Man, I wish I'd thought of this repost gimmick a long time ago. What a racket. Thing is there's not really much happening. Nothing making me angry. Nothing exciting me with new possibilities. So instead of cranking out some lame crap I'm recycling some not-so-lame older original material. (Another WELT piece.) Besides, there's new readers everyday--there are so--and just because they're new doesn't mean they should be deprived of past VFTD wisdom. And for all you whiners out there insisting on fresh VFTD material I am finishing up on Bacaball--the ultimate in tournament play--which should be ready for posting in the next couple of days. I steal the best ideas from the world of paintball and kick in a couple unique elements.
Lastly, a brief disclaimer: No, I'm not contributing to the anti-social, punk ass behavior of pint-sized tournament wannabes. It's their current default setting. And the only thing worse than them thinking they've earned the right to anything is you people whining about it. So shut up and read.
I'm not a Hater
I'm not a hater. Really I'm not. Just misunderstood. Oh sure, if you're at the other end of the field all I want you to do is die. I know it sounds bad but it's not like it's permanent or anything. But if you get blown up, lit up and pissed off I'm okay with that. Something for the next guy in your place to think about. But it's nothing personal. Honest.
Seriously, I'm really not a hater. Off the field I'm a swell guy. Ask anybody. Well, almost anybody. Just because I don't smile, offer to shake your hand or wish you good luck before we play doesn't make me a hater. It just means I'm not a hypocrite. I don't want you to have good luck even if you're gonna need all the luck in the world. On the field we're not enemies but we aren't friends either. On the field you're the guy who wants to take something away from me and I'm the guy who is gonna do his best to see you fail. But that doesn't make me a hater.
After the game I may apologize for those shots to the neck but I'm not really sorry. (That's not completely true. I am sincerely sorry if you're a friend of mine but I ain't sorry I did it.) Doesn't mean I'm a hater. You got bunkered. Live with it. If you're gonna be mad be mad at your guy who didn't back you up. Truth is I'm coming over the top as up close and personal as possible and that patch of bare skin is just begging for it. It's screaming shoot me and there's no way this guy tries to spin–so that's what I do. And you know what? It usually works.
It ain't my fault if the referee doesn't make the call you wanted or even the one you (and half the peeps watching) are positive was the right call. Did I get that second kill after I was hit? Could be. But it is what it is. Doesn't make me a hater. If it happens fast enough who can say exactly who shot who first? And if you haven't figured out yet that the refs favor the aggressor consider this a necessary lesson learned. While you're at it ...
Quit your whining. You did not get overshot, you didn't stop coming. What do you expect if you try to run my boy down and don't stop when I shoot you? When you stop running I stop shooting. See how that works? I'm not a hater, it's your own fault you look like an avalanche of paint fell on you. If you didn't know the score before you do now. You were determined to make that move count and I was determined to make you pay the price. That ain't hate, that's paintball the way the big boys play it. And the extra five or six to the back? You earned those too.
What's a few bonus balls among competitors? If that puts you off your game then it did what it was supposed to. It ain't me being a hater. It's intimidation–and maybe even a little bit of respect. Not that I'll ever admit it.
Look, I know this brand of paintball isn't for everybody. But when the stakes are high, when the competition is tight, when the difference between winning and losing is razor thin this is the way the game is played. It ain't about hate, it's about winning.