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I think lines are part of the fun of the game and this is supposed to be fun. That being said, whatever the shooter does to indicate ready is fine with me. Whenever someone asks what the line is, I always respond, "Seamus is my hero". I've had quite a few say it.

I agree with Tombstone and Seamus! If I’m running the timer, some sort of verbal acknowledgement of ready is needed so that spotters are aware that the shooter is about to begin. Like my grandma used to tell me when I nodded or shook my head, “I can’t hear your head rattling, even if it IS full of rocks!” I LIKE a starting line or some semblance of one! I will be the first to say that I will sing ‘em, shout ‘em, miss quote ‘em, or substitute a line of my own, particularly if it’ll help to keep the atmosphere a little lighter!!

I LIKE starting lines and always try to make them make sense for the stage they’re on. I LIKE it when shooters say the line. HOWEVER, I’m not going to get butt hurt when they don’t say it. Sometimes it’s because they forgot the line. Sometimes it’s because they want to say something different. Whatever. I DO especially like to shoot with folks who are having fun!

As a timer operator - I prefer a starting line for verification of ready. But I don't care WHAT they say. Whether that is the written line, Let 'em buck, Rangers lead the way or simply Shooter Ready. And there are down sides to the shooter that refuses to say "something"... 🤔 I just may not see that imperceptible head nod so the shooter will likely be stuck standing there waiting until I get a signal that I can recognize as "ready"

From my own personal experience...using the starting line "What could possibly go wrong?"...it's an invitation to mayhem ---- Spoon

I'm in MN too. I've done new shooter classes and gunfighter classes. At both Morristown and Kimball. If you want I can help you out

I figure I play this game for fun cuz I'm no where near good enough to win the virtual Cadillac! The line is part of the fun, why not say it if you can remember it? At State level matches it's usually posted. It also shows some respect for the Pard whom took the time to write it!

Never quite understood anyone that believes their version of "fun" is the only option. "IF" milking the starting line or wearing wooly chaps or doing the hokey pokey gives you enjoyment - go for it. But "silently judging" because someone else has different priorities or plays the game in a manner (completely legal) that just doesn't happen to conform to your opinion? Wow.

it is not required to say the starting line, some like to have a line given to them to say so they dont have to think and others dont want to try to remember anything but the stage. I will accept any verbal acknowledgment from ready, let er buck, cowboy ready, However a nod of the head does not cut it.

How many T.O.’s can “hear a nod” or are actually looking for a non verbal acknowledgement of being ready to go? (just a question)

As a TO I couldn’t possibly care less what the shooter says to indicate they’re ready. I just wish all shooters would say whatever it is LOUD. As a shooter I quite enjoy ad libbing slight variations to the written line. That being said, by the time I’m ready to shoot I’m so focused on the stage I usually forget the line and just say “Ready”.

That's one heckuva catch!

That there is a big pile of horsey do-do. The shooter has NO obligation to start if he is not ready. Same goes for a restart if no round down range. Shooter was taking advantage of a self imposed screwup.

