“Gung Ho” means “All Together”

I know it sounds contradictory. But there’s something awfully primal and satisfying about using 21’st century technology to shoot at another human.

Thats why I love Paintball so much. Actually I suppose thats why most men like sports, because of the lack of ambiguity. The whistle blows and there’s one winner and one loser. Simple. Like Knight Rider. You KNEW who was good and who was bad.

Unlike Lost or Battlestar Galactica where good guys can suddenly turn bad overnight.

Because of our global political climate, thats why series like these are popular today, but unlikely to be remembered by future generations.

Not like Star Wars.

Who was the baddie? Its the huge dude in black leather who sounds like he’s got a scuba fetish.

Who was the goodie? Its the kid in the white poncho.

Simple. Just like Paintball.

Some people love Paintball SO much that they cross “the Line”.

“The Line” is present in most sport/leisure activities. Usually they comprise of people who LIVE for their passions. If you’re an avid hiker, they’re usually serious men in their mid to late 30’s who wear their compasses around their necks and dress in really short shorts and long socks. They also usually have a flask of tea strapped to their waists. They believe in the purity of “Orienteering” and sneer at other people out for a weekend stroll.

If you’re into downloading Mames (you know, the computer game emulator that lets you play favorite old arcade classics from your home PC), you’ll cross “The Line” by wanting to join the Mame development team. The people you’ll meet there are all anal retentive, socially inept programmers who would rather change a tiny (but significant) bit of code that fucks the entire game up (rendering it unplayable). All in the name of “Historical Accuracy”.

The slide into paintball madness begins very innocently.

A couple of friends invite you along to play a game. You LOVE it. And in a magical-once-in-a-lifetime moment while lying on your back (wracked by pain) you get an Epiphany.

Its the kind of epiphany that people like lil’ Mikey Jordan got the first time he picked up a basketball; or klein Ryk Neethlingkie got when he fell into the swembad the first time; or when ol Hingis first reached for the nose candy, you realise that THIS IS FOR YOU.

So you rush out and buy the coolest gear you can find. Stuff like a sweet adonised metallic blue marker, complete with a 20 inch Whisper barrel. And a bright, bright outfit that is recockulous in its expensitude. You become the man.

YOU ARE PAINTBALL.

And after your miraculous transformation, you stand in front of the mirror and bask in your glory:

Unpopular Jakkie could only play with the other guys if he wore the “special” shirt

Then you play again and realize that its far better to be heard and not seen. You might look cool in front of the ladies, but peacocks stand OUT in the bush.So, sadly, you trade in your shiny blue gun and your bright Giga-Knight outfit and look for something more suitable.

Like a black gun this time.

And Camo. LOTS of Camo.

Suddenly a strange and exciting new world opens up for you, resplendent with shiny new words like “ACU”; “Digi-Camo”; “Olive drab” and “Woodlands”. Not to mention “Flecktarn” or “Soldier 2000″. You catch yourself walking through Edgars evaluating all the different camo patterns; and beating up kids in Hang Ten because they wouldn’t let go of the last pair of “Digital camo” 3 quarter pants. You go to another Hang Ten store on the same day before the last store can ban you from ALL the outlets to buy another pair of the same “Digital camo” 3 quarter pants, you know, just as a spare.

Then you take both pairs to a seamstress and get her to make 1 pair of full long pants and 1 set of rather large hotpants for your girlfriend/wife. Disturbingly enough you are never more turned on then when she wears them.

And then its battle harnesses and hydro-packs. Combat boots and elbow protectors. Shamaga scarves and Assault harnesses, until finally you look like THIS….

Gert Van Rensberg. Suid Afrika se Rambo.

You play, this time you kick ass. And you love it…

You meet up with like minded individuals and form a team.

You start to read up on military hand signals.

You choose an individual team member nickname, like “Striker” or “Boombox“.

You get a team patch made.

You join a league.

And then you cross “The Line“…

Somehow its not as much fun as you remember it to be. You become obsessed about winning. You find yourself lost in endless accounts of the Tet Offensive during the Vietnam War trying to find new tactics to get an edge. You start referring to your non-paintballing friends as “Civilians”. You never see them anymore because they “Don’t understand”. Because they “were never there”.

Your wife/girlfriend leaves you after you force her to make you a ghillie suit by hand.

Your paintball buddies think you’re taking this WAAY to seriously and stop inviting you to games. But that fine you don’t need them. Then one day you start swearing at a marshal after losing an appeal because some dumb 10 year old kid shot you in the ass when you weren’t looking. You show your displeasure by headbutting the 10 year old kid.

This gets you banned from all the fields in town, but by this time you become “disillusioned” by the sport. You lament the fact that the people you play with “Just aren’t on your level” and that theres “No discipline anymore in society”.

You end your days a miserable old cunt, complaining to anyone who would hear you out and muttering to yourself when there is none.

Well, you still spend MOST of your time in the bush…

Then you decide to take up Rugby…