Talk about your very first moments in paintball!
Either it be a war in the backyard, getting bonus balled by regulars while you hold your beat to hell rental gun, or maybe a friend brought you out and let you use his gear.
Share your stories and get a kick out of remembering the past.
In 2004 my friend invited me to his birthday which of course was to go play some paintball. I was 10 years old at the time, dressed in my woodland camo BDUs and a black bandanna sitting shotgun in my dads car. I was quite confused when my dad started pulling into Boomers!, thinking they had a new field inside or something of that sort... dead wrong of course, he kept driving past the building. I look up to see the giant wooden roller coaster that's behind the place STILL with a confused look on my face, but then I saw it. Behind the old roller coaster that's behind Boomers was a small sand air ball field with a small rental equipment shack right and a couple long tables with tenting over them. All I see are regulars, EVEN MY OWN FRIENDS had their own markers. Of course, the idea of playing paintball had me shook, seeing everyone on the field have their own gun had me pissing myself (I was still excited as hell though). My dad takes me up to the rental shack where they handed me a beat to shit TIppmann 98 with some anti-anti fog JT goggles that looked like the lens had been cleaned with sandpaper. Regardless of being the only kid with a rental gun, I was stoked, SCARED... but FUCKING STOKED.
As me and my friends filed onto the field we did a 3 on 3 as the other regulars watched and laughed. I ran to the first can to my left with my heart pounding trying to climb out of my throat. I blind fired like there was no tomorrow. I looked left and right and saw my team mates were taken out, which sucked.. major ass (too much pressure for a 10 year old to handle). Popping my head around the corner, my eyes scanned the field spotting only 2 of my friends were left on the other side. I left my bunker to stand completely exposed as I unloaded as much paint on the deflated dorito they were both conveniently hiding behind. I shot that 98 to my hearts content until I ran out of paint. Which confused me at first, as I looked down at my marker wondering if it was broken my friends popped out of the bunker and shot my right in the mask and on my hopper (I haven't felt the pain yet so I was rearing to go another round). As I took a break to refill my air and get more paint, the regulars went out on the field... as their game ended I was the first at the net to get on the field. (Okay, now rearing the conclusion of my story this is the part where I feel the pain, and I mean FUCKING FEEL IT)
A few friends and I filed onto the field as a handful of regulars followed suit. They pick team captains of course picking me last out of the lineup. Through this game I "spray and prayed" mostly but since I kept myself remotely hidden... guess whose team got shot out making me the last to be in? Me, of course (dammit). A few minutes passed and the regulars still hadn't moved except for the times they tried to entice me by lighting up my bunker. I decided to try and move up by running a long stretch of nothing to a dorito that was farther up ahead. Okay, It might as well had been hunting season cause those regulars were ruthless. As I ran as hard and fast as my little legs could take me half way to my destination I was stopped short by 3 dudes with electronic markers lighting me up and giving teaching me first hand the definition of what bonus balling means. That shit hurt, I'd rather front flip off my scooter naked onto pavement again, I'd rather fall into that jagged concrete hole at some abandoned military base again, I WOULD RATHER RELIVE THAT TIME I LEAPED OFF SOME REALLY TALL CABINET AND BUTT SLAMMED STRAIGHT DOWN ONTO A MATTRESS... except wait, I landed on the carpet instead... which was so worn out it might as well have been concrete. Any who! Back to my memory, I fell to my knees in pain and teared up like no tomorrow but I didn't make a sound. Didn't want everyone to think I was some kind of wuss, so I sucked it up and slowly limped my way off the field with my head hung in defeat. As I went to go sit down my dad gave me a cold water and asked if I was alright., my words exactly (very choked up still with a little bit of tears in my eyes) "Yeah, fine, didn't hurt at all!" He proceed to pat me on the back and tended to my air and paint.
Feeling beyond bummed out I was second guessing paintball, I mean holy shit... who wants to deal with bonus balling dickheads? Might as well sign up to
Pbnation and have my hopes and dreams crushed.... but then I heard it "Hey, you ahright dude?" As I slowly looked up to my surprise it was one of the regulars that was off the field during the game I got murdered. He started to cheer me up and let me use his equipment for a few games, this dude was my very own paintball saint. He explained to me that those dudes were assholes and what they did isn't allowed. He started to explain the more complex rules of paintball to me such as a surrender and the different type of players there were. He hung out with me for the rest of the day, this dude who was 2 times my size and 2 times my age took the rest of his day to coach me on paintball. From that day on I was hooked playing as much as I could whenever I could. Even though for a few months I continued to go back to that field even after finding bigger more efficient fields I never saw that guy again.
For those who read through all that, thanks for taking the time.
Now it's your turn, what was your first experience?
Edited by The_Machine, 04 January 2012 - 08:45 AM.