Games People Play

(Or kids in big bodies)

In Alaska, I reconnected with three cousins. One was particularly sentimental about a time when we were playing whiffle ball with my brother when we were kids, and apparently I was mercilessly tormenting him by pitching the ball at him, rather than to him. I had apparently repressed the entire incident of inflicting trauma to my only sibling, but my cousins recounted it with painful clarity.

To make matters worse, they arrived at our home in Minneapolis last weekend, a day after we returned from our trip- bearing an early birthday present for me. A whiffle ball set. To be accurate, it wasn't an official whiffle ball, but it was close enough. To make matters even worse, they insisted on going down to the creek to actually play. It was fun enough, I guess- a bunch of grown adults playing with a plastic bat and ball. The trouble was, neither the ball or bat has much mass, and throwing and hitting was bit more stressful on my shoulder than I had anticipated. Whiffle ball meted its revenge.

My next foray into corrective childhood experiences involved a corporate "fun day" that I was drafted into organizing. My administrative coworkers derisively "volunteered" me to organize our next outing that was scheduled for Wednesday. In the past, we ice skated, which was new for me, being from out of state. We have also watched a few movies. We usually go out for lunch afterwards. My idea was paintball. I had never tried it. I wanted to be outdoors and do something a bit physical. I independently polled each coworker, and everyone was agreeable, although a few mentioned they didn't like the idea of "shooting" anyone. With even the slightest affirmative interest, I counted them in. One coworker, who is maybe two weeks pregnant, opted out. I really don't understand anyone going out of her way to remind everyone she is barely pregnant, but this was another opportunity for her to remind me. Of course, no one is "supposed to know," but everyone does, since she can't help but tell everyone.

Anyway, Wednesday arrived with rain. I packed some junky clothing and boots and decided to make the best of it. My plans were nearly upstaged at the last minute when coworkers decided to celebrate the CEO's birthday at the office at the same time we were scheduled to be at the course, but we eventually were on our way. What the splatball organizers didn't tell us was that even an SUV was considered light duty for traversing the gauntlet of water-filled potholes. Certain sections of the long, one-lane gravel road were entirely submerged, and I felt as though I was fording a stream. Adjacent to the course was a game farm. I could vaguely hear banjo music off in the distance. This was western Wisconsin, after all.

As we were waiting, the manager was describing his $2000 paintball gun. Biking, paintball- no matter what the hobby, there will always be those who carry their passion into the extreme. I'm sure he wouldn't understand why anyone would pay $2000 for a bike frame- or an entire bike. He also described how last weekend they had over 800 people out there playing a massive game. I couldn't figure out where that many people would park, or how they would navigate the one-lane road. These guys looked so serious they probably parachuted them in. He also described how next weekend they are having celebrity paintball- featuring such luminaries as the actors that played Pugsley and Wednesday Addams. I truly had no idea!

Eventually everyone straggled in, grumpy as hell, and dragging their feet, cursing my existence (and the presence of porta-potties, rather than proper facilities). We heard frequent real firearm fire off in the distance. I finally managed to corral everyone, sign everyone in (waivers promising death or blindness if the rules weren't followed), and we finally began. Our three hours were already whittled down to two. We started our first game, capture the flag. Having never played before, I quickly thought I was hit when I was splattered with dye from balls that were impacting on tree branches in front of me. The referee indicated that I'd know when I was hit. The CEO nailed one of her teammates at close range in a painful case of friendly fire.

We won the first two flag games, and then switched to an elimination game on a different course. By this time, my coworkers were getting into the game, and I was seeing an aggressive side I'd never seen before in some people. In the last game I decided to use all my ammo and go Rambo on everyone. I took out a coworker trying to hide behind a narrow tree. I then charged another and hit her in her facemask. She nailed me in the process, and I realized there was no question whether I was hit of not.

It was the last game, and I still couldn't judge if people were having fun or merely tolerating the activity. Yesterday, however, everyone was still talking about the day, and how much fun they had. Most people mentioned that they wanted to do it again. I definitely want to play again, although probably with a different crew. I had a blast. I really think most adults (myself included) spend far too much time acting like adults. It had been a long time since I had played out in the mud, or played a game of "shooting people"- that is no longer considered "politically correct." Mud washes out of most things anyway...