Paintball

Paintball


Paintball has been played since its inception in the early 1980’s and has been attacked for just as long by the public as a game that promotes war, and glorifies violence. People have always looked upon paintball as a violent sport due to the reason that its primary purpose is to shoot people with guns. The guns, known as markers, are air powered, and gravity fed. The ammunition, known as paintballs, is made out of gelatin and food coloring, not only environmentally safe but actually edible. The paintballs are shot out of the markers at a target, more often another player, and when struck the shell breaks marking the intended target with a spot of dyed vegetable oil. With all the advancements in safety gear and way the game is played using terms like violent, deviant, dangerous, and unhealthy couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact healthy, teambuilding, safe, and fun are more accurate words to be used to describe the sport of paintball.
Paintball markers have been around since the 1970’s when they were used to mark cattle for slaughter and trees to be cut down for logging. The first paintball marker, the Nelspot 007, was sold in agricultural catalogues to be used as a tool for farmers and loggers. Before the invention it was up to a farm hand to walk around a field with a bucket of paint in one hand and a brush in the other and manually mark cows to be slaughtered. The loggers would do the same, sometimes walking around hundreds of acres of land painting trees; the Nelspot 007 streamlined this process by enabling the farmers and loggers to mark the animals and trees from tractors, horses, or some other form of transport.
In June of 1981 the first paintball game was played. “In 1981, twelve friends played the first recreational paintball game using these industrial paintball guns from the Nelson Paint Company on a field measuring over 100 acres (with no masks or safety equipment!).” (Keenen). Within six years the game grew explosively into a multinational sport with fields opening in Canada and England. The first outdoor playing field opened in Rochester, NY in 1982, the first indoor field followed opening in Buffalo, NY two years later. “Today, paintball is played by more than 10 million people in the United States. According to the Sporting Goods Manufacturing Association, more people play paintball than play baseball. It is the fastest growing of all sports and leisure activities.” (Braun 19) What started with 12 people in 1981 grew into one of the most played, popular sports today with millions of people playing every year.
One of the long term issues surrounding paintball since its inception is the stigmata of being a violent, deviant, and sometimes malicious sport. Many who have not played the sport may think this and as much as the players and industry try to fight this the actual terminology of the game can be misleading. Paintball markers are sometimes called guns, even though they are air powered. Many games take on military themes, sometimes even reenacting famous battles from previous wars, and when a person is hit some players add it to their “kill” count. This is more of an expression, similar to how comedians can “kill” you, hardly a metaphor for murder or some other deviant, malicious act.
Shooting other people with a gel encased paint that travels at three hundred feet per second might seem malicious, and it very well would be if not for the fact that the person getting shot at, ego aside, is expecting to get shot. In a personal interview with Mike “Blue” Hanse he stated when asked wether paintball is a violent sport or not. “No, that is ridiculous. We have numerous church and youth groups that play all the time. The pastors and minister love bringing the young people to play as it is a true team sport that reduces the stress of everyday living.” (Hanse). As Jerry Braun states “People talk about the game being violent. No doubt the images of adults brandishing guns look intimidating and suggest violence. The basic characteristics of violence—the use of force to destroy or hurt others and a chaotic lack of structure that promotes reckless and dangerous behavior—are simply nowhere to be found in paintball. The objectives never involve hurting people, and the rules are clear and enforced.” (31). It has also been seen to help people blow off steam, “psychologists have seen it to be a catharsis. It is a safe and healthy way to blow-off some of the everyday tensions in life. Violent tendencies? Most likely, players have absolutely no tendencies towards anything after a day of paintball other than tendencies towards a hot bath and a warm bed!” (Paintball).
