Clutch's Dairy , E3

Entry 3: The Safety Briefing 09:40 AM The entire 40-man player base has been corralled into the safe area for the mandatory safety briefing. I stood at absolute attention in my crisp multicam uniform, holding my notepad, ready to absorb elite tactical doctrines.

Gankdalf stepped up onto a wooden picnic table to brief the players (I’m not sure what his name refers to, but I’m sure he’s a tactical wizard). He did not look like a drill sergeant. He looked like a broken mechanic who had crawled under one to many Jeeps.

"Alright, listen up, heroes," the Gank droned ... "Rule number one: Keep your eye pro on at all times while on the field. If a BB hits your eyeball, it will pop. I don’t want to clean up eye fluid today." I quickly wrote down in my notebook: Protect ocular sensors. Fluid retention is critical.

"Rule number two," he continued, pointing a lazy finger at a group of teenagers. “DBAD … Don’t Be A Dick” Rule number two is self explanatory! “Rule number three” No blind-firing. If you stick your gun around a corner and blindly spray, and you shoot a referee in the crotch, I will personally throw you into the pig wallow. Look at what you are shooting at." The teenager next to me, wearing a ghillie suit made entirely of fake marijuana leaves, whispered to his friend, "What if we just spray really fast though?" I stared at him with intense tactical disapproval. He is a liability to the theater of war.

Gankdalf cleared his throat. "Rule number four” Call your hits! Airsoft is a game of integrity. If a bb hits you anywhere on your body, or your gear, you are dead. Shout 'Hit!', put your red rag on your head, and go through whatever medic rules are in place or walk back to spawn. Do not argue. Do not yell 'I hit you first!' Do not fake cry. Just walk."

I raised my hand. "Sir, what if the projectile strikes a non-vital piece of tactical equipment, like my hydration bladder pouch or my secondary sidearm holster?" Gankdalf stared directly at me. He looked at my pristine multicam gear, my fresh face paint, and my intensely serious expression. He let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to age him five years on the spot. "Son," he said through the megaphone, "if a piece of plastic hits your tactical lunchbox, you are still dead. Go back to spawn."

The entire crowd laughed. My tactical dignity has taken its first casualty, and the game hasn't even started yet. I crossed out the notes in my book. The rules of this jungle are brutal.

Darryl Squires

aka Esquire

AHB