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I arrived at about 9:15. A couple of people were there and none of us had played before, let alone seen this field, so the owner suggested that we go for a walk and familiarize ourselves with the area. The Playing field was about 1/3 mile square. The boundaries were completely taped off. There was a single hard packed trail that led from the middle of one side to the middle of the other splitting the course into north and south halves. The south side was heavily wooded. There were a few log piles that could be used for cover, and 4í diameter cable spools scattered around as well. The east side of the course had a military style bunker complete with sandbags. In the middle of the course was a small mock-up town consisting of about 15 small plywood buildings. The north side of the course, just past the trail, sloped down sharply about 30 feet into a river flood plane. It was marshy, heavily wooded, and choked with underbrush. There were lots of places to hide. I began to think of strategies, attacks, and counter attacks as I headed back to the parking area to start the day. This was going to be fun.
 
After hearing about the plans and boasts of the other people that were there to play, but had never played themselves, I was ready to see what I could do. At 9:45 the "gung-hos" came to town. They showed up in a new Jimmy, piled out in full cammo, combat boots, and face paint, opened the back of the vehicle, and began to assemble their custom markers. I had heard about this type before. There is always a group of people that train together, buy top of the line equipment, and then show up at open events filled with newbies so that they can hone their skills against inexperienced opponents (i.e. targets). Here I was, my first time playing, with 15 other people that had never played before, listening to these guys bragging about always using a different color of paintball then everyone else so that they know who they had "marked", and the victim knew who he had been eliminated by. If I was on their team, I might be on the winning side more often but how much would I learn watching them clean up? It was clear from the onset that they would work together, independent of the others on their team. They wouldnít even share their experience or strategy with the people that they were playing with. I had heard that some courses would split up groups like this to balance the teams so I waited to see if the umpires would separate the threesome. They implied that they should split during the rules briefing but made it clear that we were the customers and it was up to us. When the question of teams can up, no one stepped up the take charge so the "gung-hos" just randomly picked some of the people standing around so that there was an even number on both sides. So much for balance. They said that we would switch teams latter but I knew that latter would never come.
 
Then the umpires got out the rental equipment. I knew enough about the sport to realize that the paintball markers have various actions like, pump, semi-auto, and full auto. Most fields rented the cheapest equipment available to minimize the start up costs of establishing a field and that usually means: pump markers. Instead, out of their locker came the Stingray II! Daisy had made the relatively inexpensive semi-auto to compete with pump prices and that is what this course had purchased for rental equipment. Good news for the newbies (I think). As each marker came out, it was fitted with a constant air tank, a large capacity ammo hopper, and was checked over by the rental company for working condition. Some of them were put back, some were wiped down and oiled, and some were taken to the chronograph to test the velocity. I asked the question, and was told with pride, that not only did they care of the equipment, but that each marker had been checked for performance in regards to muzzle velocity and reliable feeding. Even better news for the newbies. At least the equipment gave us a chance. Lets get to it, then.
 
Game one. A typical capture-the-flag game. Each side has a flag in their home base on opposite sides of the field. The goal is to get the flag from the opponents base and return it to your base (also known as flag station). The umpires start the teams at opposite sides of the field. Our umpire suggests, "When the horn blows, run foreword to gain as much ground as you can until you see some opponents and then dig in." I started out with a friend, Scott, (we knew working together would be of benefit) to defensively cover the right most boundary of the course. A few minutes in, heart pounding, sweating heavily, I am already tired of waiting. Before I move, two teammates move off to my left and advance down the field slowly. I whisper to Scott that we should advance down the perimeter of the field a few feet apart to cover each other. He starts off, along the perimeter to my right. I wait for him to get up about 30 yards and then start advancing myself.
 