Police departments and the military have been using paintball markers for training and simulation scenarios since paintball markers were made. These paintball markers are specifically designed for police and military training and are not readily available to the general paintball public. However some games and teams go for the military look with what are known as woodsball markers (markers designed for outdoor play), these teams are normally dressed in military looking attire from camouflage to throat radios, and night vision in some instances. The appearances of paintball have always played a major role in its public perception, and the military and police aspect of paintball especially have always had a major impact appearance.
Throughout the years the industry has been making huge strides to promote a safer game from the local field to the industry level. Originally safety equipment started out as a pair of shop glasses and sometimes a bandana tied around the face, the industry soon realized that the need for stricter safety guidelines. Though most people would believe that paintball has a high rate of injury it is quite the opposite actually. The latest insurance information on paintball rates it safer than football, bowling, and statistically safer than staying in your house. (Braun 112). One of the most important safety devices in the whole game would widely be agreed upon to be the paintball mask. It is a full face shield that covers the entire front half of the head and in some instances a whole head helmet. The lenses are designed to resist paintballs shot at over four hundred feet per second from less than a meter away repeatedly. Most eye injuries in paintball are caused when people pull off their mask for one reason or another during a game, mostly due to fogging or dislodgement of the mask itself. The industry upon learning this quickly remedied this by creating strategically placed vents and better fitting molds for the face. Paintball is very safe with an injury rate of only 0.2 injuries per 1000 exposures. (Peter). Some people believe that the industry could do more to promote paintball safety even with an injury rate that is statistically safer than fishing, bowling, golf, and even staying at home.
Paintball is one of the fastest growing sports in America with over ten million players each year. Events and games are held all over the country in growing popularity, even Walt Disney world has taken part in the growing paintball epidemic. It is a great way to build teamwork, leadership and friendship. Corporations have used paintball as a way to bring offices together, promote healthy competition within companies, and find leadership qualities in employees. Mike Hanse, owner of EMR Paintball Park, and one of the founders of modern day paintball put it best when asked about the benefits of paintball: “Promotes teamwork, brings out leadership abilities, camaraderie, stress release, and good exercise. Much better than people sitting in front of a screen playing video games or playing games on their phone.” At the end of the day paintball is a game, a sport, nothing more and nothing less. Remember that paintball is just a game and is not a simulation of warfare or anything negative, it is open to all ages and types. Paintball is an exciting sport and above all fun and rewarding. “Paintball is more than just a game. At its most exhilarating moments it is an intensified version of what people do everyday. With varying degrees of success, we’re all avoiding and confronting obstacles on our way to reaching goals. This is the case whether you’re in school or pursuing a career, a man or a woman, regardless of your beliefs or ethnicity.” (Braun 3). Paintball is fulfilling for any and all ages, numerous benefits, one of the fastest growing sports, and above all one of the safest sports in America.

















