Paintball and Jalapenos

Yesterday I tried paintball for the very first time.

For those not familiar with this redneck leaning, 2nd Amendment inspired activity, it occurs when a bunch of guys get together and decide to engage in a form of gun play. It's essentially 'big boys play Army', but with specially designed guns that include a small but powerful tank of compressed air, a magazine of sorts filled with marble-sized paint pellets, and a desire to see if you can shoot your competitors from across the room, mark them with paint, and knock them out of the game. The paint balls are semi-firm. If you hold one in your fingers, you can squeeze it slightly, but they aren't so wimpy as to be able to squish like a grape i.e. they are actually quite solid and it takes some pressure to break them open.

Me and my buddies are 'family men' so thought it would be fun to invite our children older than 10 to come play with us. We divided into teams, and my team was a team comprised of Dads and Kids with last names starting with 'H' (It just so happens that 'H' is a very prevalent surname initiator in my group of friends). We put masks on, got instruction about game play, how to use guns, and so forth; and at the referee's signal, we started.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The guns make an audible popping sound, as do the paintballs, splatting against the giant geometric canvass-covered spongy barriers and hide-posts.

However, it became readily apparent that MY guy would make no such snappy popping sounds. MY gun was lame. Instead of launching paintballs at 250 feet per second like a nice good, obedient paintball gun should, mine was plooping out the pellets at about 25 feet per second, with a max distance of about 30 feet.

Pop... SZZZZING....Bap!

I got shot on the hip by someone from across the room. I was shocked at how stingy it was, even through my denim jeans! Wow!

I decided to raise my hand (indicating I'd been hit) and walk back to the safe zone to 're-up' my life (we each were allowed to lose 3 lives before we were out of the round). I checked my gun to see if I could figure out what was wrong, and then get back into the game. Shaking the gun, wiggling the chamber-post-clear lever thingee (clearly I know my stuff)- all did nothing. Ploop. Ploop... ploop. My paintballs had no umph. I was doomed.

ZING-POP! I got hit in the arm this time... stung again. Man, the other team was good!

"Enough of this lame CRAP!!! It's not right that I've paid the same $25 as everyone else and my gun stinks!"

I decided to go walk over to the Ref, who's supposedly a paid pro at this stuff, and have him solve my gun problem. I raised my hand to indicate I was out of commission for the moment and started to walk over to the Ref to my left at the side of the room.

POPCRACK-SMAACK!!!!

It felt like a rock had hit me in the back of the head at a gazillion feet per second. I was a bit dazed and confused for a brief moment as I felt the back of my neck and head. I'd been hit from behind. From someone on my own team, and MAN did it HURT! I looked back to see how that could have happened and saw one my buddy's daughters sort of slinking behind one of the big cover structures. I had walked right out into her line of fire without realizing it, and she didn't see me in time.

The Ref pulled out the barrel of the gun, did some other things, and in the end couldn't fix it. I had shot about 4 paintballs, gotten shot in the hip, arm and at point blank range in the back of the head in the round and Round 1 came to a merciful end. If there could be an official Round 1 loser, it had to be me. Paintball was so far, zero fun.

In between rounds I was able to get a new gun, go into the bathroom to check my wound to find that it was bleeding amongst the paint, and swelling up like a sand balloon under my skin.

Round 2, much MUCH more cautious. I still got zinged a few times, but I think I must have gotten in a few hits myself with my new gun, which worked great.

Brenner, my son, was in the waiting room after Round 2, crying. He'd been hit in the thigh and it hurt. I was a *tiny* bit empathetic, but reminded him we were playing paintball, and that getting hit was part of the game so man up!

Round 3 we decided to do 'Dads against Kids' for the match up. I had still a ton of paintballs left, so decided I was being way too conservative. I emptied out everything I had, but I was not clear about how many kills I might have had because I got blasted twice right in the eyes and my lenses were smeared. I also got hit on the top of my bare head -- a glancing blow that was luckily only slightly painful compared to the throbbing in the back of my head.

We wrapped things up and went to a barbecue lunch where we all shared our individual war stories, and other injuries were discussed in detail. It was very curious how we all shared these stories of pain with a sort of pride. Each wound had a story. Yes it was painful, but was it fun? Well, yes... it was fun. Did I enjoy it? Yes, I enjoyed it, now that it was over. I still felt the game-- in fact the adrenaline rush had actually left both Brenner and myself a little drained. I still felt the pain, but I enjoyed it in a weird sort of way-- much like eating a jalapeno covered nachos or spicy curry. Good while it's going down, but even a little bit better when it's over.