Rutger goes paintballing, ends up a legend.

This is going to be a long one, but I think it’s a tale worth telling.

A couple of years ago, I met some guys through a website that was run by another guy I knew. These guys, ‘Schoapke’ and ‘Moaske’, turned out to be paintball fanatics.
As we were having a drink at the bar I’m usually at, we started talking about rifles and stuff like that, when they found out that I had in fact never been paintballing before. After I had confirmed it twice, Schoapke told me he’d introduce me to the sport. At that time, he didn’t tell me how, but I would soon find out.
A few days later I talked to him again and took him up on his promise, nay, challenged him to keep it. Of course, he accepted, being more experienced and all. We agreed on the armor, the weapons of choice and the distance there would be between us.
The armor we chose was a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, accompanied by the obligatory mask. I forgot what the weapon was called, but it fired like hell. We set the distance at about 15 meters, no obstacles.
We had already agreed that we would remain on our place at all times. No running, moving forward, backward, sideward, nothing. We also agreed that we each would have 100 rounds. I would soon come to regret that.

We took our places, waited for Moaske to get his camera ready, and started firing away like crazy. Or at least I was. Remember, I wasn’t wearing any protective clothing, except for the mask, so when the first shot hit me, it felt like…well, like I had been shot. I lost my coolness and started to pull the trigger frantically, giving him the full blast. He basically just dodged most of it and returned fire calm as everything.
After a few seconds, he hit my visor, rendering me completely sightless with nothing to aim for but the sound of his gun. I just kept blowing away, untill eventually I hear him yell ‘Spud, you’re empty!’

He, however, had about 50 balls left in his hopper. Remember when I said I’d regret those 100 shots? Can you guess when I started regretting it?

It hurt. It hurt so bad. I promised I wouldn’t move from my spot, and so I didn’t. That is the bravest thing I have ever done in my life. He ripped into me like a sniper rips into a whale. Every single shot made impact.
So imagine this: two guys standing in a park, dressed like American tourists on Hawaii, one of them just brutally punishing the other. It must have been the most hilarious thing ever. For them.

Schoapke eventually ran out of shots. He confirmed to me that I was one of the bravest men he’d met. At that time, I felt like I was torn to shreds. Every single inch of my body hurt. Every single inch of my body was red and dotted. I got home later and took of my shirt, it looked like I had some tropical disease. There was a plus though. I fired myself into a reputation that noone would soon forget. This was proven to me a few months later.

If you’ve ever played paintball, you know that this shoot-out isn’t standard. A couple of months later, I got invited to tag along with Schoapke, Moaske and some more guys, as they were headed North, towards more friends and more paintball fanatics. Of course I accepted.
When we arrived on a Saturday night, one of them introduced me to the people there. I got at least three respones like ‘Dude, you’re that shoot-out guy?’. I swear to God, one even called me Terminator. I’m not used to this, so I thought it all awesome.
Then the party really began. There was loads of free booze. I hadn’t drank in a while (remember, I was about 18 back then, and I’ve never been Mr. Popular), so I started out with beer, as I normally do, but soon transfered to the heavier stuff. All kinds of heavy stuff. I was hammered in no time. I was swaying around like the town drunk from an Irish country novel, blabbering incoherently at people I’d never even seen before, steadily pooring more alcohol into my system.
At one point, I discovered glowsticks. I had never seen anything so awesome, and so beautifull. This, I had to share. If there’s one person who I didn’t tell about the sheer amazingness of these glowsticks, he got off lucky.
Then, I felt like I had to go to the bathroom. I eventually found the only toilet they had available and charged into it. I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty. And of course, I was right.
After puking violently for a few minutes, I passed out. Like, really lost consciousness. That was a whole new experience to me. I woke up eventually, because some idiot wouldn’t stop banging on the door. Two seconds later I realized where I was. Curled up on the floor around a completely puke-ridden toilet bowl.
I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t work. Some magician must have put in that lock. The guy outside started to explain how it worked, and after about 6 attempts it did indeed open. I’m a wizard, bitches.
I get myself to crawl around the corner, just to find at least 7 people standing there, all having to use the can, very badly. Like I mentioned, this was the only toilet they had.
The dude that had been banging on the door turned out to be Schoapke, far from sober himself. He tried to pick me up, but I had lost all control over every single muscle, so he had to call another guy to help him get me upright.
They sat me down on a bench near the fire I had been urinating on earlier that night, and told me to throw up. I told I didn’t need to, so they got me a few glasses of water and proved to me that I did.
At one point Schoapke stuffed two of his fingers down my throat, and this is the single clearest memory I have of that evening, while saying, and I quote: “You are the first man to have my fingers down his throat.”
Right there and then, he was the best friend I’ve ever had.
The shoved me into my tent and made sure that of I threw up again, I wouldn’t do it all over the insides of my tent. They then went back to partying.

