Stevo #32

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 your about to be frisked for the third time. Your driving...your flying....your sitting in an airport seat with boys from the team. Your drinking stale coffee trying to stay awake. Your explaining a fat welt on the side of your neck to a confused stranger or a best friend.....or running through the sidewalk at LAX trying to catch a plane. Your coming back to the other life....the one without paintball. Where no one understands why you do it....your tired....working off little sleep and a question creeps up and you try to ignore it. Why do I do this? Why the travel? Why the losses? The missed worked...the missed school...hours of practice and the complaining girl friend....because the lure of living a paintball life is just to 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 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 you'll be in the huddle...screaming.....with your hand in....one among ten playing for the world title and suddenly all those clichs you've 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. . ...