I remember I was really eager to go to the Marines range as a REAL shooter, like Rash and Tetang.  I packed up my things and drove by the Ateneo range to pick up the shooting jacket and pants that I was going to use.  All seemed well on the way to Fort Bonifacio and I felt like breaking some records that day. 

    As I walked into the 10-meter range, I noticed that the range was not all that full.  On the firing points were a couple of rifle shooters, all statuesque in their form.  I found it an amusing thought that I might rub elbows with people like Mei Concepcion and Lynette Villarama (what a babe!)  I laid down my stuff on one isolated corner and started to limber. 

    Lynette was suiting up by the bleachers.  While I was admiring the view, hmmm... nice tights, a skeletal figure entered the range and approached my objet d'art.  Who was this dude?  He went closer and closer, a coach of some type I guess, and closer to her still.  This must be the Mang Pikong, everyone was talking about.  Dammit he's in the way of my view.  Hey man, what do you think you're doing making the moves on da babe, huh?  I'm getting jealous! 

    After a short period of relaxation I felt that it was time to let loose some tens.  I suited up, picked up my gear and walked towards a free bay.  The range was more full now; a bunch of pistol shooters, most notably demi-god Karolino Gonzales, were practicing their art.  The dude was gone.  At least I have a view of the babe without the dude molesting her.  Taking the bay behind her, I raised my rifle and started to dry-fire.  It felt good and I was confident that my first pellet would be an impressive eleven (oh very well, a 10.9)  I loaded my FWB600 and took aim... the sight picture is good... 

"KEEP BACK STRONG"     Plunk.   "HOW CAN YOU SHOOT GOOD IF BODY NOT STRONG" 

    What the hell was that?! A six?!  God, I hope she wasn't looking!  Who was making all the noise?  I turned my head and saw this BIG tall guy.  Marat, the nefarious Russian coach, I guess.  I would never have guessed that this guy was a rifle shooter, much less a world champion, from his paunch build, but the way he was grilling Leah Arceo behind me, I suppose he knew his stuff.  But did he have other useful advise other than "keep body strong"  and what the hell is "you must squeeze like lightning" supposed to mean?  A six... what a way to start the day.  Mang Piks came out of nowhere and his "hands-on" coaching session with Lynette was not making my day any better. 

    I decided to move to a more secluded part of the range, away from Marat; anyway, Ms. Villarama had decided to pack up and call it a day.  Plunk... 9 ... Plunk ... 10 ... Plunk... 10... now that's more like it.  So there I was minding my own shooting when Mang Piks found a new toy to play with... ME!  He started holding me in all sorts of places, mumbling stuff into my ear that I couldn't understand or hear!  I wanted to scream!  He wanted to change my position. ARGHH!  Plunk... 4 ... Plunk... 4, on the opposite side, ARGHH!!! 

    I waste precious fossil fuel coming here.  I watch some gorgeous babe and myself get molested by a stick-figure from hell.  I have to put up with a Russian dude whose advise is as great and useful as his English proficiency.  Not to mention I look like some cheesy lucked out Indiana Jones hip-hop wannabe in the face of several wildly color-coordinated walking Benetton commercials that shoot a hell of a lot better than I do.  All this aggravation for two grand?  Forget it! 

[WebMaster's note:  Kootch has long since left the shooting fray but not before being able to shoot 560s with his hip-hop Indy Jones getup.  He  once taught Religion classes at the Ateneo High School and has since left for the States... "to make his fortune.". 

This is a work of fiction :-).  Any resemblance to real incidents or people is purely coincidental ;-).  Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. :p]