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This one time at paintball camp....

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    This one time at paintball camp....

    So Chappy recently made a post that reminded me of a paintball story I have that I don't think I've ever told you guys. But I figured, I can't be the only one with a good tale from the trenches so. Here's your chance, what happened on(or off) the field that you think makes a good story?

    ************

    This is the story of how Miley Cyrus assisted the German army to secure victory in operation Michael Jackson

    Ok d day, 2015

    (This first part is mostly background for people who don't know what that game is like)

    It's HOT, 105° or thereabouts through the whole week by mid day so because of that the games are typically run in the morning and wrap up by noon or 1. This leaves a large part of the day to hang out in camp and chill. But because the event is so long (6 days) you are left trying to strategize. Each team runs radio towers and a dedicated radio shack that is full of radios. Idk if it was true but I heard there was more radio traffic during the d day game than there is when the US military takes over a city. It's a lot, each team is making their own transmissions, listening to the other team and sometimes making fake transmissions. So if you can mess with the other team by causing them to waste time on the radio, that's a small win. Wasted time on the radio means they may miss some important radio chatter.

    But what could we do on the field that would get them talking on the radios about our shenanigans? I think someone mentioned "let's build a fake tank" but we only had 2 days left so that was out but got someone else thinking. What about fake people? Mannequins? Well as a shock to nobody, there's no mannequins R us in small town Oklahoma. But what you can get on short notice is.... We'll just call them "inflatable people".

    Yes ok, we used blow up dolls in a paintball game. The look on their faces said they were very surprised to be in a paintball game as well. All females of course and because it was a family event we did have to dress them. Trusty duct tape gave them tube tops and skirts. Somewhere along the way we named this whole plan "Operation Michael Jackson" I think because we were trying to be smooth criminals or something. It was hot, our brains were melted give me a break

    One of the girls got named Miley Cyrus, she was found to be sleeping "next to" one of the guys in our little section of camp in the RV. For the most part we wanted to keep the girls out of sight.

    Saturday, D day comes and at least 2 of the girls make it out to the field. Our friend Miley makes it into the church building to the 2nd floor where she is posted up in a window.

    From here I wasn't sure what happened other than I heard one of our guys, Tank, was hiding behind Miley at some point and using her as cover. Miley was taking an absolute pounding (dun dun tss) taking pod after pod of allies balls, mainly to the face

    So the game goes on, 8 hours and I don't hear much, kind of forget about them. We get back to camp and I see our radio shack guy and remember we had sent the girls out. He sees our group and gets the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Of course he has been listening to the allies transmissions all day and we all ask what he knows. He says "guys you are not going to believe this. Apparently not only did the allies find the dolls and were talking about them on the radio, a small group of them got ahold of one, took it to a ref and tried to turn it in thinking it might be a secret objective. Naturally it wasn't but not only did they not get points for it, the refs actually penalized them for basically wasting the refs time"

    Gather round for the final score presentation. I don't remember what the exact totals were but they were in the thousands. A close game is decided by a few hundred points each way, 2015 was the closest game ever at that point and was decided by 5 points if memory is correct.

    So I don't know what penalty the refs gave that group of allies, but if it's 5 or more points, our messing around and having fun trying to screw with the other team literally won us that game.

    Good times

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    #2
    Damn, blow-up dolls on the field is definitely a new one on me.

    Anyhow, I think mine was the tag-out that cemented my love for the PGP. At the woodsball field I frequented back in the 90s, once in a while we'd get speedballers down from Canada looking to play with us. Most of them were nice guys (the "polite Canadian" stereotype exists for a reason) but one time we got a jerk-jock trash-mouth from Vancouver who thought he was hot stuff because he'd played for money and had spent a ton of cash on his gear.