A FB find On the evening of June 11, 1951, one of the most daring air rescues of the Korean War unfolded on the Taedong River near Kyomipo, just southwest of Pyongyang, North Korea. First Lieutenant John J. Najarian (pictured right), a veteran pilot with the U.S. Air Force’s 3rd Air Rescue Squadron, flew a Grumman SA-16 Albatross amphibious aircraft into the heart of enemy territory to rescue Captain Kenneth Stewart (pictured left), an F-51 Mustang pilot who had been shot down during a strike mission. Captain Stewart, a fighter pilot with the 67th Fighter-Bomber Squadron, had just released his bomb load and was searching for a target to launch his rockets when his aircraft was struck by a sudden burst of heavy anti-aircraft fire. With his engine out, he managed to glide his Mustang away from the gun positions before bailing out at approximately 900 feet. He steered his parachute toward the river to avoid capture, splashing down just before 8:15 p.m. In total darkness and under fire from both banks, he remained in the water to avoid drifting toward enemy forces. Though he had inflated his life raft, he feared it would make him a more visible target and chose instead to stay in the water and swim constantly against the current while floating in his Mae West life jacket. The rescue operation began almost immediately. An SA-16 was dispatched and reached the river by 8:30 p.m., guided in part by fellow Mustang pilots who circled overhead, engaging enemy gun positions with over 35 rockets, thousands of rounds of .50 caliber ammunition, and tanks of napalm. One of the Mustangs flew low over the river, flashing its landing lights to help identify Stewart’s position in the darkness. The crew of the SA-16 later described the fighters’ performance as the finest example of flak suppression they had ever witnessed. Lieutenant Najarian executed what many airmen would later call an “impossible” maneuver. Flying directly beneath the line of anti-aircraft guns and between the high riverbanks, he landed the bulky amphibious aircraft without lights and with no visual reference points. The Taedong River’s depth ranged unpredictably from six to twenty feet at that location, and the Albatross displaced five and a half feet of water, leaving almost no margin for error. Once on the water, the crew struggled to find Stewart in the enveloping darkness until a tiny flicker of light appeared from his flashlight. They taxied toward it and found him still afloat and uninjured. The rescue team (pilot 1Lt Najarian, copilot 2Lt James Fall, navigator Capt. Morris Elias, radar operator S/Sgt. Howard Walsborn, and flight engineer T/Sgt. Harry Fitzgibbon) then took off under the same perilous conditions in which they had landed. Captain Stewart and Lieutenant Najarian were photographed the next day examining the CO2 cartridge from Stewart's Mae West. Najarian was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for the rescue. Have you ever heard of this rescue? Don't you think it should be a movie?!

I understand that some shooters are so focused that they don't want to get thrown off-guard by saying the line, so I'll accept "ready". Me? I'm just out for fun, and I think starting lines from my favorite movies add to the fun. If I can't remember the line, I frequently just say...."I call that mighty bold talk from a one-eyed fat man!" That describes me well, except that I do have two eyes! --Dawg

Show Me, I will not accept a head nod because one time it came back to bite me in the butt. Shooter nodded his head, Stand by, beep, shooter had a train wreck, then blamed me for starting him before he was ready. Gave a re-shoot Last time that happened. Say it where I can hear it. I have used movie lines, made up lines aimed at the TO, lines from songs. I have no shame or limits. Just have fun

My tirade of two days ago, continued on a bit yesterday. The only place for miles around that sells sarsaparilla ran out, a place that is a charitable thrift shop turned out to be closed on Monday, and at 10:am traffic was stalled in every direction. As I left the thrift shop there is a narrow two lane road that goes less than a block to Arizona Route 69. One car as ahead of me turning right (west) like I was,. No east-bound traffic. The west-bound traffic was moderately light, but this woosie jackass in front of me would NOT turn if there was a car coming from the east inside a half mile. Finally he turned right and across to the left hand lane. I followed him and he drifted back to the right lane and I braked, turned over behind him and blew around him a punched it up to 75 mph....in a 50 mph zone. It didn't gain me anything because a mile further the traffic in both my lanes was stopped at a light that is always very slow. I worked over to the shoulder to turn right at that intersection, just as the cop behind me turned on his lights. I crept up the the intersection, turned right and right again onto a very wide dirt street and pulled over. His bull horn told me....called me "sir"....to turn left and across to a drive through place that has been closed for a month or so and to park under the roof of the driveway. I did, pulled to a stop, shut off the engine, opened both front windows and took out my license and CCW card. My hands were on the wheel. He explained "I had you pull over here out of the sun because it's way to hot to be standing out there in the sun." He took the cards and asked why I had shown my CCW card and I told him I didn't want any surprises. He asked if I had any guns in the car and told him "three". and where they were. He gave me back the CCW and asked if he could let him sit in the passenger seat and I unlocked the door. He asked where my registration and insurance cards were and took them out of the glove box....from under a loaded 10 shot 9mm pistol and four fully loaded spare magazines....and got out of the car. He asked my to get out and stand at the rear of my car "just as precaution because of the guns aboard". I did. He walked back to his car to call in this and that and came back. Never took his eyes off me for more than a second and never turned his gun side to me nor held anything in his right hand. He wrote me a ticket, explained all I needed to know, and told me I had no previous tickets in Arizona. I told him the last ticket I got was when I lived in California twenty-seven years ago. He got back in his car and left while I put everything away. I'll go pay the fine ($138.00) in another hour. Am I angry? NO, not really. I'm a bit aggravated at myself for losing control. Honestly, I got off pretty easy and I HAD IT COMING! I let my temper take over....which I very seldom ever do. The officer was very professional and respectful, almost friendly, and managed it while being in the hot sun with a confirmed armed man. I lived in California for almost 40 years and dealt with a lot of LEOs and only met a handful who I could truly respect and even fewer I could have liked. I met many who should have never been allowed to wear a badge, much less a gun, and a few who should have been in jail. All of my experiences with LEOs here.....not as common as they were in California because I don't work nor hang out in gun shops any more..... have been friendly, or at least professional. Not a "badge heavy cop" in the state so far. Damn, I love living in north-central Arizona. Okay. It's almost over and I'm back to being my usual well behaved, pleasant, almost lovable self.

