twilight field walk, and not the romantic kind, the picking up glowing materials in a rather dark
wooded, swamp kind. Unbeknownst to the commanders and the red and blue armies, production
and ref staff, along with some eager, not so friendly locals, hid glowsticks throughout the field.
The mission was simple, each team had an opportunity to collect the glow sticks, whichever
team turned up with the most glowsticks was able to select which side they wanted to start
on. The day grew dim and the droves of teammates and spectators took to the woods to
watch the depths that these men and women would go to in the hopes of advancing their
team. They dug in awkward areas, slopped through the swamps and climbed trees to
grab that extra bit of an advantage.
Once all the players had returned from their pillages, and the glowsticks had been
counted, it was Eric Bryant and his blue squad that edged out Joe Perez and his red
team 97-94, giving them an early lead and side choice for Saturday morning. Once
the treasure hunt was complete it was time for the dreaded Madfrog Challenge.
The Madfrog Militia is famous for creating fun experiences, outside the realm
of paintball, to bring players together. This year select players chose to take
part in a hot sauce challenge. These competitors took turns giving their fate
up to the roll of the dice, a roll that would determine the level of hot they
were going to face. Each player endured jalapeno, habanero, scorpion, and
carolina reaper peppers in different combinations to test their fortitude.
Most players held strong for the first few rounds but quickly began to drop
like flies. For the full experience check out Madfrog Militia youtube for
the video. As the party drew to an end, the night grew long and war was
soon upon them, the players rested in peaceful slumber with dreams
of pleasant conquest, all except the hot sauce contestants.
On a crisp, almost Spring, morning in Fayetteville, NC, as the sun
began to kiss the sky, the warriors began to awaken from their
slumber. They took a deep breath in, let the morning air fill
their lungs and enliven them like an invigorating potion. The
feeling and smell of the air, the morning of battle, it smells of
conquering, triumph and vanquishment. As players begin to
ready themselves for war, they begin to don their protective
gear, their team jerseys, they assemble their equipment
and slowly begin to filter through the chrono station. The
popping from the chrono station is enough to fire any
paintball player up, the time is here, it is now. They
attach their mask tags and their armbands, the color
designates the army they fight with, like the war paint
of old. When all were ready, welcome, safety and
rule speeches were sprinkled unto the crowd and
the Refs had littered the field like prison guards
awaiting a yard brawl, men and women gathered
to their starting positions and waited. They
anticipated that sirenic horn that seems to
glide into men’s ears and lead them headlong
into certain doom. As the horn did just that,
Photo by Aaron Dill
www.paintball.media
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