Thursday, February 25, 1999
Paintballing has moments of pain, glory
RECREATION: Fake wars can be fun, just be sure not to shoot your
friend
By Steve Kim
Daily Bruin Senior Staff
Splat.
I’m shot! Soldier down, soldier down!
Wait, I’m no soldier. Okay, rewind and start over from the
beginning.
The sun had just risen, the morning was new, the air smelled of
… cows.
I knew paintballing fields were far away from the city, but I
didn’t expect one to be next to a dairy pasture. We were to have a
natural experience for all senses, I guess. It didn’t matter,
though. We were about to go into battle.
Several of my friends, or shall I say comrades, convened at a
designated paintballing facility ready to fight for our cause, our
life and damn it, our country.
Our pride was quickly deflated, however, as we drove into a
parking lot full of camouflage outfitted, heavily armed, serious
looking soldiers. And there I was, thinking like I was ready to
intimidate with an all-black ninja look.
My comrades and I seemed like the only ones without a camouflage
garment and our own paintballing guns. This was getting too
serious, too fast, and I wanted to retreat. I could pretend to be a
ninja commando some other day.
After sign-in – and gun and mask rental – I realized we weren’t
the only ones who came unequipped, although most of the 400 or so
paintballing enthusiasts brought their own stuff.
We were previously advised to at least buy our ammunition –
paintballs – in advance, since that would save us some bucks. We
found each beginner uses about 500 rounds a day, a lot more than I
thought.
All the visitors – correction, men and women of arms — were
crowded into a camp pit where the announcer, a former military
soldier, gave us an introductory speech from a tower. I decided to
identify him as our general, the head honcho. Now, we’re really
getting into it. Too much.
A lot of pre-battle tension was dismissed when the general
insisted, "This is not a war. I repeat, this is not a war. It’s
just a game so those of you with war faces on, ready to kill
somebody, lighten up."
Whew, what a relief to know we won’t die from this, although the
general warned that any negligence or intentional close-range
shooting could lead to permanent bodily damage or death. Hopefully,
they say that just for liability concerns.
The mob was split into three groups – those with pump guns (a
smaller crowd), those who were beginners on semi-auto guns and
those who were more experienced with their semi.
Off to what organizers called "Beirut" with a flood of
Semi-Betas. We beginners were split in two groups to battle each
other. The objective was to get the other group’s flag, but with
more than a hundred people, our first game was chaotic.
Beirut had wooden planks that were supposed to mimic structural
hideouts. All I could do was sit behind a plank and sneak my head
out once in a while to shoot the enemy on the other end of the
field while trying to avoid being shot. There were gunshots
everywhere and you could occasionally hear a paintball whizzing by
in close proximity.
Oh no, one of my teammates is shot. Out of the game for my
comrade, bye bye.
I wondered if that hurt. I heard it hurts to get hit with one of
those marble-sized paintballs, and it’s not rare to get a bruise or
two by the end of the day. Well, Boy Wonder here was distracted by
that thought when he got to feel for himself.
Smack! Right on the back of my head!
My mask protected my face but not the back of my head, as I
found out the hard way. And seeing how there couldn’t be any enemy
behind me so early in the game, I realized I was caught in friendly
fire.
So did it hurt? Yes and no. It was an instant sting, as if
someone flicked you hard with his finger. But the afterpain was
minimal. There was a bright blob of gooey paint stuck to my hair
but that rinsed away with water.
Now that I knew, I had nothing to fear. We all went out with
some guts in the next game, in "Vietnam." But wait, my rental gun
kept malfunctioning on me. I had to get it fixed and all that
precious combat time was wasted away at the rental shack. Just my
fate. At least I didn’t get hit.
"Iraq" was the same story. Gun problem. This would have been
unacceptable in real combat.
Something funny, though. I noticed numerous gangs of 10-year-old
boys trooping around in their miniature commando outfits. But don’t
let their little bodies and squeaky voices deceive you. They were
the toughest by far. They were the only ones with enough guts to go
all out and lead charges. Even when they didn’t want to, we found
they were easily persuaded to go out on a limb with some yelling
and commanding.
One time there was this kid who didn’t want to charge. This man
instructed, "Yes you can. Get out there. You can do it!"
And the poor little boy was like, "But I can’t, Dad!"
As you can see, some people really get into it; or should I say,
get their kids into it.
It was 2:30 p.m. — correction, 14:30. The end was near. We had
played eight games in four countries and we were definitely battle
weary. The setting sun glared on our masks and caused them to fog
up, which was horribly distracting.
But the end was near and we wanted to get our money’s worth by
going all out for the last two games. The final battle site was
"Korea and Germany." Hmmm, I did not know Korea and Germany were so
geographically close to each other. In the world of paintballing,
they apparently are.
The whistle blew and the battle began. And yes, our team
definitely had the edge, because we had all those 10-year-olds
charging and advancing our front.
But oh crud, my teammates’ ammo started running out. Pretty
soon, so did mine. We should’ve filled up plenty in advance.
And I got shot again. This time on the elbow, and it hurt. It
felt like a rock. It was more painful on my elbow than it did on
the back of my head for some reason. Weird, I guess it hurts more
on certain body parts.
The pain went away in half a minute, although a bare-armed,
tee-shirted teammate of mine suffered much more with a bruise on
his arm when he got hit.
Thus, our final battle ended rather anticlimactically. We found
war is not all guts and glory and neither is paintballing. What an
experience, though, seeing paintballs rush by your face and making
your heart skip a beat. Consider me a veteran.
There were many soldier wannabes, with crew cuts and some hard
core accessories. But then again, there were also children, women,
businessmen and the unemployed all together in one team, one
battle.
So my point is paintballing isn’t just for the battle starved.
All you need is an adventuresome spirit and a really thick jacket.
Prepare for battle, and some really sore legs.
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