It happens on a random Monday coming back from and event but late on a Sunday night, right before you're about to get on the plane and you're about to get frisked for the third time. You are driving, you're flying you're sitting in an airport seat with the boys on the team your drinking stale coffee trying to stay awake. You're explaining the huge welt on the side of your neck to a confused stranger or best friend. You are coming back to the other life, a life without paintball, where no one understands why you do it. You're tired, you're working off little sleep. The question creeps up, and you try to ignore it, why do I do this? Why the travel, the losses, the missed work, missed school, hours of practice and complaining girlfriend? Because the lore of living a paintball life is just too potent. And the products of the road, the travel are memories forever, and trips to strange lands. You actually get to live as loud as you want. Its worth the sacrifices, its worth all the bullshit, cause 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 clich�s you ever heard make sense, 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
~Matty Marshall
