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Old 02-29-2004, 09:09 PM   #210
alicepack6704
Sweet, sweet justice.
 
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Join Date: Aug 2003
Location: Green Bay, WI
Alrighty peoples this one's a little old, I'm getting my senior pics up soon. Until then use this one to scare little children



girlyballer-I didn't think this one was half bad
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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 you're about to be frisked for the third time. You're driving. You're flying. You're sitting in an airport seat with boys from the team. You're drinking stale coffee trying to stay awake. You're explaining the fat welt on the side of your neck to a confused stranger or a best friend. Or running through the sidewalks of LAX trying to catch a plane. You're coming back to the other life. The one without paintball. Where no one understands why you do it. You're tired. You're working off little sleep. A question creeps up and you try to ignore it. Why do I do this? Why the travel? Why the losses, the missed work, the missed school, hours of practice and the complaining girlfriend? Because the lure of a paintball life is just too potent. And the products of the road, the travel, are memories of trips in strange lands with stranger people. At tournaments it feels like for once you actually get to live as loud as you want. Its worth all the sacrifices, its worth all the bulls**t. 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 clichés that you ever heard make scene 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.'
Quote:
Originally posted by SpyderOWNAGE

Rule of thumb: Don't touch someone you don't know.

Last edited by alicepack6704 : 03-01-2004 at 05:36 PM.
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