Automaggot68
08-24-2004, 03:55 AM
This is just something I quickly threw together, after listening to some good Music.
Sorry about the spacing and any typo's. Its freaking 1:55 in the morning
Edit: No more typos
The Ref had given them the ten second warning, and each player took his place in formation, each with their own pose for the photographers at the sidelines. One player crouched slightly, bringing his marker to his shoulder, two others pointing their respective markers slightly above their head in a quasi-intimidating fashion, and still another simply standing with feet shoulder length apart, facing the rear of the field, looking over his shoulder. The spectators would sometimes laugh, some would clap, but it was always a moment of sheer confidence and motivation, with just a little sliver of pride. The feeling of invincibility before the tsunami hit.
The Ref hit the air horn, shouting at the five players to his immediate right, “ GAME ON!”
Each player ran from the flag station, one to the left, another to the right. Two back men posted at bunkers directly in front of them, mirroring each other, while the fifth player-marker in hand- shot down down the center of the field while his two back men sent a hail of pink shelled balls, dropping to his knees-sliding smack dab into the dorito closest to the ‘50.
Both back men began to shout and scream positions as they popped and dropped pods, ropes of pink sweet spotting the left and right of the center standup, two players from the opposing team already in the dead box after a clean elimination of the break.
Tape man left moved up and was met with four or five spheres of pink to his chest and neck, while right tape moved up to the ‘40 set of soda-cans, propping his marker up and popping out for a snapshot, six or so balls of lightning pink down the field soon after, keeping an opposing player at his mirror from moving up.
The back men continued their shouts, the hail of pink shells stopping only for the occasional pop and toss, their eyes and fingers in perfect unison as two markers combined lanes to setup what could only be....
A single word was screamed by the left back man, letting the right tape man know that he needed to move. NOW.
Right tape snapped out from his standup and shot down the right tape at full speed, bringing his marker up and over the ever closer dorito, a quick burst of two balls at another player had been taken from the field.
He continued his sprint only a few feet further before he too felt pink on his chest, and tasted it through the flex’ of his JT goggles. He held up his marker, and walked off the field, the left tape man saw this and concentrated his lane on the area of his off-walking teammate, looking to snag the back man that had tagged him. He shrugged it off as nothing but bounces were felt and seen by the opposing back player.
Both back men moved up rather quick for men of their size, markers clicking and clacking away in unnerving silence, the adrenaline numbered everything but the moments at hand, and they moved themselves closer, letting their last front player take a chance at the flag.
Front man stood and pressed the long, slender tip of his 14 inch barrel into the air ball bunker, and moved cautiously as his two back men allowed him time to jerk around the air filled obstacle, his left, free hand grabbing at the red rag. He raced to his right moving up to mirror the back man of whom had taken out tape man right. Back man left saw this and moved up as well, ignoring opposing back player left’s streams of paint and made sure his flag runner had the time to move up the right tape, and send the opposing back man to the dead box. The Front man with flag in hand side stepped and out flanked the remaining back man, a final rush of adrenaline filling his veins as he jogged silently to the other team’s flag station, hanging it.
Sorry about the spacing and any typo's. Its freaking 1:55 in the morning
Edit: No more typos
The Ref had given them the ten second warning, and each player took his place in formation, each with their own pose for the photographers at the sidelines. One player crouched slightly, bringing his marker to his shoulder, two others pointing their respective markers slightly above their head in a quasi-intimidating fashion, and still another simply standing with feet shoulder length apart, facing the rear of the field, looking over his shoulder. The spectators would sometimes laugh, some would clap, but it was always a moment of sheer confidence and motivation, with just a little sliver of pride. The feeling of invincibility before the tsunami hit.
The Ref hit the air horn, shouting at the five players to his immediate right, “ GAME ON!”
Each player ran from the flag station, one to the left, another to the right. Two back men posted at bunkers directly in front of them, mirroring each other, while the fifth player-marker in hand- shot down down the center of the field while his two back men sent a hail of pink shelled balls, dropping to his knees-sliding smack dab into the dorito closest to the ‘50.
Both back men began to shout and scream positions as they popped and dropped pods, ropes of pink sweet spotting the left and right of the center standup, two players from the opposing team already in the dead box after a clean elimination of the break.
Tape man left moved up and was met with four or five spheres of pink to his chest and neck, while right tape moved up to the ‘40 set of soda-cans, propping his marker up and popping out for a snapshot, six or so balls of lightning pink down the field soon after, keeping an opposing player at his mirror from moving up.
The back men continued their shouts, the hail of pink shells stopping only for the occasional pop and toss, their eyes and fingers in perfect unison as two markers combined lanes to setup what could only be....
A single word was screamed by the left back man, letting the right tape man know that he needed to move. NOW.
Right tape snapped out from his standup and shot down the right tape at full speed, bringing his marker up and over the ever closer dorito, a quick burst of two balls at another player had been taken from the field.
He continued his sprint only a few feet further before he too felt pink on his chest, and tasted it through the flex’ of his JT goggles. He held up his marker, and walked off the field, the left tape man saw this and concentrated his lane on the area of his off-walking teammate, looking to snag the back man that had tagged him. He shrugged it off as nothing but bounces were felt and seen by the opposing back player.
Both back men moved up rather quick for men of their size, markers clicking and clacking away in unnerving silence, the adrenaline numbered everything but the moments at hand, and they moved themselves closer, letting their last front player take a chance at the flag.
Front man stood and pressed the long, slender tip of his 14 inch barrel into the air ball bunker, and moved cautiously as his two back men allowed him time to jerk around the air filled obstacle, his left, free hand grabbing at the red rag. He raced to his right moving up to mirror the back man of whom had taken out tape man right. Back man left saw this and moved up as well, ignoring opposing back player left’s streams of paint and made sure his flag runner had the time to move up the right tape, and send the opposing back man to the dead box. The Front man with flag in hand side stepped and out flanked the remaining back man, a final rush of adrenaline filling his veins as he jogged silently to the other team’s flag station, hanging it.