I'm going to tell you a paintball story today. Paintball is a game that I've often described as 'tempered aggression'.  You have to attack, but you must be smart about it.  It requires killer instinct with calm precision. It's a game where you must be fleet on your feet and aware of your surroundings.  You compute who is where, what their angle is, and how you can shoot them without them shooting you.  It's a game of field dominance.  It is as mental as it is physical, but the physical side is something that brings out the beast in men.  Sometimes.  I've seen best friends fight, I've seen people blow up at each other for almost no reason.  And yes, I have even been caught up in the bullshit in rare times. 

Today was one of those times. 

I've been playing at this field for about 6 years.  I know it well and I'm a good player.  I try to keep my trap shut because I know my game speaks well for me.   In fact almost every week I've gotten a knick-name. Here are some:

Rambo, Captain America, The Assassin, Lighting Bolt, Darth Vader, Robocop, Darkman, even Master Sargent from Halo and the list goes on and on and on.  Call me cocky, I don't care. I'm just telling this story honestly for what it is, and this back story is important in understanding what's to come. Over the years, I alone know most every week people give me a knick-name and it's always one out of respect for my ability. The fact I repeat it now, I'd appreciate it if you as a reader don't get the wrong idea.  Meanwhile if I was full of hubris on the paintball field, I wouldn't last long. 

Having said that, this article will be PG article.  It's not for kids to read.  Most women may not even understand it, although I'm sure you'll have strong opinions.

Every year or so, some asshole gets in my grill (face).  It's been about two years since I've had someone pull this with me and today was one of those unsatisfying moments.  Here is what happened.  I start that day by being assigned randomly on a team and squashing the other side on behalf of my team.   Not because I intended to but it just happened.   As a courtesy I go to the other team after the game and tell the other team that I'll lay back next game as I'm not here to ruin anybody's day.  A moment or two later a couple guys answer back, "Naw man you don't have to do that..." and his voice trailed off with something else.  I kept my word. Next game I offered the team some recon and took a point position directing bodies without being a jerk about it.  I shot three paint-balls in the game and I think the second one was the one that took out their point man.  That was enough for me.  I tried to move people up to attack and enjoy the fun.  And for the most part I only needed to move a couple less aggressive players as I was on a team with what seemed to amount to a bunch of overtly aggressive 20 year old punks from Middletown Delaware mixed with a couple of hopeful intermediates.  It seemed the other side had some newbs and few strong players.  I would later find out how right I was in this assessment. 

Next game I offer to switch sides as I can see my team is aggressive and the other team needs help.  Here is where my story comes into focus.

A buddy of mine named Jeff shows up and they put him on the team I was previously on.  Jeff and I are not allowed to play on the same team as we have equal skill and the field operators don't want to see us demolish everyone else.  We reluctantly accept this decision. We often both play down as to not make people just playing at this field for the first time not want to return.  In this next game I tip him off that he is on a good team.  I know I'll need to step up my game. I like a challenge.  On the break I take a key midfield position.  I shoot one guy in the head and begin to think due to my dominant position I should just relax and take my time.  I decided I'll keep an eye on Jeff.  I didn't do a good job of keeping an eye on Jeff. 

Meanwhile I'm trading shots with a guy that will not post out of his position putting me in a long waiting game. Being posted means to be slightly out of your bunker in a ready shooting position.  You want to be posted so that when your opponent decides to post out, you can then just fire off a couple shots and get a quick head shot.  Essentially I'm posted out on the opposite side of battle waiting for this guy to come out so I can shoot him.  Thirty seconds of waiting can seem a long time.  I waited and waited.  I'm usually very patient.

In my boredom I raised my head just enough and in a rare sloppy moment and gave Jeff a clean shot at my head from the opposing side.  I felt two hit me in the temple and peeking up I could see Jeff delivered the shots.  I underestimated his position which allowed him a clean lane of shooting.  Live and learn.  I called myself out.  I put my hand up out of the bunker and wave a few times that I'm coming out and begin to stand.  A barrage of paint comes at me from other players.  I stand up now calling out, "My hand is up for a reason, I'm out!"  Letting everyone know not to shoot any more. 