Found on FB "I came to El Paso in 1879. They were having sandstorms then and they have been having sandstorms ever since, but here lately it seems like the wind has sorter lost its strength. I remember one time we were riding in with a pack mule and an Indian scout. The wind had been blowing for three days and nights and sand had covered up the grass and most of the mesquite bushes ... Yes, the country still had grass then; it hadn't all been grazed off. That pack mule was the only one of us that could follow the trail. She went ahead. As we rode along through the sandhills between Fort Hancock and El Paso, I noticed the mule got shy, and then the lead ranger stopped. He was right over the crown of a man's hat sticking out of the sand. It looked like a new hat, and when the ranger got down to dig it out, the rest of us stopped to watch. Well, sir, when he uncovered the brim and went to lift the hat up, he discovered a man's head inside it. We got down and worked carefully to scratch the sand out of the man's ears and eyes and mouth and nose. He gave a little cough and said, 'Get a shovel. There's a good horse under me.'" ---- with a twinkle in his eye, Texas Ranger Jim Gillette tells a story about the wind in West Texas, as recounted by J. Frank Dobie in "Tales of Old-Time Texas," 1928. Shown here: Jim Gillette in the 1880s.

I'm no English master. It WAS, and still IS, my worse subject (math and history were my best). Anyhow, I figured WAS signified the past and IS signified present So in essence, my dad's name, regardless of living or dead, IS ......................... Once deceased, I guess it could be conceived that he WAS my dad. BUT, he IS still my dad. Maybe that's why English was never my forte. ..........Widder

I’m glad to have the opportunity to give a little back to a sport that’s brought so many wonderful friends into my life!!

WTH kind of train was that? FKCGC, glad you and your lady had a nice afternoon.

I would say IS whether he’s dead or alive it’s still his name and always will be.

I don't believe it is required, but, I will be silently judging the cowboy, or girl, that thinks reciting a silly start line is beneath them. If you're not here to have fun, why are you here? It sure ain't the big cash prizes. Angus

I'd watch a movie of that rescue.

The shot generally takes a couple of days to start working! Schoolmarm was given a pair of fingerless gloves with mild compression and copper. She says that they give her significant relief!

Ever been there? 😡 Lemons They sat in the case at the local gun shop Gleaming like diamonds so bright He reached for his wallet, he just couldn’t stop He was plumb hypnotized by the sight He hurried on home and polished them there Not a speck of dust would remain The first in his club to possess such a pair Now they all would remember his name! Never heard of this gun brand but he had no fear That didn’t bother him none No reputation of track record here But just look how they gleam in the sun At the range his first shot was a bit to the right Maybe 12 inches or so He figured it must be a trick of the light His next shot was 9 inches low! The next one was left and more than a bit Our hero was starting to sweat He fired the next round, couldn’t tell where it hit He was staring to have some regrets He shook off the laughter of the guys at the range With just a few tears in his eyes Went home to his bench, got his tools all arranged And received an unpleasant surprise. He slugged the first gun with a feeing of peril “It’s too tight!”, He moaned in his pain But the same bullet rolled down the other gun’s barrel Like a pea in a 6 inch storm drain. Then he took them apart and noticed the rattle And the filings that fell to the floor He had seen more precision in a dang herd of cattle These new guns were much less than poor There were things that were bent and things that were broken And pieces that just didn’t fit “Caveat Emptor” were words he’d heard spoken As he threw a big gunfighter’s fit Down to the gun shop he stormed like the wind Not a happy cowboy at all When he got there he found a long line to stand in And he waited. Then “Next!” came the call He growled then and slammed the two new six-guns down “REFUND!”, was all he could croak “Well your too late my friend. This here outfit skipped town” “Your beef is with them but they’re broke!” “They stiffed all their workers. The factory’s shut And people are howling for death! Now you might just get lucky. You might get a break I don’t think I’d be holdin my breath.” Dejected and crushed with his hat in his hand Heartbroken, in the depths of despair He drove in to the city for their “Gun Buyback Plan” And got fifty-six bucks for the pair.