Works Cited
Keenen, Estela. "The History of Paintball." Suite101.com. 02 Sept. 2007. 11 Nov. 2008
.

Braun, Jerry, and Rob Rubin. The Complete Guide to Paintball. New York: Hatherleigh P, 2007.

Paintball, Rogue. "What Paintball Is Not." What Paintball Isn't. 2005. 11 Nov. 2008
.

Hanse, Mike. E-mail interview. 27 Oct. 2008.

Peter. "Benefits of Paintball Sport." Recreation and sport. 08 June 2007. 11 Nov. 2008
.

Words of a warrior

Words of a Warrior



I stood by the body bags lined up at the side of the base chapel, nothing more than a big green tent with a wooden cross by the door. The tears freely falling down my cheeks as I read a journal written by my best friend Joe, a journal he had been keeping since we deployed for Iraq. He kept this journal to tell a story, one that would never be finished, for he occupied the third body bag. I continued his journals, kept writing in them just as he had, to help me escape and make sense of what was going on over there. When I got back to the United States years later I went to visit my grandfather. I told him about the journals and that I didn’t know what to do with them, for Joe had no family to send them to. He looked at me and told me through his soft teary eyes that the reason why I came back alive was to tell the story that Joe had been trying to tell.
I keep these journals in a box by my bed, constantly reading them and making notes of certain events I never elaborated on in the past. It has been by reading these journals over and over again that I realize the importance of what lay ahead of me, and the excitement I feel for writing this. Writing papers and stories has always been work, never pleasure, always assigned to do, and never done with free time. However, this is the first paper that will be written with passion because I have the desire to do it. The product will not be a story, but an account of what life was and is like in combat. This is a story that has been literally written with blood, sweat, and tears.
Joe was a man among men, a true soldier, citizen, and human being. He kept these journals to one day share the words written in them. He died for this country, he died by putting himself in direct harm’s way to save the life of a fellow marine and myself. Had it not been for him I would not be sharing these words today. It is in this aspect that I write this as a memorial to Joe, to finish what he started, to share and say what he cannot, and to put a beginning on his end.
Before then I had never written for any reason other than an assignment, though after that fateful day I felt that it was my duty to continue what he started. Some days I would write pages worth of words and other days maybe a sentence or two, but I faithfully wrote every day. Maybe I wrote to keep Joe’s memory alive, maybe to help me through those times, or maybe it was because I believed that this is a story that should be shared with fellow soldiers, veterans, and the public. Looking back on it, the reason was a combination of all three things, but mostly to bring to light a warrior’s word.
It was November 13th 2003 Fallujah, Iraq when our patrol was called into action. Another marine patrol on the north side of the city had come under heavy insurgent fire. Without hesitation our two vehicle patrol turned around and charged up the street, daring anything to step in front of our stampeding iron chariots. We arrived at a scene that a Hollywood director could not imagine, a narrow street lined with tall seamless buildings, twenty insurgents atop these walls firing down at sixteen of us. Twelve of us were still alive.
As another round of gunfire erupted, screams for medic filled my ears. Without a second thought I ducked my head and ran across the open street to the wounded marine, as I landed next to him my chest felt like it had been hit with a locomotive. I had been shot in the vest. Ignoring the pain I tried to treat the wounded marine while trying to protect him from incoming fire. Armed only with a handgun my options were limited. Looking up the street to where our unit should be all I could see was smoke, dust, and dirt. Then, like a guardian angel from hell, Joe came charging through the smoke, weapon ablaze with a ferocity I had never seen. Standing between us and the enemy fire he provided enough support for us to be able to crawl back towards the safety of the waiting medical evacuation helicopter. Once the marine was loaded in I turned to help Joe up. He was not behind me, but was lying on the ground about ten yards away. Joe had taken two rounds under the arm while defending us. The bullets had entered his chest and tore into his right lung and nicked his heart. I will never forget his last words to me right before he closed his eyes for the last time “Don’t worry man, you’ll be ok”. He died in my arms on the helicopter.
When I shared all this with my grandfather he made it very clear as to what I had to do, I feel there is no option. I have held these words for far too long and the time has come for them to be written into one collection, shared and learned from. Everything happens for a reason and it all has a way of working out. Sometimes it does not make sense right away, but it will come into light eventually. These are the words that my grandfather said to me that came rushing into my mind when given this assignment. This paper is the catalyst I need to start the story of a warrior.
I am torn as how to write it, should I do it from his perspective, should I make it from my perspective, these are all questions that I struggle with. The journals are written how most people think, a jumbled collection of thoughts and memories crudely pieced together. Certain things will be changed and corrected, but the essence will be the same. I have come to realize that these words are not only his and mine, but every person who has ever served in a war. That’s how it will be written.
Looking back on the events that have led up to the making of this story, the deployment, initial events in Iraq that kindled the writing all the way up to his death and my inheritance of the journals, I realize that this story comes at a terrible price. I also realize how lucky I am to be sitting in an air conditioned room in a soft chair typing these words. This will be one of the most difficult endeavors I have ever undertaken and it will take a long time to finish. Not because I don’t have the time to write, but because it is hard to see the monitor through tear soaked eyes.