The next day was horrible. I had a massive hangover but I still had to go paintballing. Let me tell you that running around in a forest in full army gear while the sun, set to ‘Blazing Hell’, is burning down on you after a night like that isn’t very pleasurable.
I did well though, hardly got shot, hit a few people, that was it. A good ending to an awesome weekend.

Yet this is not the end. This only helped building my reputation up to legend status. It all was completed two months ago, about three years after that faithfull weekend.
I went along once more inbetween these two weekends, but nothing much happened then.

So, two months ago, the weekend of March 31st and April 1st, I joined them again. I drove down there by myself this time, and got there about 9pm. Pretty much everyone was there already, including Schoapke, so I started greeting people.
There were some people I had never met before, so I introduced myself as Spud, as usual arounf these people. The first four or five people looked at me in utter amazement. When they finaly said something, it was something like ‘You’re…the Spud?’ as if I was some sort of celebrity. I had no idea.
Apparently, every single person that was there had heard of me and what I managed to pull off in just two weekends.
They had literally set up a toilet for the guys, which was basically a toiletbowl, no seat, with a big pipe leading down to a hole in the ground, with no walls whatsoever. It eventually dawned on me that they had done this to prevent any more toilet lock ups. Then it hit me that I was the one who passed out on the toilet. Then I realized that I was the reason they had set this thing up. I have never felt so proud about myself.

Later that evening there was some discussion about someone’s admittance to the Zombie Squad.
The Zombie Squad is a small selection of people who earned their place by doing crazy paintball related shit. There were four people in it at that time, for as far as I can recall; Schoapke, Moaske, Joosje and myself. The shoot-out and that one weekend had earned me that place. Another thing that made me proud.
Anyways, there was some discussion going on about how something two guys did (each separately) was worthy or not. I had no idea this was going on untill I sat down next to them and overheard them. Schoapke then turned to me and basically told me it was up to me if they were worthy of Zombie Squad or not, because to that (and this day still) I endured the craziest shit, thus I was the one to decide wether their actions were worthy or not.
I don’t recall what they had done, but I remember I made one of them a member, whilst having doubts about the other. I told him I’d base my judgement on how he would perform during the battle the next day.
This power, I had never felt before. From my viewpoint, two of the most experienced paintballers I’ve ever met were sitting there, one of them has been doing this since 1989, and they were asking me if those guys could be Zombie Squad or not. Me. For those who haven’t been counting, this was the fourth time I had even played the game. Not even that; the next day was to be my fourth time. And this guy had been doing it since 1989. And the other guy was pretty much my example when it came to paintball. Yes, I mean you Schoapke. It felt like Darth Vader was asking an Ewok to hire some stormtroopers. And I was the Ewok. It was that bad.
I ended up heading home early the next day, so the one guy never got his judgement, but when I talk to Schoapke again, I’ll tell him to tell that guy that he’s in. I still remain the top dog though, because what he did to get in wasn’t as half-assed as what has happened to me.

My name is Rutger. I am a paintball legend.

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~ by freudianzombie on June 1, 2007.

One Response to “Rutger goes paintballing, ends up a legend.”

  1. Damn straight.

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