Not two minutes latter, I hear shooting and yelling off to my left and then from in front of me. The two teammates that had passed me earlier are now under fire. I shout/whisper to Scott to fall back and help me hold the attackers but he is out of site and canít hear me. I donít want to yell to him because that would give my presence, if not my position, away to the approaching attackers. I move back a few yards to higher ground and get into position while listening to a constant barrage of heavy fire when I hear, "Iím hit. Out!" then, "Player eliminated". Before I realize that one of the two team mates to my left are out of the game, I hear another, "Out, Out, Player eliminated". My heart is pounding and I am shaking with excitement. Both team mates on my left were just taken out within 20 seconds of each other.
 
I am guessing that the three "gung-hos" are approaching on my left when I see one of them moving slowly in a crouched position below and a little to my right. He is looking towards where the other two players were just eliminated and I am well hidden so I can tell he canít see me yet. I wait as he approaches. His upper body is blocked by a low tree branch when I hear crunching leaves to my left. Firing a quick double tap, I watch with satisfaction as I hit him twice in the leg. Heís OUT! I spin to my left to try to see what had made the noise that I had heard just two seconds before, and I hear two rounds buzz by just before the third slams into my left hip. I am out, five minutes into the first game. There is some small satisfaction in that at least I took someone with me but I am surprised and disappointed that I never did see the person who eliminated me. The adrenaline starts to fade as I realize that for me, this game is over and I head off the field. I wonder where Scott is? The air horn sounds the end of the game about 10 minutes latter. We had lost.
 
Game Two. Same scenario but the sides are reversed. Scott and I rush up the middle this time, about 15 yards apart. He comes under fire and we both hit the dirt. He is lying in a trench behind a tree and I am behind a 3 foot high log pile. I stick my head up to see who is shooting and I see two opponents. One is strait ahead about 30 yards and the other is off to my left about 35 yards. Both point guns in my direction and I duck. For the next 20 seconds I the top log on the pile in front of me is hit with a steady barrage of fire. I hear Scott getting off a few rounds, which is good because I canít even poke my head up. I just pray that he is keeping both of the opponents down or one of them will close on my position and I will take a round at point blank range. They both switch to firing at Scott so I pop up and get a few rounds off at them. Then itís time to duck again as the fire switches back my way.
 
Scott and I are too close together. We canít triangulate fire on either opponent, while either one of them could pin us both down with ease. I hope that they do not figure that out or I am back to looking at that close range shot again. Scott and I continue to alternate fire and eventually (about 1 minute latter), I notice that the return shooting is less intense. Hopping up again I desperately look for both opponents and only see one. Either he was eliminated, which I didnít hear, or moved on to flank us. No time to worry about that now. It was two to one, and with a steady stream of ammo flying at the remaining opponent, one of us tagged him. With nobody else in sight, we advanced on their flag position. As we got closer and closer, I kept expecting someone nearby to jump up and nail us or to take a round in the back from a flanker. It didnít happen and Scott made it to the flag. We decided to make a run back to our base with me running point to flush out the opposition along the way.
 
As we neared our base, we almost took some friendly fire from team mates that were defending it. I was screaming, "Are there any enemies left? Where are they?" Scott was yelling, "Where's our base? Where's our flag?". We had both assumed that the people who were defending now had been there all along. Apparently not. Scott could not find our base because the other team had gotten our flag while we were getting theirs. Now it was a race. A teammate finally pointed out where he had last seen an opponent and I started to head in that direction. He started to shoot and I returned it in kind but he was too far away to be a threat. I started to circle left and hoped that someone on my team would keep him busy when I heard the air horn sounding the end of the game. Scott had found our base and hung the other teams flag. We had won. Thus endeth game two.
 
We had a few minutes to wind down, reload, wipe paint off, and talk about the last game. Then came the strategy talk. People broke up into little groups and discussed what they did wrong, what they did right, and what they would do next time. I approached Scott to try to come up with a pre-game plan when he observes, "I havenít been shot, yet." Uh-Oh. I had learned that in the first game, he had continued around the northern perimeter through the swamp and did not encounter anyone. No point is discussing strategy, now. I didnít even need to ask. He was going strait up the middle until he took fire. Five minutes latter, it was back in the field.
 