A Vision of Hell

A Vision of Hell


Sand stretches endlessly in every direction, dotted by dark brown spots of sun dried earth. Heat rises off the edge of the horizon like water rippling in the wind. The sun beats down in a cloudless sky. The winds, unimpeded by the barren landscape, carry sand for miles slowly eating away at the various rocks and shrubs. Water has not touched this landscape in many months; even the most enduring insects do not live in these grounds. Huge dunes of sand slowly moved by the wind like a hot thick ocean constantly change the layout of the land. Never ending expanses of brown crusty earth, unavailable shade, and cloudless skies make up this backdrop to hell on earth.
Though the landscape is barren and devoid of life it gives off signs that there were once animals that roamed. Camels, able to go long distances in the desert without food or water, would wander into this expanse of nothingness not realizing that they were wandering to their own demise. Sun bleached bone, though sparse, dots the land for hundreds of miles marking how far each animal was able to go before certain dehydration took its toll. When the harsh winds do take a reprieve and blow gently the strong odor of decay follows faintly. Death knows this ground; it has resided here for many years.
Night time is quite a different phenomenon, when the sun slips behind the horizon and darkness takes over. Just as the sun sets the heat waves on the horizon turn a bright ghastly red, like blood flowing into the sky through a gaping wound. The winds start to pick up and sand blows even harder, biting at anything it can, and with the wind comes the nighttime coolness. All the browns turn to blues as the moon rises over the dunes, distorted by the heat in a steel blue-gray color. Temperatures begin to fall rapidly, without stones, trees, grass, or any other forms of foliage the heat cannot be retained. The sands cool off quickly due to the still increasing winds, night is no longer present, darkness has taken its grip over the landscape and the temperature falls drastically. Frost is still unable to form due to lack of moisture in the still dry night air. What was just hours before a blisteringly hot wasteland that can only be described as hell on earth, now has the icy grip of death over it.
The red flashes over the horizon are the only break in the thick blackness, lighting up the sky like a fourth of July show. The wind has slowed down but now carries the new odor of acrid smoke, burning wood, metal, and fabric. Chemicals mixed in the smoke cover the desert floor with a black sooty like powder. The vibrating air and shaking ground with the sight of the falling bombs and missiles, falling onto the horizon, are like a metal rain from above. If this barren backdrop of blight wasn’t hell enough before it has just regained its authority on the land with the advent of these metallic harbingers of death over the horizon. As the sun slowly and lazily climbs back into view it looks upon a changed landscape. Blood, black as the starless sky shoots from the craters left the night before, raining from the sky into the sun cracked flats, covering everything in a thick ooze for hundreds of miles. This land will always be in a cycle of relentless heat and cold, devoid of life and water, a desolate place, covered in sand and dust, a forsaken landscape; Iraq, a hell on earth.

My Funeral Plans

DISCLAIMER: This paper was written as a school assignment for a class called death and dying.



