I'm going to quickly open the racist door, gathered outside the "warzone" was a group of 15 or so Japanese people, cue paint-related Hiroshima jokes. All these jokes were trumped by the suggestion of Adam Russell: "you know how in war soldiers carry a knife for killing up close? Do you reckon in paintball you could carry a paintbrush?" With all of us kitted up it came to the point of being put into teams. Unable to fairly split ourselves we left it up to the highly fair and intelligent minds of the paintball marshals. Shockingly they didn't split us as evenly as we'd hoped. One one team they put Paul "Psycho with a face mask" Wallace, Ally "the destroyer" Marsh, Tom "In homeland we use real guns" Diver and David "I can't wait to shoot Dave" Streather and on the other team was me, Dave "COD" Williams and Adam "hallo" Russell. It did not look hopeful.
After a safety briefing we went to war, given a quick insight into course strategy we gave our battle-cry, it was quite pathetic really, far too many grammar schoolboys, midlife crisis men and hungover stag-doers for an inspiring rally. Seeing myself as superior in the speed department to my comrades I took it upon myself to sprint off to the vantage point in the form of a massive tree. I made it safely and proceeded to coordinate an attack with total strangers. It did not go well. I do not have the tactical mind needed to orchestrate successful military operations.
Several games later my lack of tactical knowledge combined with the intricate workings of Dave William's battle-ready brain. Having realised he did not have the body to match his mind, and my mind not living up to my body we teamed up. At first it was not successful, a collection of fluke shots took me out in our first two attempts at teamwork, leaving Dave to fend for himself (something he did shockingly well at) but our finest hour came in the final game. Capture the flag, sounds simple enough. But wait, the flag is situated just outside a heavily defended fortress, full of testosterone-fuelled alpha males, this would take an expert military mind and a body of military perfection. Step forward Dave and Joe. In the valuable seconds before hell was unleashed he planned our safest and quickest route to the flag. The plan fresh in my mind I burst from cover on the starting whistle and dived behind his barricade of choice. Under my covering fire, Dave made his run and landed alongside me. This was repeated another two times, leaving us just metres away from the flag, victory was in sight but alas fate is a cruel mistress. As Dave threw himself towards the final barricade in true commando style, as he landed he threw up his arm for a fraction of a second to steady himself and screamed in pain. Thinking he had landed awkwardly I said "Nice one Dave, great work". He stared into my eyes, or at least near them, our masks had fogged up, before revealing his paint splattered hand. He was hit, my comrade, my team-mate but most of all, my friend had fallen in our final battle, I was devastated, I wasn't sure if I could go on. I could hear his voice in my head, urging me on "Go on Joe, forget about me, you have to capture the flag!" In a fit of blind rage I broke from cover and grabbed the flag, with a final rush of adrenaline I sprinted back to base, flag in hand, eyes streaming with the thought of my loss. Back to base I let out a victory cry, a lion would have cowarded in fear at my show of masculinity. That was for you Dave, that was for you.
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