Schützenfeste in the village where I lived during my childhood were a joke, but one everybody seemed to take seriously. They consisted mainly of a small hayfield where a bunch of middle-aged men (who saw each other every other weekday anyway) would meet wearing musty uniforms already worn by their fathers. You also needed was a couple of air guns, someone with a head for heights to fix a wooden bird-thing to a high pole at one end of the hayfield, a kid in his late teens with some amplifiers to play appropriate music whenever the marching band was too busy filling up on beer at the beer tent and maybe a tiny roundabout for the kiddies.
Being made the champion shot of the day was actually a financial burden on the winner because custom dictated that he basically had to finance the festivities and attend some others where he was expected not to be stingy with the free rounds. It wasn't too uncommon that some winners resigned their 'titles' because it wasn't in their budget.