    Admittedly his Autococker was choice, if IMO a bit gaudy; I've never liked splash finishes, and this guy had like four colors on his. It looked like a unicorn had puked on it. Anyhow he kept bragging about how much he'd spent on his rig and all the features it had. Me being a poor teenager who was also a bit of a brat, I eventually got irritated and dug my PGP out of my gear bag, making it my mission in life to pop this guy with it. I spent $20 on it, so I figured me splatting him with a cheapass outdated relic would piss him off.

    It did take me all day (and he lit me up a few times with his fancy paint-hose) but eventually I came up behind him when he was in a bad place; he was trapped behind a stump that didn't quite offer reasonable cover and several people downrange were absolutely going to town on their triggers, trying to land a ball on various bits of him that were sorta sticking out. Well, from 20 feet away I took careful aim with my PGP and let one fly at his ass...with his pants stretched tight. The Peegie did it's job, planting one right on his left butt-cheek. He yelped and sat up - right into no less than three active streams of paint.

    The really funny part; when he walked off the field with a paint spat on his butt and a mask covered in goo, the field owner laughed and said, "Looks like someone was Lucky Pierre* today". Everyone in the staging area absolutely lost it, and that dude got nicknamed "Pierre" on the spot. He was not happy, and we never saw him again after that day. This story is one of the many, many reasons why I will never sell my PGP.

    *"Lucky Pierre" is old gay slang for the...uh...'middleman' in an all-male three-way.

    Comment


      #3
      I think the ION story I have can only be told in the members section. I know I can’t be the only one who witnessed the on stage shenanigans. It involves a stripper a double shot glass and a field full of drunks. It definitely happened I think because I’m not the only one that witnessed it.

      The next day the stripers were playing in a thong I just had to leave my mark on them cheeks. She was on my own team but I couldn’t resist. My mark was forever recorded in infamy on one of the HK promo videos.

      Comment


        #4
        The year was 1996, and a 24 hour wayne dollack game was happening in july at Skirmish.My brother and I were on our second tour of skirmish and were so impressed with “operation slingshot” the year before, we convinced our team to attend as first timers. We arrived at a local campground on Friday and a hurricane was blowing in from the south. The rain poured all night, and into the next day. The game would not be stopped and several hundred players marched into the playing field to their respective bases. I remember thinking the poconos now looked like the florida everglades.no visible land, just water with trees popping out. Water was up to my knees marching in, and the streams were raging. We were saturated but played on and had a blast. Sunday was the total opposite in weather with sunshine and land. Infiltrated the enemy base at game end and were eliminating the other team with their backs to us as they fought our main forces. Like shooting ducks in a barrel. Have never experienced anything like that since, good times. Lol

        Comment


          #5
          I don't have the big game or tourney experience most of you have, but one of my favorite stories was an outlaw game very early in my career. Deep winter, there was probably 18" of fresh, fluffy snow down over nearly a foot of older snow. Game was one of the first of the day.

          We were having trouble slogging through that much snow, so that first (ish) game was 'defend the fort.' Half the guys- five or six- holed up in a two-story ramshackle treefort we'd built, while the rest of us came in from the outside. The game was over when either we got everyone out of the fort, or someone from the outside could touch the fort, unmarked.

          Now, two things: This was far enough back that most of us had pumps- I think the only semis were an Illustrator and first-gen Automag. I had a TASO Spartan.

          The other thing was that even back then I was a bit of a tinkerer, and I'd polished up the internals and played with the springs, etc.

          I also gave it a trigger job. Except I kind of overdid it. It wasn't just a smooth trigger, it was a hair trigger.

          So there we were, me and one or two other guys, coming up on what we considered the "main face" of the fort. Good cover- the field was quite brushy, and there was a huge bush we used for cover. The fluffy snow basically turned it into a lumpy dome.

          I was in the lead, and just about to come around an edge to see the fort, when my gun goes off. I'd swear I didn't touch the trigger, but I might have- in any case, it went off without me intending to. It's also hanging by my side, only vaguely pointed in the fort's general direction- and we're all, of course, still behind the snow-covered bush.

