The Wreck of the Win ‘97

As he walked in the sun his spurs gleamed and jingled
He strode up to stage number ten
He paid no attention to the boys. Never mingled.
He was focused. Determined to win!

His six-gins were smooth as a new baby's bottom
His leather was custom and slick
Any new gee-gaws? Well, he made sure he got em
That boy never missed him a trick

His lever gun levered like hot melted butter
Transitions were flawless and clean
If you listened you'd hear the whole posse mutter
"He's the fastest one we ever seen!"

The buzzer went off and our boy went to work
He shot like a demon for sure
Smooth as a silk scarf, never a jerk
His technique was just flawless and pure

When he needed a reload shells leaped to his hand
It seemed that he might be bewitched
Sparks fairly flew from his boots as he ran
From handgun to rifle he switched

The shots boomed like thunder out on the prairie
The RO could barely hang on
He moved like greased lightning, never a tary
As the steel targets rang on and on

Then all that remained were the knockdowns at last
They were small and unthreatening things
We knew that he’d take em down all with a blast
For he moved as if he had wings

One shell in the Winnie, in the hand one more round
As our hero took up his stance
The 12 gauge roared fire and the steel hit the ground
We knew that it had not a chance

The forearm slammed back to eject the fired shell
It almost ejected just right
But it stuck in the port as things went to Hell
And the bright daytime turned into night

Quick as a snake he cleared the jam fast
And then he was back in the fray
Slammed the next round in, ready to blast
But he stuffed in the wrong way!

He popped it back out as he made his last stand
And grabbed a fresh shell with a grin
Maybe slightly too hard…..for it flew from his hand
And left a big welt on his chin

The next shell got chambered as the clock ticked away
It went bang and the kd went down
Two more were left. Would our boy win the day?
A few of us started to frown

The next one refused to come out of the pump
I guess that it liked it in there
The posse was silent, our morale in the dump
As our boy was now gasping for air

And now at the end only one knockdown stood
Unimpressive, defiant, and small
A quick blast rang out and we craned for a look
But the danged wretched thing wouldn't fall

With a growl like a sob our boy loaded again
And at last reluctant steel fell
We had witnessed the fall of a great one, my friend
On Stage Number Ten, straight to Hell

In the end he was beat by a gray-haired galoot
With a limp and an old side-by-side
I guess some days you win, some days you lose
And some days you swallow your pride

Now he wouldn't let the big loss just fester
He practices hard every day
He wins lots of matches, but without that Winchester
I hear tell he threw it away!

Photo by Barrowed Eye aka Jim McCray© 2006