IS... We name a person, i.e. body. We don't name their life or spirit or essence. Therefore they do not need their life, spirit, or essence to retain that name. For instance, when you want to know where someone's burial plot is, you don't go to to the cemetery and ask "where'd y'all put the body formerly known as Widder"? You ask "where'd y'all plant Widder?" Regardless of status, that bag of meat, bones, etc will remain named. To say "their name WAS" means that it isn't anymore. Coming soon to CSI Tennessee.... Nobody can identify a body because it has no name anymore.

Wow, house is quiet for a few minutes. We have an ongoing family visit right now that will not end til Monday or Tuesday. It's okay, great even, but wow, there is a reason God gives children to young folks. Uncle Kevin and Sue Sue are about worn out. Wouldn't trade it and praying God will bring them all up here from Mobile AL permanently. Gotta pick up a new toilet float today and replace that.

This has come up a number of times in the past. The huge concensus has been that there is no requirement. You just need to indicate ready to the T.O. and counters/spotters. But let's back up for a minute. In recent few (very few) years, CAS has been drifting toward a race gun game, with progressively bigger and closer targets, expensively modified guns, and much less complexity in stages. The total stage time is all that many of us outwardly care about now. Without judging all of that, for the moment, IMO it would serve our purposes to remember what brought most of us here to Cowboy Action Shooting in the first place. If we only wanted fast action, there are a lot of very fun, faster gun sports to partake in. Many of us also shoot in those contests and enjoy them. But we came HERE to play cowboy for a time. To dress up in cowboy clothes, strap on our pretty single action guns, shoot among western buildings and props and, to an extent, enjoy living the scenarios we are shooting in. The start lines and story lines were always a way to add more COWBOY to the shooting fun. Many of us still enjoy all of that. I personally hope the game doesn't move entirely over to race-gun shooting in a cowboy hat, it won't be as imaginative or fun. I am noticing that the clubs that still insert a generous amount of -- call it "cowboy" -- into the shooting experience are growing and attracting new younger members. Attracting younger folks amid the array of alternative much faster and more modern shooting sports will always be a challenge. What draws them to our game is when they stop to watch us laughing, cheering, and playing cowboy, dressed up in western dress with our smoking guns. Corny as they can seem, the start lines are a part of all of that. Without the Western reenactment part, it is just target shooting without the movement or big prizes. JMHO. BUT THERE IS NO SPECIFIC REQUIREMENT. T.O.s just need to be sure communication is clear enough.

Dental Hygeniest & I were talking about abrasivness of tooth polishing compound used after your teeth cleaning. Gal said that there were various levels of abrasiveness in the compounds and that she was about to toss a whole carton of vials that were a tad too abrasive. I asked if I could have it to use to try to see if it would smooth up the actions of several revolvers and other guns. She gave it to me and I used it. It worked perfectly and a side benefit is your shooters have a nice, fresh, minty smell to them !!! Gave several of those little vials of polishing conpound to fellow SASS folks who also found the material to work very well. Grizz

I use a cleaning rag dampened with water, nothing else. Don't really like silicone or whatever, just a personal preference. kR

About 10+ years ago I was in OK City for Land Run. Several of us were riding together in a pard’s car going to dinner. Not knowing the area, we passed by the restaurant we were looking for. Upon that realization, our driver slowed and did a safe, but illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, which was seen by an LEO who pulled us over. Our intrepid driver produced both his KS drivers license and CCW permit when asked for license and registration. The LEO looked at the permit and asked, “Do you have any guns in the car?” To which our driver said, “Yes sir, lots of them.” Without missing a beat the LEO said, “As long as you don’t point any of them at me, we’ll get along fine.” He then wrote the traffic ticket and bid us good evening.

And you are concerned about a knife?????

