It happens on a random Monday, coming back from an event, or late on a sunday night, right before you get on the plane and youre about to be frisked for the third time. Youre driving, youre flying, youre sitting in a airport seat with boys from the team. Youre drinking stale coffee trying to stay awake, youre explaining the fat welt on the side of your neck to a confused stranger or a best friend. Youre coming back to the other life; the one without paintball, where no one understands why you do it. Youre tired. Youre working off little sleep, the question creeps up and you try to ignore it. Why do I do this? Why the travel? Why the losses, and the missed work, the missed school, hours of practice and the complaining girlfriend? Because the lure of living a paintball life is just too potent, and the products of the road, the travel, are memories forever, and trips and strange lands with stranger people. At tournaments, it feels like, for once, you actually get to live as loud as you want. Its worth the sacrifices, its worth all the bullshit. Because if you work hard enough a Sunday will roll around and youll be in the huddle, screaming, with your hand in, one among seven playing for the World Title. And suddenly, all those cliches you ever heard make sense, and you are defined. You say it to yourself and it means everything. I am a paintball player; and this moment, right here, is my life. - Matty Marshall
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 03:20:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015