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with a loaded shotgun in hand. And now let's drink to that!"

Teams are drawn. I look at the scoreboard: Papa, Herrera, Mary, Gianfranco, Adriana. Papa and El Monstruo, two good guns, but the other three...? In the other team two excellent Cuban rifles and the very champions Winston Guest, Cooper, Tony Sheveland, all "over 6 foot." You know what responsibility! Why did I agree to participate in this competition? I know that Papa is keen to win. Poor me.

Papa misses the first pigeon. 

Coops walks away in his long slouching stride, takes up the rifle just like he does in westerns, let's hope he hits the bull's-eye... Great shot! I'm happy with it, I think watching him return with that fantastic smile, unique in the world. I really shouldn't be happy, and of the opposite team, but it's so nice.

El Monstruo also misses the first. 

Guest hits the mark. 

Mary and Gianfranco miss the first pigeon. Then my turn comes. I move slowly, weigh the gun, take it, focus on the viewfinder and as soon as my heartbeat calms I turn the gun on the beam of the cages, once twice, I stop in the middle and say: "Pull!" I hear the click of the cage as it opens, the corral whizzes away immediately, point just in front of him, I pull the trigger. Taken. That's better...

Now next to my name there are six white discs in a row, three more than Papa, one more than El Monstruo. Mary and Gianfranco have 3 each.

I miss a pigeon, center the following, I miss two in a row. I look again at the scoreboard: so far out of 10 I have totaled 7. We have 16 pigeons each. The averages of the other team are very high: it will be these last shots to decide our fate.

Three more coupons. Two missed. I'm 10 pigeons. Papa...