          Anyway, the gun goes off, the ball goes into the bush... and I hear "Out! from the fort.

          I fired, accidentally, due to a poor trigger job, without aiming- without even yet being able to see the others, or, for that matter, even holding the gun up in a ready-to-shoot position- and the ball sails through 12 feet or more of bush, including a total of about three feet of fluffy snow... and goggs the guy with the Illustrator.

          First shot of the game, possibly (I can't recall exactly) first shot of the DAY.

          We talked about that one for years.

          Doc.
          Doc's Machine & Airsmith Services: Creating the Strange and Wonderful since 1998!
          The Whiteboard: Daily, occasionally paintball-related webcomic mayhem!
          Paintball in the Movies!

          Comment


            #6
            Here's an old tale I know I've shared before, but that's all pre-reboot so we better get it here for prosperity and for the new members.

            Big game at a local field. Not one of their BIG big games, I think a smaller monthly one. Not quite as many people, so everyone is really spread out. I'm walking down a main trail towards one of the objectives and someone hiding behind a large oak tree ahead on the side of the trail fires a few shots my way. They miss and I duck behind cover. We trade a few shots back and forth for a bit, and someone else on my side comes down the trail . We have the following conversation...

            "Hey! Take cover! There's someone ahead one the trail", I shout.

            The other guy ducks behind a brush pile and says, "Thanks, where is he? I don't see anyone."

            "About 130 ft or so ahead, right side, the big oak", I reply.

            Other guy sticks his head up, almost getting gogged, and says, "Where? Which tree?"

            I can't help thinking is this guy serious? It's pretty damn obvious. "The big oak! The one someone is shooting out of", I say.

            "Wait, I think I see him" he responds, but proceeds to shoot at a small tree and bush on the LEFT side of the trail, where obviously there is no one.

            "Not there, the one on the RIGHT! The the great big tree!" I reply getting a bit exasperated.

            "Which one?!?" he implores, getting frustrated himself.

            "Look", I say, proceeding to shoot a slow steady series of shots (pak... pak... pak...) "See where I'm shooting right now? That tree right there. He's peeking out the left. You should be able to see his hopper and goggles."

            "I can't tell. Where is he!"

            At this point I reach into my pack for a fresh pod of PMI Evil yellow, dump it fully into the Halo perched majestically on top of my 04 Viking, limber of my speedball trained fingers, and let the WAS board sing. (PakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPak... one hopper full later. ...PakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPakPa kPak).

            And very calmly with a grin on my face I say, "The yellow tree."

            "Oh! That tree. Yeah I see him now."

            Comment


              #7
              And speaking of pumps with a bit of trigger work, my first year playing, with my first pump, at my first regular organized field. An old indoor place down in central Illinois. Former Air Force base that was decommissioned and sold to the town, in a building that was an old communications depot, bread bakery, and officers mess hall. The whole building pretty much gutted into a big open area with a 3 ft thick concrete floor, with small stacks of hay bales as bunkers. I'm out there with my lowly Talon, which I'd resprung to actually get good field velocity without losing too many shots per 12 gram, and I gave the sear a bit of a polish as long as I had it apart. I believe I has also added a bit of an extension to the 12 gram knob on the thing since those tend to stick and get really difficult to unscrew. I have a 45 round hopper on top and a handful of 12 grams in my pocket. I bring it out for open play, the field a mix of the usual assortment of blowback semi's. I'm a regular at the field at this point so I know all the tricks and angles of the field so I was able to get pretty far up the left side of the field. I'm trading shots with a guy literally at the next bunker. The ref is leaning against the wall right next to me keeping an eye on the situation. I pop a shot out the left side, he's there shooting 3 at me. I pop a shot out the right, he's there with 3 more. Ok, time for a bit of a risky move, I rack the pump and I'll pop out the top of the pile of hay bales. As I clear the top, nope, there he is, already firing. I very, very quickly drop down. I drop so fast my little hopper doesn't quite keep up. It falls off my gun, or more precisely my gun fell out from under my hopper, and the hopper lands a few feet outside my bunker. It's within arms reach, but that's a risky grab. I'd be totally exposed. So I take a second to go over my options. Can't try to shoot the other guy, I already fired and have an empty gun. No extra paint on me. Paint on the floor all swollen and unusable. Can't reach out, I'll get lit up. Can't take to long or I'll get flanked. While I'm pondering this my trigger finger gets a bit itchy. POP! Oh crap, guess I hadn't fired yet after all. The shot perfectly hits my hopper laying on the ground and goes flying off against the wall. I look at my hopper now 20 feet away. I look at the ref, who can't believe what he just saw. My look said what do I do? He just shrugs his shoulders. So I call myself out for shooting my own hopper.