Funeral Plans

I have always thought that I would die young. I look back on what I have been through, the trials and tribulations I have survived, and am surprised I made it this far. The thought of dying young has never really bothered me, leaving my family and friends behind never really affected me cause love will always keep us together. However the more I have thought about it and with recent life changes, the birth of my daughter, I want nothing more than to stick around for awhile and watch her grow up. If not for her I would never have given a thought to the process of planning a funeral.
I will write these plans as if I die in fifteen or so years. I have always known that it will be a sudden death, most likely bloody as well. Such is the case of most sudden deaths. Even if diagnosed with a terminal disease my death will be quick and painless, for if the case it will be on my own terms. I have very simple rules as far as any life support goes, if recovery includes the ability to not talk, move my arms, and have full brain function than it is not recovery at all. If the chances of recovery are any less than fifty percent than it is not recovery. I do not want to live a half life and depend on others for my ever day needs, if I grow to be 90 years of age then I will reconsider.
I always liked the idea of having a tombstone for people to visit; I believe it would be easier for those who are close to me to have a place to visit. However I do not like the idea of my body stationary for the rest of its existence, I have always moved around and traveled the world. When people use the expression “Final Resting Place” I wonder what happened to the other resting places. I believe cremation would be in order with a memorial plaque put on a stone somewhere where people can visit it if they feel the need.
Once I die I would like the customary wake and funeral, If possible I would like it to be an open casket service, and have the standard funeral proceedings that one sees in a funeral home. My casket however will be made by hand, my hands. I plan to build my own casket (fairly soon as I have already priced wood and purchased plans) and design it how I would like it and for the decorations to be of my own doing. On the inside lid of this casket will be a box, inside this box will be a copy of my dog tags, three rounds of ammunition, a boatswain’s whistle, and a set of my medals. This is the casket that I will be laying in at the funeral home. I would like people to bring something, anything, to place in my casket, sort of articles of remembrance. These items are what will actually be in my casket when it is lowered into the ground, as I will be on my way to the crematorium. I would like to be cremated in full dress uniform, my medals upon my chest, dog tags around my neck, and a picture of my family inside my pocket. Once my ashes are canned I would like them to be separated into two canisters, one smaller than the other. I would like one canister of ashes, about the size of a baby jar of food to be spread in the sands of the Iraqi desert just southwest of Baghdad. The other larger canister has a few options for it to be dispersed; I will leave this up to whoever takes charge of these tasks. One: I would like them spread out on my Grandfather’s farm, most preferably up by where the hanger and airstrip are on the south face of the hill. Two: I would like them to be spread into the ocean, and not by the beach, but rent a boat and go out into the ocean and spread them; the biggest stipulation is that there is to be no land in view when my ashes are spread. Three: Mantle, if I am to reside on a mantle or some other spot I would like a brass canister, they make ones that are made from spent 5in shell casings from naval deck guns, and there will have to be an inscription on the outside “ashes to ashes” that is all.
The ceremony itself will be at a funeral home and a church, any church will do as long as it is not a catholic church, I wasn’t baptized catholic so I don’t want a catholic church. There will be no wearing of black (except uniforms), wear a suit you would wear to work on Thursday. I understand it is a time for grieving and mourning, but I’m not so try to keep it to a dull roar, celebrate my life and accomplishments. Any donations in the form of monetary value will be directed to the Iraqi war veteran’s relief fund, and go to the families of those who lost someone in the war.
I would like to have full military honors. I would prefer my casket not transported in a hearse, I have always thought they were the ugliest vehicles on the road. I would prefer to be transported on a 2½ military truck (also known as a deuce and a half), seeing as how there will be no body in the casket don’t foresee this as a problem. If the funeral home chosen has a problem with this then tell them ok and go to a different funeral home. The military guard should be able to supply the truck. Once at the graveyard, where my casket will be laid to rest, there are no big requests, just a normal run of the mill funeral with military honors.
Once my remains are cremated and picked up I would like the immediate close family to go to my grandfather’s farm (sure by now it’s mine) and do their own little ceremony (this can be at a date of their convenience) with the plaque and stone marker. I figure that would be the best, have a bronze plaque made with all the usual stats on it and maybe some inscription which is to be written and chosen by my family in a boulder and placed in the field across the road from the house between the two ponds at the crest of the hill, plaque facing east.
I have always been a stickler for bagpipes at ceremonies, therefore Amazing grace needs to be played, and I would also like the song “My Way” by Frank Sinatra played at some point. The point at when these songs are played does not matter to me, however when they do the military flag folding I would like the bagpipes and a snare drum (live, not a recording) to be played at that point. Pallbearers and who is there does not really matter, they will never be actually carrying my body but just the casket. I believe that any surviving will be able to make all the small details, eulogy, flowers, food, and such on their own.
I have never once thought about death in this way, it’s so matter of fact, like planning and getting ready for a vacation. I never realized how lenient I am on certain things and strict I am on others as far as my final wishes are carried out. Death always seemed like one of those things that people never think about until there is a time (someone dies) that they think about it. The planning and preparation of a funeral is a long thought out process and seems like a lot of work to do when someone just died, this assignment I hope will be of benefit when the time comes.
I never put much stock in eulogies, death notices, memorial epitaphs, or anything of the like. I always thought they were something that people wrote that described you in a way that didn’t exactly fit their beliefs of you. Like they have to be nice and write something appropriate, so I figure whatever anyone wants to write they can write. I am actually looking forward to building a coffin, my Mother used to build simple coffins for poor families downstate, but sadly the business costs outweighed the profits and it wasn’t worth the time.
If I had to put an inscription on my tombstone it would be simple “VIR, ABBAS, FRATE IN TELUM” (Man, Father, Brother in Arms).