Game three. This was a modified capture the flag game. There is only one flag and it is in the middle of the course. The goal is to get the flag and hang it in the opponents base. This variation brings everyone together in the middle of the field and is a little more intense. Scott goes up the middle and I hear him taking fire almost immediately. I started to follow him to the left and then saw some opponents coming down the trail to my right. I began to fall back to take up a defensive position but remembered what had happened in the first game and decided to go in after him. So what if we were flanked. Scott hadnít been shot yet.
 
I could see someone to Scottís right that he was exchanging fire with. I began to circle to my right with Scott on the left. The cover was poor so I slithered into a little trench and began to work my way around. I had not been shot at yet so I doubted that Scottís opponent could see me and I wanted it to stay that way. Before I got any closer I heard, "Out, Iím Out, Owww". Looking over, I see Scott rolling around. He had finally been shot. Unfortunately, the round clipped him in the head above the face mask. Ouch. Now when you are dead, you are dead. It is against course rules to give any information to team members once you have been eliminated. As Scott walks off, he says, "Good luck, Bill". I donít reply because I do not want the guy that tagged him to know my position. I donít have to wait long before he is up and moving. He is in some brush and starting to move away from me. I knew that I would have to put a lot of paint into the air if I was going to get a shot through. I had been seeing paint balls shatter when hitting leaves and small branches so I would need to get one through the brush without hitting any obstacles. It was just a matter of statistics. Shoot enough rounds and some should get through. I fired a pattern with my little semi-auto that would have made a veteran machine gunner proud. "Hit, Out. Player eliminated."
 
I jumped up and started to circle to my left. I stepped around a bunker and not 35 yards away was another opponent. We surprised each other. Now remember the comment about eliminated opponents not speaking to team mates. This was the guy that had eliminated Scott. While he was engaged with the person I could see, this guy came in from Scottís left and had an easy shot against an opponent that could not see him. Scott knew that I was unaware of the new opponent that had eliminated him but could not tell me he was there. I am guessing that he could hear the exchange between me and guy I eliminated but couldnít see me so he stayed put. Thus the reason for my total surprise when I found myself face to face with him.
 
There was no cover between us. I froze. Well, not really froze, my finger was tap dancing on the trigger of my marker but I was standing still, out in the open. He was doing the exact same thing. 35 yards is beyond the optimal accuracy for the guns that we had, so I could hear his rounds whizzing past me and see mine hitting everything but him as we stood blasting away at each other. An eternity latter (about 3 seconds), an umpire who had been watching this exchange declared me out and the firing stopped. I looked down and saw that my hands and arms were covered with paint splatters. I knew that I was pumped up but I donít remember getting hit. Then I noticed that my gun was also covered with paint. I must have taken a round in the gun. Still, an elimination according to the rules. I looked up and noticed that both the umpire and the other player were checking him out for paint. It is possible in a situation like this to have two players eliminate each other and the umpire was expecting exactly that. While he was covered in splatters, both the umpire and the player were amazed not to find any direct hits on him. There was a small sapling next to him with a few small branches between us that had apparently taken the brunt of my assault. Oh well, the fortunes of war and such. I headed off the field to clean up and get ready for the next game.
 