Two guys about the age of 20 started cursing at me from the back.  I say 'from the back'  because that is where newbs camp out on the back line. These brave guys start cursing at me, "Yeah you suck, get off the field f'ing asshole."  As soon as that line was delivered there was more.  So as I'm walking off, I say, "Who said that?"  Two guys yell out, "Me!" followed by, "What the fuck are you gonna do about it asshole?" and they continue to curse at me telling to get the F of the field.  Inside me I know after having played paintball for years, I don't need to literally fight with these clowns.  But I quickly sensed the anger being unleashed on me.  Yet my only goal in asking was to know who was popping-off at me?  My immediate reaction was that to put these guys in their place for attacking me with BS, I just need to shoot them next game within seconds and that will shut them up real fast.  I've done it before, I mean I've really done it before.  Like I said, you let your game do the talking.  It's why I get the knick-names.  Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered and humbled, but I'm also deftly aware that in life, paintball is one sport I am good at.   So in short, you need to understand that at this point in my story, I wasn't reacting to their venom with equal anger. I did what guys do, I gave it right back to them.

So I'm walking off the field and now I'm yelling back at these ding-dongs.  "You'll see in the next game what I'm gonna do about it.  I just need to know who to shoot. If you wanna run your mouths, so can I asshole."  Yeah, I said that.  I said this was a PG moment folks.  As I walk off I look at my friends whom are refs.  I tell them, "Justin, if he's gonna pop-off, I have every right to talk smack too.  And besides, I just wanted to know who was running their mouth so I know who to shoot next game."  Justin and Nick give me understanding nods.  Now let me repeat, at this point I'm not mad.  I'm just annoyed.  There is a difference.  If you want an honest story, I'm giving it.  And I do get mad, just not yet.

Just as I walk off off I look back to Jeff, "Good shot man."  I'm really not mad. Still not yet.



The game ends.  And low and behold this asshole comes over and blows up in my face.  I mean he was spoiling for a physical fight and my immediate reaction was not about to back down. Now I'm mad because he's stepped over the line. You don't make smack talk an actual fight.  All he proves is that he can dish it, but he can't take it.   As he comes up, he starts yelling at me as if I don't know he's coming, "Hey! Yeah you..."  he continues. "You f'ing  baby get off the field and no one will shoot at you..."  Mind you I never stopped on the field. I never stopped walking.  Hell... I called myself out! I could have cheated and wiped the paint off. I could have taken cheap and easy ways out.  This guy was a total knuckle-head for trying to portray me as a sore sport that was standing in the field whining.  He goes on calling me names I don't even want to print.  Take my word for it, he was angry because he wanted to be angry and he was smarmy because of his apparent station in life.  What clearly made the situation worse was that I was not the least bit intimidated as both a skilled player and a man which seemed to piss him off more. 

He definitely looked like a guy that enjoyed fighting.  The school bully type.  He continued his rant that basically amounted to false bravado about how I had no skill.  I had no interest in telling him how I could crush him in a one-on-one so I just interject, "For one, all I did was raise my hand calling out that I'm out and that my hand was up for a reason.  You knew enough not to overshoot me!"  (Overshoot means to continue to shoot a man that is obviously out.)

To this his buddy volunteers, "I shot you." 

I didn't have time to laugh because this other hot head idiot was also on the back line (furthest from action) and didn't even have a possible angle on me. I turn my invective on him, "And two! You didn't even shoot me, your not good enough to shoot me, let alone be on the field with me.  Jeff got me. You were camped out in the back like a pussy."  They both started to curse at me of course and I shot back, "Dudes, if you are going to talk smack, you gotta expect it back." 

From this the first guy  begins another verbal assault and body bumps me.  You know, when a guy comes up to you and wants to fight and walks his chest right up to yours and intentionally bumps you in an effort to provoke you.  That's what he did.  I snapped. (Yes now I was mad.)  I Backed up a step put my gun down and said, "OK asshole you want this you got it!"  I peeled off my gloves as fast as I could and slid my mask back letting it drop to the ground.  I did this as fast as I could because I wasn't about to let him take advantage of me.  Justin grabs me as his friends grab him and I announce "Bullshit! This guy can't shoot but he can run his fucking mouth."  Justin reminds us that if we want to fight, we need to leave.  I mutter to myself and others, "Yeah, you're right."  No sooner than the this thing blew up, it was over.  I wasn't looking for a fight in the first place. I'm just not the sort to be pushed around.  Hell, I get enough shit from women that think me being nice makes me a push-over.  And I don't mind that.  Women deserve respect regardless.  But men... we men handle things a different way.  In fact I think this may be why most normal men almost fight or do fight with each other, because we take so much abuse from women in relationships that we know we don't have to take it from another man.  Two men can fight and twenty minutes later have a beer.  Better yet, not hold a grudge.  Women... they'll carry a grudge of little importance for life.  I digress.  But enjoyed saying that. :)

Pride may come before every fall, but we men also know that just standing up to another man is what earns you respect. You don't think about it, it's instinct.  If you don't do it, you are a social pariah among men.  You are branded a coward.  No one talks about it, it just is.  As a man, when a fight comes to your door, you don't ignore it.  

