Paintball Journal

Adapted from last year’s version.

Twas the night before PSP World Cup 08, and all through the house
Not a paintballer was stirring, not even Yosh Rau
The bunkers were washed by the field crew with care
In hopes that more teams soon would be there

The ballers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bunkerings danced in their heads.
And my team in their gear, and I in my Dyes,
Had just settled down and just closed our eyes.

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I bumped in a flash,
Picked up my marker and screwed in the gas.

The moon on the breast of new-laden turf,
Gave the luster of midday to a very confused smurf,(/ot)
When, what through my wondering i3s should appear,
But a MINIature Invert, and bagful of gear.

From a new Evil Driver, so milled and slick,
To an Ego 08: Oh my god, sick!
More rapid than eagles my eyes went insane,
And I called all the teams, called them by name!

“Now Dynasty, Trauma! Now, Avalanche and ‘Canes!
Arsenal, Legion! Assassins and Strange!
Down to the the field! To that place where we ‘ball!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As fast as recballers that before the Hurricanes die,
When they meet up at Pevs, attempt stupid dives,
So down to the dead-box the ballers they flew,
With Empire bags, and all their gear too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the field
An incredible challenge that couldn’t be real.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
T’was indeed Dynasty making all of the sound.

They were dressed all in blue, from their heads to their toes,
And their clothes were all covered in paint from Egos.
A couple of guys they had shot in the back,
One dude in the ass, and right in the pack.

His eyes how they burned! He was obviously pissed!
His marker was up, that rage couldn’t be missed!
He called to his boys, he wanted a fight,
And Dynasty figured that that’d be alright.

But who was this guy, armed to the teeth,
Smoke from his ears encircling his head like a wreath.
He had a small face and some interesting fangs,
“Good Gravy!” I yelled, “It’s Oliver Lang!”

This dude marched on down, with his other teammates,
In the match of the year, that would decide all their fates!
The blink of the eyes and a twist of the thread,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And broke to the snake, diving into the turf.
And laying his fingers across his trigger,
He laned down the tape, fast as a… a mongoose!

He bumped to snake two, to his team gave a whistle,
And down field they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he shot down his sights,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you all are having a wonderful holiday.