I didn't know that Canadians spell Canada CND. New to me C, eh, N, eh, D, eh

HE MADE MY LITTLE GIRL CRY “El Ciego,” a voice murmured. Men drew back, what few were in the Rabbitville street: a lone rider on a shining-gold Palomino, a rider who moved with his horse, so completely at home in saddle leather as to appear to be part of the horse, looked neither left, nor right, as he rode. The Palomino moved at little more than a walk, but the rider seemed to draw a long cape behind him, a cape made of silence: more than one who beheld this pale eyed Sheriff made the sign of the Cross, and shivered, as if at a passing chill. A long tall lawman with an iron grey mustache, a man with pale eyes and well polished boots, rode through the open gates of the Rabbitville monastery. Mexican-dark eyes followed him, but none dare follow their eyes. This was El Ciego – the blind one – for it is not possible for one to have such eyes, such blind eyes, and still be able to see. The rider dismounted and thanked a barefoot boy, who led the Palomino into the Monastery’s stable: one of the Brethren, hands in his sleeves, bowed a solemn greeting, opened the door for the visitor. The Abbott was on his knees before the High Altar: he did not look up as a door opened, then closed, as the quiet, measured pace of a tall man entered, his pace confident and unhurried. The visitor stopped, knelt: he smelled of leather and horse sweat and sunshine and open spaces, and he knelt beside the Abbott, head bowed in respect. The Abbott crossed himself and rose; his visitor rose with him. Two men walked up the gently sloping aisle, two men turned toward the heavy door. The door opened, the door shut, and they were gone. Abbott William smiled a little as he sipped cool water. Sheriff Linn Keller sipped as well. “Adam’s Ale,” Linn finally said, his voice quiet, gentle: “Genuine Rock Juice.” “I remember when we shared a jug of something better,” the Abbott murmured, smiling a little, and the Sheriff nodded at the memory. “You’re troubled, my friend. Is that why you’re here?” Linn nodded, slowly, the reply of a controlled man. The Abbott spread his hands. “How can I help?” The Sheriff leaned back, considered the tall, heavy, genuine glass tumbler sweating before him. “I took care of it,” he said. “But it troubles you.” Linn nodded, fingers tracing down the sweat-beaded glass. The Abbott waited; he took another sip, savoring the drink: he’d been in the fields with the Brethren, cultivating: he believed no leader should be above laboring beside his fellows. The sun was hot, the sky clear, the work was … well, it needed done, and now, in the cool and the quiet of his quarters, he sipped water, slowly, gratefully, accepting it as the gift that it was. Linn took a long breath, frowned a little, and the Abbott knew he was almost ready to talk. Almost. The tonsured old ex-soldier waited. He and the Sheriff fought shoulder to shoulder, back in That Damned War; they’d shared rations, they’d shared a campfire, they’d shared a jug and a laugh, and each dropped his professional mien when – years later – they met by utter accident, and suddenly became two old friends who hadn’t seen one another in far too long. Now the Abbott waited while his old friend lined his thoughts up before he marched them out of his mouth. He looked at the Abbott. “I just honestly beat the livin’ dog stuffin’s out of a man today.” The Abbott nodded, slowly, studying the thick rim of his water glass. “Any particular reason?” the Abbott asked quietly. He looked up. In an era when men rarely smiled in public – in an era when a smile could be seen as a sign of weakness – the Sheriff lowered his head a bare degree-and-a-half, and gave a truly predatory, wolflike smile, the smile of a man who’d just enjoyed something he’d done. Dana Keller was the Sheriff’s daughter. Dana Keller, unlike her pale eyed Pa, had deep, startling, Kentucky-blue eyes. Dana Keller, unlike her red-headed Mama, had silk-fine hair, cornsilk yellow with hints of gold. Dana Keller was a happy child, Dana Keller was a beautiful child, and Dana Keller, on this one particular day, was in the Mercantile. Now the Firelands Mercantile was a crossroads for every strata of society: it was the only store of its kind, and so it was the county’s center of general commerce. If a man was needful of a new rifle, he’d go to the Mercantile. If a woman needed sewing notions, she went to the Mercantile. Dana Keller was in the Mercantile for very important reasons, which included talking quietly to the kitty sleeping on the crackers, which included looking around with a child’s innocent interest, which included trading the smiling proprietress two precious coppers for two carefully wrapped sticks of peppermint candy. Unfortunately, an individual with an ill temper and an utter lack of good sense was also in the Mercantile, complaining about a lengthy litany of grievances: prices, the weather, the government, and finally, the Sheriff. Dana blinked with surprise and with dismay as she stepped back, away from the nasty man who proceeded to call the Sheriff several things that should not be repeated in polite company. The one-armed proprietor saw Dana’s bottom lip wrinkle up a little, her eyes getting big and watery, the way a little girl will before her little heart overflows with grief from experiencing some terrible injustice: when tears spilled down her cheeks and she turned and scampered from the Mercantile, the one-armed proprietor said “Mister, that was the Sheriff’s little girl. Now if you’re buyin’, set your purchase up here and pay for it, otherwise get out!” The sneering reply, something to the effect of tearing off the man’s other arm and using it to beat him to death, was interrupted by a hard and callused hand seizing his windpipe. The sight of a pale-eyed Sheriff dragging a man outside by his throat was enough to draw the attention of the curious. The sight of the pale-eyed Sheriff releasing his grip with one hand, driving his left hand into the man’s chest and twisting up a good handful of material and then hoisting him off the ground, caused several souls to bring their beer outside the Silver Jewel and lean back against the dusty, painted clapboards to watch the show. And, finally, the sight of the Sheriff hauling this individual off the ground, one-handed, holding him at arm’s length before walking down the warped board steps to street level, and casually holding this example of Walking Indiscretion at arm’s length overhead – walking easily and naturally as if he were unimpeded by a struggling payload that was pulling vainly at the man’s forearm – they watched as the Sheriff walked this indiscreet soul into the alley beside the Mercantile. Men’s voices hushed: even the sizzle of a Lucifer match scratching into life seemed intrusive: there were some meaty sounds, some pained grunts, a rather loud sound, as if a body were introduced at a fair velocity into the side of a building. Men grinned and hoisted their heavy beer glasses in salute, and drank. A pale eyed Sheriff sat with the tonsured Abbott in the cool of the latter’s private cell, sipping cool water and letting the quiet soak into their bones. “So that’s what I did,” Linn concluded. The Abbott nodded slowly, almost approvingly. He looked at Linn drained the last of his water, set the tall, thick-sided glass on the folded napkin. “Linn,” he said finally, “did you baptize this particular sinner?” The Sheriff’s eyes tightened a little at the corners. “Let’s just say I give him his Saturday night bath a few days early.” Silence grew between the two men, a long and approving silence, the kind that exists between good friends. Linn finally smiled with half his mouth. Abbott William leaned forward, listening, as Linn said all that a father need say. “He made my little girl cry.”