Game four. Same as three except we reversed sides. I took point with Scott close behind. I headed right for the southern boundary and took fire. Looking back I couldnít see Scott. Oh well, mono a mono. I was a pro (I had played for almost 2 hours now and was quite a veteran at this you know). Fire a few rounds, run to the next tree, fire a few more. I was going to flank this guy all by my self. Who needed cover fire anyway? One shot buzzing past my neck brought me out of GI Joe land. I bit the dust, lying on my stomach behind a tree, head pointing at the opponent, feet pointing away. It was at that point that someone else decided my prone form was a great target and I began taking fire from off to my left, that was landing close to my feet and getting closer. I assumed that my feet were the only thing visible to the new assailant so I slithered into a squatting position behind my current tree. Well, that sort of worked, because the guy on my left stopped shooting at me, but my new squatting position made me slightly wider than the tree I was behind and I started taking fire from shooter number one again. Up and running, moving away from shooter number two, I was still trying to get around shooter number one. It was a long way to the next tree and I could hear each shot flying behind me getting a little closer. Diving for a trench behind a tree I landed hard and tried to find my opponent. He had not moved and was still taking pot shots at me in his leisure. Lying flat, he couldnít see my in the trench, but every time I raised my head or my gun he fired a few more rounds. That makes 0 for 2 in the old prone position. No more lying down for me. In the course of trying to maneuver in my little trench without exposing any body parts, I failed. Thwack, a shot to the shoulder. Hit. Thwack, THWACK. Hits to the arm and temple. HIT, OUT, Dead, Eliminated already!. OWWwwww. That head shot hurt. Five minutes into game four I was out. I was in pain, had paint all over the side of my head, and had not even eliminated anyone. I figure that if I can take someone out before I go out, I have at least contributed to the team. This time I came up empty.
 
Game five. Same format as game four but with different boundaries. Well, Scott had finally been hit at least once (I never did find out where he went in the last game), so I thought the foolish bravado was over. Someone said, "Hey, maybe we should just make a dash for the flag when the horn blows." Guess who volunteered? Guess who got shot 20 seconds into the game? Scott. He was off, dashing and dancing, bobbing and weaving, running and jumping. He made it to the opposite flag station, snatched the flag from the holder, started to run back. Thwack. Shot in the foot. Being a better sport than I, he took it quite well. Had it been me, running all that way, dodging all those shots, and actually getting the flag just to be shot in the foot on the way back would have frustrated me to the point of tears. Technically, he had another reason to be unhappy as well. How many people were shooting at him? Enough so that you could not hear a 200 plus pound man crashing through the woods because of the constant drone of the shots being fired at him. Why was everyone firing at him? Because everyone on our team, including me, stood right were we were, back by our base, watching him tear through the woods towards the flag and the opposing team, alone. There was no cover fire from us at the opposing team and they had no other targets besides Scott. Had some of us gone with him and provided some diversion, it might have been different. That is called learrrrn-neeeeeng-cuurrrrve. Anyway, here I am in game five, 20 seconds in, without a partner, again. Now in the first four games, the only time I lasted to the end of the game is when we stuck together. His getting shot puts a damper on my playing time. This is going to come up at the next strategy meeting!
 
I headed for the southern boundary. I hoped that if I can put my back to a boundary at least I couldnít be flanked. If I could dig in, I might also be able to keep the opponents from circling to my base from that side. I took position behind a spool and waited. I no sooner get into position when I hear shots go whizzing by. I look around but do not see the shooter. Nor do I see any other targets so I must be the intended recipient. The question becomes, do I move left or right around my cover? I must be partially exposed because someone is shooting at me. If I choose the wrong direction I will be completely in the open and get shot. I decided to stay put. If he was missing, maybe he would continue to miss until I could find him. Fortunately, he got impatient and moved. I saw the motion and got a couple of shots off while angling fully behind the spool. He was lying on his stomach in a depression, behind a tree (where had I seen this before?). I couldnít see him while he was down but every time he poked his head up I air mailed some paint his way. He was at about 35 yards, which is where the ammo started to drop like a rock. I stood there wondering if it would be against the rules if I rolled the spool I was hiding behind in his direction to get closer without ever exposing myself. If I couldnít get a clean shot as I approached, I could roll it at him and take him out when he got up to get out of the way. Ethical? This is war. A quick check to confirm that there were no umpires in sight and I was in business. Fortunately for him, I launched a few more shots in his direction and noticed that they were dropping in pretty close to his trench. I might not be able to see him but I could lob some paint in. Isnít that the way mortars work? I walked the rounds right in on top of him. "Iím hit, Out". That was that. I wonder what he was thinking as he heard the shots slowly getting closer.
 
