I remember shooting in his 20-yard basement range. I remember that he didn’t need to look at the target to know where my arrows went. He just watched me. After each shot, he would tell me, without moving his eyes once, where the arrow had landed. This freaked me out, which was exactly what he was counting on. He wanted me to know which of us was the shooter and which was the coach. And then, for the next five hours, he was always four steps ahead of me. He knew what mistakes I was going to make, when, why, and how to correct them. What irritated me wasn’t that he was always right but how much he loved being right. But I learned a hell of a lot.