The Special Relative theory of Airsoft.
Entry posted by Guest ·
325 views
Or, to quote the title in full;
The Special Relative Philosophy of Airsofting Incompetence.
Another Monday, another set of aching pins, and another day of skirmishing that would in the eyes of bean-counters, excitable children (of all ages 
) and uber-competitive players everywhere be labelled as `Unsuccesful`- in the same way a disappointing experiment in one's Diabolical Monster Lair might have produced yet another 8-armed octo-monkey that disintegrated upon first contact with bananas - and then placed in a far distant & dusty filing cabinet of memory, lost in mental corridors that are felt best left alone, never to be dragged through the archives into the forefront of consciousness with anything other than a low-grade shame, and a kind of vague, half-arsed regret of nothing very specific, but generally recalling a less-than-worthwhile experience.
In other words, and leaving out the octo-monkeys, I had a disappointing day's play as I was hit time & again by people I usually didn't even see, and I failed to get any more than 1 opposing player all day.
But I am not one of those bean-counting, uber-competitive people (nor do I have a diabolical monster lair (D.M.L. ), more's the pity 
). I like to take a more philosophical approach to these things and, once again, it works in counterbalance to something else that matters an awful lot in my life, which is, broadly speaking, my life.
Relative to how I spend most of my time, a day's skirmishing where I spend 9 times as much time in a dead zone as the members of the other team that I actually hit ranks rather lower than the time I fractured my neck in school; which happened, incidentally, as a result of sitting on someone's shoulders, who THEN decided to do a forwards-roll using my face as an initial-point-of-impact.
At least then I got quite a few days off from school, and it almost didn't hurt at all (especially after the ambulance's oxygen mask 
) and then there was the exceptionally pleasant aerosol of pure antarctic ice (if it started to ache then the relief that aerosol gave was rapture incarnate) that graced the back of my neck thrice daily for the next couple weeks while I sat at home eating my favourite food, and not doing anything approaching schoolwork (such as it is at the age of 7) for the whole time. Come to think of it, I wonder if I can arrange for it to happen again..)
[/Tangent] .. but relative to how I spend most of my time, pretty much anything less than full-on hedonism is gonna rank somewhere equivalent to dental surgery (on a scale used by most people) simply because I really do seem to live the life of Riley, and aside from some of the thoughts I'm getting when the boss has been complaining for more than a couple of hours on end there is an almost supernatural field of pleasantness and ease to my life - even the hassle and faffing that comes from learning to drive; the inevitably embarrassing stalls on busy junctions, the irritation & abuse of other drivers, the mistakes that the instructor has to correct and veer the car off course and out of your control etc. etc. - all this I still percieve through a warm and fuzzy glow of happy knowledge that I am learning something new, and that it will benefit me immensely. I smile as the man in the Renault to my right mouths the `C word` at me after I stall in the middle of the roundabout, I laugh inside as I make a classic schoolboy error and fail to check my blind spot before changing lanes or turning, and it comes as a necessary & appreciated shock, not a rude awakening, when I begin a lesson and have to remember all the controls and procedures by the time I've reached the first junction out from my house.
In almost all areas of life I live like a total bas**** - carousing & drinking and partying, and drinking and socialising, and drinking, and buying stuff, living well, cheaply & easily, and having an awful lot of friends who not only do I (obviously) get on with rather well, but they all seem to mingle very well, too.
---
Life, as they say, could hardly be better. So in payment for all this joy and frivolity in life - or possibly even as a result of it - I seem to suck teh ballxx0rs at airsoft most of the time 
It might not seem like an even tradeoff for a life of almost constant pleasure, but man, I seriously suck!!!
At our less-than-favourite skirmish site my compadre Sir Bosworth of Britain (or just plain `Bozz, you know, that dodgy black geezer` as most real people call him) still managed to seriously prod buttock, so much so that he was offered a place in both regular teams that were there on Sunday; the Black Knights (hence the first title) and also Section 8: who are made up of serving and ex-members of the armed forces! The black knights would do well to have him, just so's he can have his own special badge that tells the whole world that he is, in fact "The Blackest Knight"
But I didn't kick *albartroth*, nor prod buttock, and I would really love to be able to storm positions and assault defences and do all that good stuff without getting shot like a dog within 50 yards of the objective, which does seem to happen rather a lot in my airsofting life. I may well have been under-the-influence still from the night before (and rather interesting the story behind that is, as you'll see if you read again tomorrow) but even so getting killed 9 times while only taking one other player out all day is rather a shocking discrepancy. Its not like the first bloody skirmish I've ever been to ferchrissakes!! My SL8 outranges most other people on the field!?!! I was wearing all my best MARPAT and Tan gear - doesn't that sh*t make you run faster and stuff anyway!!!!?
Actually, it IS possible that everyone on the opposing team was trying to hunt down "that twat doing an impression of Ghost Reckon lol rofl arf" which is, apparently, what a guy looks like if he turn up wearing MARPAT with highlights of Boots, Belt, Lanyard & Sling in, you guessed it, Tan. Mmmmmm Taaaaaaannn *rubs thighs*
Whatever the reason, what I actually think of it is this: I am glad that I make the enemy happy. I am more than happy myself to provide a target for those guys, and by my losing their winning is increased. Call it karma, call it extra-fair play, call it cosmic balance and the egalitarian counterweight to my indulgent and debauched lifestyle, I just like to think of it as Giving Something Back 
2 Comments
Recommended Comments