THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 17, 1995 TAG: 9509140173
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 11 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY MILES DANIELS
LENGTH: Medium: 84 lines
PEOPLE ARE CLOTHED in camouflage and futuristic masks, armed with semi-automatic weapons loaded with 100 rounds of ammunition.
Their goal is to shoot the enemy and retrieve a disputed prize.
But nobody dies when shot in this combat. Nobody even really gets hurt.
It's a sport called paintball, and the Village Playhouse is capitalizing on the game's popularity by providing a place to plaster people with paint pellets.
When I heard about the construction of a controlled paintball warfield on the Outer Banks, my curiosity about the sport began to get the best of me.
Although several of my friends were avid players, I had never put myself in the ring. And I could not grasp the concept of war being fun.
But one night I decided to try it out. I called a friend, and we made our way to the Village Playhouse.
We were both ``first-timers,'' and I was a little nervous about getting in the middle of a war zone with absolutely no training. Sensing that the best way to learn was by watching, I edged over to spectator windows and observed blurred bodies darting and diving for about 15 minutes.
It didn't take long for a rush of adrenaline to wash through me. I felt like I was ready and able to shoot anyone who crossed my path.
The $15 price for paintball at the Village Playhouse includes 100 paintball pellets, a semi-automatic gun, a camouflage uniform and a face mask.
We suited up and took heed of the rules being explained by the referee.
``Each game will last four minutes,'' he said. ``When you get shot, hold up your gun and stand out until the game is over. You play until you run out of ammunition.''
The goal, the referee said, was to work your way toward the middle of the field, capture a flag and return without getting shot.
With that, he opened the door to the war zone.
Four of us were playing: my friend Pat and I on one team and two other teenagers on the other. We all looked like troops I had seen on television during the Persian Gulf War.
The vast room was divided in half and dimly lit. Each team was assigned a half, containing four small, Old-West-style wooden houses with open windows and doors. Wooden barrels and sand bags were strewn about for cover.
The referee told our teams to separate and counted to three. The war began.
We all started shooting and running for cover.
I got off to a bad start, because when I took off running toward my fort of choice, I fell face-first to the ground. Luckily, I didn't get shot and landed behind shelter.
The other team seemed to have the advantage of experience over Pat and me. They knew where to hide, when to run and how to shoot and hit somebody.
But despite their edge, two minutes had passed in the first game without my getting shot. And I was getting close to the flag.
``One minute,'' the referee announced shortly.
I knew I didn't have much time left, so I leaped out of my fort and behind the pile of sandbags just in front of the flag.
I noticed a small hole that went through the middle of the bags and looked through it to check the enemy's territory. I had only 30 seconds left.
Making sure that everything was clear so I could make a run for the flag, I peeped through the hole once more.
Suddenly, my mask and eye goggles turned white with paint. The enemy had hit me through a four-inch hole.
I held my gun in the air as a sign of surrender, and ended my first game of paintball.
The next few games did not go quite as well as the first one. For some reason, I had difficulty crawling from place to place, so I would sprint and become an easy target.
Finally, my 100 paintballs ran out, and the games were over for me. I was kind of disappointed, because I had no confirmed hits.
As we were taking our uniforms off, the guy beside me removed his mask and revealed a face full of white paint.
I still believe that paint came from my gun. ILLUSTRATION: Photo by MILES DANIELS
Bobby Weeks, 24, of Nags Head, is suited up for a ``war'' game at
Village Playhouse, a paintball palace.
by CNB