The strategy now was to keep low and wait for someone to come into range without them knowing that I am there until after they have been eliminated. Easily said. The problem is to know when someone is coming without bobbing my head up over my cover. You wouldnít believe how loud it is on the course. Besides the mask covers the ears. While a great safety feature, it makes it hard to hear things. So, there I was, trying to remain hidden, hoping someone would come my way, bobbing my head above my cover every 20 seconds or so, hoping that no one would sneak up to the other side of my cover while I was down. Blasting away, toe to toe, at 35 yards in the last game was frightening. I was not looking forward to a 6 foot showdown that would surely leave both of us with serious welts. While I was wondering about this, I almost get shot by a team member that I scared the daylights out of when I popped up just 15 yards behind him. He had closed to within that distance from out of sight in the 20 seconds that I was down. If he had picked my spool instead of that tree, surprise and instincts would have taken over for caution in both of us. Serious welt time, and from friendly fire, too.
 
The teammate on my right, weíll call him "Bozo" from now on, started taking fire. He did nothing. The person shooting at him was out of range so I watched while trying to plan a flanking maneuver. It was then that I noticed he was carrying the flag. So much for flanking, it was time to intercept. I yelled to Bozo that he had the flag and that he should circle back to our base. Nothing. I yelled that I was going back and that he should cover me. Still nothing. The flag carrier, knowing that there were two of us and thinking himself in danger from Bozo and I, took off towards our base. He was already close and had a 50 yard head start on me. I yelled for Bozo to follow as I past him. Nothing, again. Another 100 frantic yards and I see the flag carrier drop behind some trees in front of me and off to the left. He was taking fire from someone inside of my teamís base. Someone who had just saved us from losing the game. I snuck up on the flag carrier and it was an easy matter to take him out. I was primarily concerned about getting shot by the base defender when I went to the flag. I didnít get shot so he must have been paying attention. The little ribbons that we wore as team identifiers are hard to spot.
 
An umpire yells, "Two minutes!" Back the way I came, hoping that the southern boundary that I had just come from was still clear. The plan was to stick to the perimeter all the way to their base. "Hey Bozo, I have the flag. Take point." Still nothing. He just wasnít going to move. I really thought about having a little friendly fire incident but the umpire yelled, "30 seconds!" I could see the base about 100 yards away. No defenders in sight. That didnít mean anything. I never saw the defender that saved our base. Up and running for all that I was worth. The defender started shooting while I was 50 yards from the base. I didnít see him nor did it matter. With a few seconds left I couldnít engage him. 40 yards. The shots are really getting close. He is getting my timing. At thirty yards I am hit twice, once in the shoulder and once in the back. I still never saw him. Ten seconds after I drop the flag and start to walk out, the air horn signals the end of the game. The flag was never hung. It was a draw.
 