              Comment


                #8
                Early West Pont game at Lake Fredericks NY in its hay day. A bunch of buddies and I battle a massive wave of players and were at a massive stalemate. One of the refs decided to drop sim rounds and a few large military grade smoke grenade. Well this thing is like 10’ in front of me but it’s covering up all my potential shots, and there is a an area that low goes up a hill and rolls back down a large group is dug in on. So I run up not knowing how hot those smoke grenades cook off at I grab it bare handed and it burns the hell out of me while the ref tries to worn me. I drop it quick mind you I’m on the middle of this massive purple cloud with absolutely no cover other then the smoke. I slide my sleeve down pick it up and hurled it to the top of the ridge and lead this massive push to the base of the ridge. I get to the base of the ridge and compose myself my finger tips are blistered and hurting but whatever there’s still battles to fight. At this moment one of those Tippmann paint grenade comes flying over the ridge and lands right in the leaves next to me but doesn’t go off. I look at the ref gives me the your good. So I pick it up and throw it back well it smacks the most gloriously placed small maple tree just over the ridge fairly high in the are to eliminate several players with it. Best part was the ref seen the entire thing and called a bunch of guys out over the ridge. We ended up getting flanked from the high side and sent packing but what a crazy chain go events. When Doobie was in charge of the West Point games those games were always so epic. I miss them.

                Comment


                • Melrosejedi
                  Melrosejedi commented
                  Editing a comment
                  I attended one of the west point games and i was glad we started on top of the mountain. Had to be part mountain goat and the pyrotechnics were awesome. I remember some sort of m80 goin off near me and throwing dirt on me. Best special effects ever,lol.

                • Chuck E Ducky

                  Chuck E Ducky

                  commented
                  Editing a comment
                  I know right! They use to go through camp in the AM with those vehicle mounted heavy machine guns shooting blanks. The way the music echoed across the lake was sick. Danger Zone still to this day gives me a war boner!

                #9
                Ah, grenades. We tried a few of those at our outlaw fields.

                Two events come to mind: One winter game, I was the last on my side, in a deep brushy field. About 18" of snow. I was never big on either smoke grenades or the Tippmann ones, but the local hobby shop- our main local supplier at the time- got a few in, and we had to try them out. So I had a smoker with me, yanked the pin and tossed it, hoping I could slip past in the smoke.

                It landed in the snow, and all you could see were a few wisps coming up out of the hole. A lit cigarette would have given me more cover.

                The other was one of those M85 paint grenades, with the little black-powder charges. Summer game this time, probably six-on-six. Somebody on the opposing team wired the flag with it- grab the flag, it goes off, right?

                That was the thought, anyway. He forgot the delay- they don't, of course, go off instantly.

                My buddy and I made it to their station, I grabbed the flag, and we booked it. We were halfway back to our end when we heard the thing go off. Didn't even realize what or where it was.