In that moment it was as much about standing my ground as it was just minding my own business.  My father always taught me, "Son, don't start the fight, finish it."  He also taught me to pick my battles.  I knew I'd ace this ass in the next game.  That was the battle I had originally intended.  I had every intention of goggling him.  If you don't know what 'goggling' is, it's when you shoot another player in his goggles (mask). Paint makes it impossible to see and it's a feather in the shooters cap to give another player a facial.   I had already goggled two players today with minimal shots. I was definitely ready to meet this guy in another game again. 

Now I don't know for absolute sure, but he had an attitude like a guy that really just lived to impress without a whole lot of substance.  You know the type guy that drives a muscle car and pours money into an in-car stereo system because he has no actual personality.  In addition, he has some plastic looking girlfriend that is as bubble-headed as he is.  I figured of all people - this guy would want to fight. If nothing else he'd want to show me he was better than me on the field of battle.   

Why do I go to such efforts to describe him? Because for all his talk, he ended up being a major league pussy.  Him and his buddy.  Here is how it ended.

Walking off the field one of his group members came to me.  "I saw that, you didn't do anything wrong out there." Another member of his crew but on my team comes to me... "I hope you don't quit man.  I want to win." I answered him, "The only way you'll lose is if I'm not on the field.  And I'm gunning for him first next game."  He grinned from ear-to-ear. 

I go back to staging.  I talk to Justin.  "Justin, if I do something wrong, toss me and I'll respect that.  But I didn't start yelling profanity as this guy."  Justin said, "It's cool, it's just that if you want to fight you have to leave."  I go on in an effort to give him peace-of-mind.  "I won't say another word to him today. I plan on shooting him anyway and that'll shut him up. I promise, I won't talk to him, period." 

I kept my word.

Everyone leaves to walk up to the speedball field and I come up last.  My mask is on and it's mirrored.  He comes up to me again.  I mean he literally comes up without me having said a word let alone any dirty looks.  Even if I had, you can't see me under my mask.  I was the last person to approach.  He comes over and body bumps me again but this time softly as to intimidate not to fight, "Look dude if you want to play with us, chill."  I say NOTHING.  I stand there. He's blocking my way so I wait a moment and then attempt to walk around him.  He starts again, "No! If you can't take it then you ain't playing! What are you, cross-eyed under there?" (referring to not being able to see my eyes).  He's melting down on the spot.

I now answer very assertively, "Hey man, if you can't offer respect, you are not gonna get it."  This was the final straw I suppose for twinkle toes.  He begins to protest to the refs with his buddy from the earlier game that bitched about me, "We don't want him playing with us.  He plays for free anyway, we don't want him with us."  It's clear to me now he must have been here before.  But he doesn't know that I don't "play for free".

So... I turn to Justin, put my hand out.  "It's cool Justin. It's cool."

Now I handled the situation with some dignity at this point.  What more could I do?  And believe me when testosterone gets going in guys, you ain't thinking about dignity.  But I was thinking about what my next move was.  There was none.  He got the best of me.  I knew one thing, he was afraid if I played now against him, unlike the last game where I was sloppy and Jeff got his kill shot, I'd be gunning for him personally.  Him and his friend.  With me gone, he got be the alpha-dog among his crew again.  He may have removed me from the field by crying to the ref's that he didn't want me to play in his group, but there was no doubt, if that were me and I had a bug up my ass telling another guy he sucked... I'd bring it. I'd WANT TO MEET HIM ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 

I personally was supremely confident I'd take him out 10 times out of 10 if he wanted to come at me. After all I was going to come after him.   But like I said, he took a way out that exposed him as a true wuss.  I say that knowing it's true. I'm not bent out of shape or angry, I'm only disappointed that I didn't get a chance to wax him.  The only way he could avoid the inevitable was to manufacture a reason for me not to play.  He bumped me and I said nothing.  His friend and himself said they didn't want to play with me.  I could have at that moment taunted them and called them pussies etc... I held my tongue.  While I had plenty I could prove, I had nothing to prove to myself.  I can't help but wonder if they'll show up again some day.  When they do, I'll quietly remember.   

NOTE:  The day after, I returned to the fields where I was told my the field operators that upon my leaving the same to guys that ranted on me and couldn't play nice started in on other players and eventually threw a gun down across the counter at the field manager that day.  Perhaps it's better they just never come back.   After all, it really is just a game.  The problem lies in the fact if you bring a 'hot-head' into any game, they ruin the fun for others.