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‘The Gangster Shot’
Handling Firearms in Halifax, PA 5/21/16
© 2016 James LaFond
Sean and Nick took Oliver, Erique and I out to the causeway between the fish pounds at the base of a small wooded mountain to do some shooting: standing, seated and contact drills.
Having never handled a firearm before, Erique shot as well with the assault rifle as the rest—better in fact, from a standing position, which shocked everyone, especially him. He had a hard time scoring with the tactical shotgun.
Oliver, also shot well with the assault rifle and could not hit anything with the shotgun. Standing next to Oliver as he stitched the target right up the middle with the assault rifle, I failed to even hit the piece of paper. It was even worse when attempting to use the red dot, because the red dot moved all over the place.
I was given the tactical shotgun as the rain came down and I put up the hood of my coat, and hit almost every can of soda laid out without taking aim. Sean and Nick advised me that the shotgun was my weapon should I decide on owning one.
Finally, I was given the 9mm pistol and coached on how to use it and directed to aim at white Styrofoam plate. I had six rounds in the clip. I missed with my first five deliberately aimed shots. With one round left, I said, “What the hell,” turned the pistol over into gangster spray and pray mode with the wrist arrogantly bent, popped off a round, and the plate flew in two pieces. The guys behind me were doing double high-fives, except for Sean, who was shaking his head in dismay and saying, “I can’t believe you made the gangster shot.” It was decided then that I had been terminally infected by my long years of residency in Baltimore and had carried the spirit of the ghetto effectively into the high woods.
Erique quipped, “I wish we would have gotten that on video. It would have gone viral: an old white dude in a hoody making the gangster shot and using the quintessential urban shotgun to kill diet Coke cans.”
Thanks guys. Having not fired a gun since 1985, and having been so nervous as my brother scolded me before a range of rednecks for being a sorry excuse for a white man, I did not realize that shooting would be so relaxing. It had the same soothing effect as shooting a game of pool.
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