                Oh, and there was one kind of cool one with a Tippmann. We were in an abandoned building, with concrete floors. There were two of us in an area that used to be bathrooms, and most of the walls were still there. A guy- the same one with the Illustrator, now that I think about it- throws a Bouncing Betty, thinking he can clear out the whole room. Hits the wall next to the doorway, lands in between us. Goes off, and sprays a near-perfect spiral pattern. You couldn't have done it better with a paintbrush.

                Doc.
                Doc's Machine & Airsmith Services: Creating the Strange and Wonderful since 1998!
                The Whiteboard: Daily, occasionally paintball-related webcomic mayhem!
                Paintball in the Movies!

                Comment


                  #10
                  Now, this one only sorta involves paintball but it does involve paintball gear so I hope y'all will enjoy.

                  By the summer of 1997, I was solidly into the sport...but I was also a teenager who liked to party, and I'd found a crew of older people to party with (as one did, back in those days). That crew happened to be a bunch of Ren-Faire type people (BTW, those folks party HARD) who thanks to their weird hippie attire had attracted the "attention" of a local frat house. One night, I went to a party with my friends after playing a day of ball. It was a slow day so I had a lot of ammo left, as well as 3 guns in the trunk of my car (this will become important in a minute).

                  While outside having a ciggie and swigging from a bottle of Boone's, I heard a familiar series of pops (a paintball marker) followed by a scream. Then I saw a friend of mine helping his girlfriend up the driveway; she had a paint splotch and a nasty bruise forming on her neck, and her boyfriend looked pissed. Turned out the local frat house had decided to "drive-by" the party and her boyfriend wanted revenge.

                  Being 16 and stupid, I was like "I have firepower" and he was all "Go git it, we're goin' HUNTIN!"

                  (This guy might have been a bit of a redneck)

                  So we did just that; the 3 markers I had (Tippmann Pro-Lite, Mokal Titan, Indian Creek Thunder Cat) were loaded up with paint and we climbed into the back of a pickup truck driven by the one (reasonably) sober person that could be dug up. Then we drove around town looking for the frat boys who had messed up our party and hurt my buddy's girl.

                  (again, yes I know this is stupid, but it's also funny.)

                  We eventually found them shooting at random passers-by (asshole is as asshole does) and followed them back to their frat-house, where a party was apparently in full swing. Once they got out of the vehicle my buddy yelled "FIRE!"...and we laid rope at them. Even mid-90s blowback semis can throw a respectable about of paint if you ask them to, and we definitely did that. Suffice it to say their party was way more ruined than ours was, and way more people got welted.

                  Now. Would I do this today? Absolutely not. Looking back, it was stupid and we shouldn't have done it. Someone could have lost an eye.

                  But that doesn't change how I still grin about the memory of tagging a frat-boy in the nuts...and when he curled up and bent over, I also got him in the ass.

                  Comment


                    #11
                    My teammates always find a guy that has not heard this story. When the shooting is over, the beers are cracked, and war lies are spun I share this little daisy.

                    My team, Lockdown, is playing a Pirates vs Ninjas scenario event some 15 years ago. We are getting our pirate on.

                    It's late in the afternoon in one of those lull times where few people are one the field. 2 OPFOR have taken over the flag station closest to the pirate base. The pirate boys are playing fundamentally bad paintball and these dudes are going to be a threat to over run the base.

                    I ain't havin' it.

                    I'm at the command post, actually running it at the time. There's no resources to shift over to this threat. I pick up a clipboard. Now, Im in full costume, total Jack Sparrow. I skip my way past the firefight completely ignored. I flip the flag behind the 2 hostiles. I sidle up to the tail end Charlie player, lay my clipboard on his shoulder and ask " we gonna shot this out?" He shakes his head. As he relaxes after being ambushed, I reach down and grab his no slung 98, and shoot his partner in the ass. They run to the flag to respawn and get a "Nay, nay" from the ref.

                    Those 2 shot the blue hell out of me later on.

                    Comment

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