So that eagerly anticipated Saturday morning arrives and you uncase your glistening Super Sniper at the club range. Somewhere you read that it's best to wait a minute between shots so the barrel will cool, so you squeeze off each shot at 60-second intervals. Squint would be proud of the way you've got it all together. You might even write him a letter and send him one of the tiny groups you shoot with your Super Sniper. Now the moment of truth is at hand and you stroll downrange for a close look at your target, followed by a gaggle of Saturday-morning range loafers who have been cooing over your Super Sniper.
Life is sweet.
One, two, three you count, all the shots are there but in a heart-wrenching instant you discover that the three holes don't form a cloverleaf, but a crude triangle that could be covered only by a cabbage leaf. You start to explain that there must be something amiss with your ammo, or the scope, but then full realization settles in and bewilderment is replaced by stark rage. Squint lied to me. Wait till he hears from me. Said it would put three shots in a bug hole, but he musta' been talking about bugs as big as buffalo.