I'm probably dating myself using the expressing "derring do".  For those not familiar with it, a feat of derring do is, alternatively, an act of great courage, or what happens when Dudley Doright tries to go after Snidley Whiplash.

When it comes to paintball stories, you gotta know that we're talking about the latter.  You've all heard them, right?  You walk off the field after a ten player game and some yahoo from the other team is loudly telling everyone else all about the fifteen, no twenty, no twenty five players he eliminated that game.  Everyone also knows that if he WON that game (or, rather, the team he was on won that game), then you just have to sit there and accept whatever version of events he cares to  tell, because he's got the one rejoinder that can beat any objections you might raise:  You lost.

I've not studied the subject deeply enough to have developed any statistics, but personal experience tells me the following:  the winners tell the biggest tales AT the field, while the losers reserve their fabrications for later.

Regardless, they sure are entertaining, right?  And like any whisper-down-the-lane story, they only get bigger, badder, flashier and more exciting with each retelling.  But don't analyze them too deeply or you'll miss out on the joy of hearing a great tale.  It may not be all that close to reality, but you're not listening to an after action report.  You're listening to that player's attempt to convey the emotional experience they had while playing.  You're meant to emotionally place yourself in their shoes and imagine how you'd be feeling if you had a similar experience.

I think paintball fish tales are great and I'd love to reprint some of them here on the blog, attributed or not.  And to help spur things on, I'm going to share one of my own favorite personal fish tales.  You can be the judge of how little or how much of it to believe.

This particular game was a fifteen player, pump gun event, in the woods in the Northeast.  It was old growth forest with a lot of rhododendron growing on it that the event operator had cut paths through.

If you aren't familiar with "rhodos":  it is a very dense bush that grows in a wall comprised of interwoven branches.  Small players can crawl through "rabbit holes".  Light players can even walk on it (but that's a fish tale for another time).

One side of our field was a wide path running the length of the field with some good sized trees on it, the other side was a jungle of rhododendron.  My job was to crawl into the rhodos and delay anything from the other team that might try to come through there because the rest of the team was pushing the path.

It was a long, hot, sweaty crawl.  Needless to say, all for nothing, until I hear shooting coming from behind me, back at our flag station.  I crawled all the way back and observed from cover.  One of my teammates was having an argument with a referee and two opposing players about who had shot who first.

After observing for a few more seconds, I broke cover, stepped into the flag station, walked closer to the argument and then shot both of the opponents.

Of course a lot of yelling and gesturing began immediately.  One of the opponents screamed "What the F*** are you doing?"

The referee echoed "Yeah, what the f*** do you think you're doing?"

I asked "Did you call anyone neutral?"

The referee goggled at me for a second and then, without saying another word, pulled the armbands off of the two opposing players and sent them walking.  We won the game.

If you find that amusing, or an interesting take on interpreting the rules, why not share your own?  Email your paintball fish tales to WCPLNews@gmail.com

And don't forget:  Two days from now the Southern California Classic takes place.  If you haven't registered yet at PBLeagues, now is the time to do it!