Back in the parking and supply area, I start asking the two umpires about the differences in the quality of the guns. They played often themselves and owned their own equipment. The question, "Since the muzzle velocity is limited to 300 fps, all guns can shoot the same speed, and we are shooting the same ammo. Why would someone pay $1000 for a semi-auto when there are $100 versions as well?" The answer, "Better guns give you more range and accuracy." Now wait. I studied physics. If two guns shoot the same round at the same speed. Both rounds have the same energy, both will be affected equally by gravity, and both rounds will have the same air resistance. They should have the same range and accuracy. The umpires were undaunted by my facts. "Our barrels are better." One umpire held up his gun and it had a very pretty barrel, indeed. It was chrome plated, ported, and had a muzzle break. So what? I kept getting back to basics. Same projectile and same speed means same weight and same air resistance. It is just a co2 version of my muzzle loader shooting identical round ball ammo. The only difference, besides the propellant being black powder, is that the muzzle loader has a rifled barrel. Ooops. Muzzle loaders did not always have rifled barrels. Some physicist suggested that cutting shallow grooves in a barrel would do two things. First, it would provide a better seal between the barrel and the lead ball. That would let less gas escape around the bullet making it more efficient. It would also prevent the bullet from bouncing down the barrel from one side to the other, making it more accurate. Secondly, if the grooves were cut in a spiral pattern, it would start the ball rotating as it went down the barrel. That would stabilize the ball in flight and give it more range and accuracy. Ever see a football thrown by a pro? The spiraling of the strings is easily seen as the ball arcs through the air, relatively strait. The same ball thrown by a beginner, wobbles. OK, I was making their case for them even if they didnít know the physics behind it. I kept my mouth shut about accuracy, distance, and barrels. "Well then why not get a good barrel for a cheap gun? What else makes them different?"This is a subject that they were more familiar with. In any paint ball gun, there are some common components. There is the barrel (discussed earlier), feed mechanism (how ammo gets into the barrel, single shot, semi-auto, and full-auto), propellant (gasses like air, co2, and nitrogen that push the ball down the barrel), and trigger (system of parts that coordinate the feeding with the propellant). Combining these components in different ways with different qualities provide many different guns, all of which perform differently. Got it? During this whole discussion, one of the owners had gotten out a new gun called an Automag. There was normally a higher rental rate at the course to use this gun instead of the one that they originally gave me, but because I was so interested they let me have it at no extra cost to see the performance differences for myself. It pays to ask.
 
Game six. Speed ball. Capture the flag with one flag that you must get to your opponents base. The difference? We played in the town. Everyone was at close range, and except for the buildings, there was no cover in the town. No trees to hide behind, no trenches to slither through, and no brush to catch paint. Nothing. This is open territory. The rules allow for you to circle outside of the town, but the flag and the bases are both within it.The horn sounds and paint starts to fly immediately. Scott runs up all of 10 feet, comes under fire, and takes cover behind a building. He was effectively pinned down and there was nothing that I could do from where I was or where he was. I suspected that the enemy was already working around our flank so I circled around behind our end of town and looked for a place to wait for them. All the while I am looking over my shoulder wondering if anyone will make it through the town and get me from behind. A team mate had the same idea as me and took position to my left and a little farther into the woods. That was OK because I would be protecting his side so he couldnít be flanked. He started taking fire but I could not see who was shooting at him. Sneaking around the side I still could not see anyone. We were 25 yards apart. People were shooting at him and not at me. One more quick scan of the area did not reveal anyone to engage so I decided to circle the town, hugging its perimeter, and seeing if I could surprise anyone.
 
A short 20 yard dash brought me to a small bunker that I jumped into. I still had not come under fire and was about to move again when I heard, "Surrender!" Spinning back I saw an opponent not 10 yards away on a dead run at my position, gun leveled at my chest. Since that had been my back less than a second ago, realizing that he could have taken the shot and did not, not being in any kind of defensive position, gun pointed in the wrong direction, and being in serious welt range, I surrendered. I had been just plain beaten. Out smarted and out maneuvered. For a man with just as much ego as intelligence, I could admit that I had been outclassed but that didnít mean that I had to like it. I wanted to know how. I had checked the direction he came from just before heading for the bunker. He had to have been close but he hadnít shot me previously. What had just happened. He explained that I had surprised him as he was crawling around to get a shot at my team mate. He was behind some brush and I was behind some cover so he didnít have a shot and didnít know if I could see him. As I circled in his direction, he just lay still figuring that if I had seen him I would have fired already, and since he wasnít in a position to fire in my direction, he thought that moving would reveal his position and I would get him before he could get a shot at me. When I stopped, turned, and ran the other way, he immediately jumped up and followed me to the bunker, anticipating that my own footsteps would cover the sound of his. He was right, I had lost. The worst thing was that I had not even fired the new gun yet. Well, since I now had time on my hands, that was something that I could remedy. Off to the firing range.
 