Like I said, “I can’t hear your head rattle and it don’t matter how many rocks you got in there!”

Why does this flash me back to the best phone operator ever - Ernestine!

Still got 'em all, (minus my upper wisdom teeth) but several are crowned. Modern dentistry and anesthesia are the main reasons I am grateful to be living in this day and age. Without pressure from the missing opposing tooth, the one opposite the gap will eventually loosen and cause problems. Trust your doctor's recommendation.

If the line is posted where I can easily see it, I say it with enthusiasm. If not, I generally say, "Let the fun begin."

Like Rye says get the implant and new tooth, you’ll be glad you did. I have a couple of them, I don’t chew ice or eat pop corn anymore.

My focus needs to be on the stage, not reading a line. Some people have no problem doing both but I'm not one of them.

PLZ, take all your medications on schedule.

I like having something to say before the beep, many clubs don’t have a line to say out here so I make up my own. Of course I make up my own line when they do have a line to say and it’s usually directed to the T.O.

Can't we all just enjoy the game as we see fit (within the rules of course). If you want to yell the stage line, sing it to a tune, quote Macbeth, or just say "Ready", then go for it, and let the others do what they feel is right. Whatever happened to "Their business ain't none of my business"? Too many Kens and Kerens who see fit to tell others what they should be doing.

Shanley took the boys out dove hunting...used his sXs and bp shells. The boys thought it funny...the other dove hunters, not so much😝

Hey JB: I once went into a Walmart immediately after hunting season, and they were closing it out for $5 a bottle, so I bought everyone they had. Used it exclusively in my shotgun (TTN Double). It worked fine, and as long as I cleaned it pretty soon afterwords, and went back a bit later and checked, like Abilene said, everything was good! Every now and then, I come upon a bottle or two for cheap, and I pick it up. As I always say....The Shotgun will digest anything! --Dawg