It all started ok, I guess. I got up at 7:00 as I always do on paintball days so I could get there early. I get out there and take care of my field fees, then paint and air. I had forgotten to pack one thing - a barrel plug. So I had to buy one of those as well. This burned a deeper hole in my pocket then I had expected. Well I'm getting ready, then some jerk calls me a boy. Although I did have my mask on top of my head and he couldn't see my face, this made me mad.
I then told myself to do nothing stupid because that would be stupid. So I politely spun around, let my hair down and took my mask off. The element of stun etched on his face was satisfaction enough, so I then grabbed my old Spyder and trotted off to the chrono. Well, my favorite ref who liked me wasn't there that day, that was dissapointing. Then, while at the chrono, I experience the most erractic velocities I have ever seen. So I had to get a new spring in my gun and chrono AGAIN. This eat into my precious playing time.
Finally, I was off to play. And at my favorite field, the Junkyard, my team swept twice. Then we were off to another field, Fort Apache, (a.k.a. "The Fort"). I was lucky enough to have some fellow veterans on my team, unfortunatly, they were unfamilure with the field. They, ignoring my advice, scattered, leaving me and one other player in the Fort. To make a longer story shorter, I was asked to surrender, and in my paintball upbringing, one was taught never to surrender. Guess who got lit up to tiny bits. Moi! I shot back and hit my opponet, we were both called out.
After a few games we played my "Death Field" as I like to call it, because something horrible always happens to me there. I was in a pillbox 12 feet off the ground, kickin' the other team. We won within roughly three minutes. Getting down I fell to the ground, landing on my back and hitting the back of my head against the base of a tree. I was in shock for about 15 minutes there after what happened. Being cradled in some mans arms I didn't know for that long kinda freaked me out too. My silver necklace made especially for me was ripped from my neck in the fall. This was bad. I learned later that I had suffered two bruised ribs and a concussion. I, stupid as it was, played the next game after that. I slid down a hug hill while getting lit up by my own team mate. I had also broken my Spyder in the fall, nothing I couldn't fix at home.
And that, my friends, was my bad day at the field. |
