for an oxygen mask, because it was so thick that you just couldn't breathe. True story.
Sure. I could update you on the first half team scoreboard — that the UCB retain a five bird lead over the entire club with just one week to go.
Sure. I could share my frustrations about this enticing, frustrating mistress called "trap." Of being stuck in the 40-42 average. Of the lonely path of the journeyman shooter on a team of true gunners.
And sure. I could tell you how much fun it is, to get out and put 50 shells through a 12-gauge each week. The cleansing nature of gunpowder and the word, "pull."
But instead, how about a photo of a can of PBR. A toast to the United Claybusters of America on this fine Tuesday. A cold beer on a hot eve. And a celebration of clay busting as it was meant to be.