Eulogy

Edward Stahlecker

1921-2007

I have tried writing this many times in my head, not being able to get past the first line. I have pondered through the memories and events of past, through the feelings and emotions which have welled up inside me. They say death is a journey, the final journey or the beginning of new journeys, writing this has been a journey, not for me but for us into the life of a great man who reached out to so many people.

Edward, Grandpa to me, was a man a very few words as most of you know, he was a man who tired the cliché of speaking louder through actions than words. It was because of this that when he did speak everyone listened. He was a very devout man, he firmly believed in the hierarchy of God, Country, Family, community, and Golf. He spent his life in the service of others, working double shifts at DuPont for almost 40years to support a wife and seven kids. Once retired he served his community and church through many community programs and as a deacon.

It wasn’t until I moved here almost two years ago and spent six months living with my grandparents that I truly got to know him. I don’t want to say that I ever took him for granted but I firmly believe that the lessons he taught us are just now being realized by us all.

He was the person in the family that no matter what you could turn to for assistance and he had his own way of helping you. If you needed money, he would get you a job, if you needed to go somewhere he would drive you there, more or less if you needed to eat he would teach you to fish.

All of us here will be forever lucky to be a third of the man that grandpa was, he stormed the beaches in Normandy, was put behind enemy lines on the German front, collected several purple hearts and was awarded two silver stars and the navy cross, the second highest medal that can be awarded all before he was 21. After leaving the navy he served in the coast guard patrolling Americas coast for German subs, it was here he got the gold life saving medal, twice.

He was always one to jump into action, I remember at a family bar-b-que one summer I was running around the pool with my cousin and fell in the deep end, no one else was by the pool, we were both five and couldn’t swim. At the scream of my cousin my grandfather made it across the yard and into the pool before I hit the bottom. We never spoke of that incident until years later. I never had what you would call a close relationship to my grandfather, it wasn’t until I was in boot camp that he wrote me a letter and recalled on the pool thing years later and said that he was glad that he had been the one to jump in cause then no one would see the tears on his face from almost losing me.

Its not until now that we realize how much someone can affect your life, how much of an influence they have over you and your choices, before I deployed to war he took me aside and gave me a saints medallion of St. John Neumann and told me of St. Johns quote “A man must always be ready, for death comes when and where God wills it. - Saint John Neumann” He also told me no matter what to come home alive, to not let myself die. I followed his instruction like a good grandchild.

So here lies my Grandfather, father, friend, mentor, warrior, lifeguard, and caring soul, finally taken by the heart attack in which he has had many battles, taken while serving his community by handing out food at the food bank he volunteered helped run. A man a few words but has said so much to everyone, always busy but always had time for you. Up at 6am and bed by 10pm. 101 things to do every week and six tee times to keep. Devoted to everyone, but especially God. Now the hardest thing to do is how to end this, I figure the best way to do it is how I wrote it, I never did write this in my head, but from my heart, I think that will make a good ending.

Grandpa I know you’re about to tee off on the golden back nine, but just wanted to say I love you, we all love you and miss you.