I mentioned earlier that the course had a chronograph set up. They also had a little firing range in the same area so I thought I would compare the Automag with the Stingray that I had been using earlier. I got up to the chronograph and pulled the trigger. There was the pop of the co2 in an empty barrel. OK, a fluke loading problem. I tried again. Still no paint leaving the gun. I started to examine the gun and noticed that the hole in the barrel that accepts the balls from the hopper was out of alignment. The barrel had turned and was not feeding any balls. The good news was that I had discovered this before the next game. The bad news was that I was essentially unarmed during that last game. Scary thought. Without return fire to keep the wolves at bay, you are just asking to take close shot, especially in speedball. Before I can shoot some more to get a feel for the gun, the next game is starting.
 
Game seven. Another speedball game. My team is on the other side of the town. The horn sounds and I stand back to see what the other team does. Most of my team mates run forward to take up positions in the town shooting at players at the other end of town. I see some people circling to the left and a billboard sized plywood mock up of a store front. I figured that shooting out one of the windows would give me some great cover. Actually, I thought it would be the best cover I have had so far. I could stand up, take cover by moving left or right, and change my angle to the perspective target quickly. Unfortunately, I was thinking two dimensionally. I had perfect cover in a 180 degree arc. I was also perfectly open in a 180 degree arc. Now the store front was at the south side of the town and the people I was focused on had circled south and were coming north towards my position. Now if I was at the south edge of the town, facing south, that meant that my back was exposed to everyone in the town. Imagine the surprise of the opposing team when they saw someone run out and stop within plain sight. I was hidden from the flanking team that I was concerned with, but unprotected from anyone in town. I doubt that any of them considered how easy it is to get tunnel vision with those goggles on, or that I took up the best position possible to single handedly hold off the 3 advancing flankers from their team. No, they just opened up. I took fire from at least 3 people at under 30 yards. Do I need to mention that I was eliminated? Lets recap this last game, shall we? Did I eliminate one of their players? No. Did I hold some key strategic point? No. Did I provide a distraction so that my team mates were able to eliminate other players, fall back to better defensive positions, or locate otherwise hidden players? No, no, NO! What I did do was break Scottís 20 second record. The fastest elimination on the field for that day now stands at about 10 seconds. I discovered that I do not like speedball. Staying pinned down in one position and trading shots with other people a few yards away until someone gets lucky is not my idea of fun. I also set another field record, the most simultaneous hits taken within a game. Fortunately, everyone stopped shooting, close to when I yelled, "HIT", not that it wasnít obvious to anyone watching. Unfortunately, I stood there with ammo raining down on me for a few seconds. Half a dozen crazed people in a game of speedball with semi-automatic paint guns seeing a target out in the open can put a lot of paint in the air. Game over for me.
 
Regardless of the fact that I had only been playing for 3 hours and the last two games did not last that long, or at least I did not last that long, I was tired. It was time to go home. Was I having fun yet? I had a blast. Will I go again? Absolutely. Did I learn anything? Yes. Wear a long sleeve shirt with a collar and a bandanna or scarf to cover your neck. Gloves and boots are also a plus. Lay down only to hide, not to take cover. A tree will only provide cover against 1 person directly opposite of you, everyone else can see and shoot at you. Do not shoot more than necessary. If a person is behind cover or out of range, you are only wasting ammunition and advertising your position. Always take cover that you can move from. Getting boxed in and then surrounded is a sure way to wind up in welt range. Speaking of that, when in doubt, surrender. You are paying for the time and you are there to have fun. While getting hit with a paintball is not traumatizing, it is not enjoyable either. If you are out of paint or even surrounded and you are going to lose anyway, give up. There is always the next game. There is a lot more, but some things you will have to learn on your own . . . .
 
Copyright 1997, Bill Anderson, no part of this article may be reproduced or retransmitted without the express written permission of Bill Anderson. All rights reserved.