For being married to a man that is neither in the military nor an outdoors man/hunter, there is A LOT of camouflage apparel and accessories (?) in this house. Jason is not a redneck, but he dresses like one on the weekends. I will never understand his Airsoft obsession hobby. We, because I’m a sucker too, have spent hundreds of dollars on a hobby that is, simply, adults (?) with (expensive) BB guns running around the woods trying to shoot each other. Now, I know there is more to it than that; however, there is no part of it that I am even remotely interested in. I do not care how many feet per second your gun shoots (or your friends’, your brother’s, OR your co-workers guns). I am not even listening when you start rambling on about Gun A’s thingamajig versus Gun B’s flux capacitor. And I’m most definitely not interested in participating in such nonsense. It’s great that the girlfriends and wives of some of the guys play too. Good for them.
Remember, gentle readers, The Beard was grown in protest of winter and the end of Airsoft for a few months. He takes it seriously, and he has been keeping himself busy all winter by upgrading his equipment and redesigning his outfit.
Finally, on March 20th, Opening Day 2010 arrives. Spencer drives up the night before and the instant he walks through the door, my house starts to buzz with anticipation of this, the Holiest of days. Saturday morning brings sunshine and the promise of a beautiful day for playing. They filled up on the warrior size breakfast I made them, and greet the boys that have driven from York that morning to play in their group. Now, if you’re keeping count that’s 4 men, between the ages of 18-35 gearing up for a simulated war, in my house. The testosterone is so thick I can almost taste it as I maneuver my way through my house and try to stay out of their way. They set off for the field at approximately 11:00, decked out in their camouflage, toting guns that look so real that a passerby would think that WAS an assault rifle my husband was carrying.
At a little after 5, Jason and his merry band of warriors comes swaggering back through my front door, dirty, tired, and as elated as can be. Upon entry they shared with me a story that I will now pass along to you. You know how I just said that these guns look REAL, well, they look so real that a couple of “civies” stumbled upon their weapons cash at the field where they play and became concerned, so they did what most folks would do, THEY CALLED THE COPS.
Legend has it that the group was out in the field, in the middle of the game, when Jason and some others noticed a helicopter overhead. This didn’t alarm anyone, as they play near a major (for this area) highway and the State Police frequently look for speeders in the same area. But soon the chopper began to fly in a tighter circle over their playing field and finally dropped its altitude until it was too close to the ground to be looking for speeders. Jason and Spencer realized this chopper was for them only seconds before the trooper came over the PA system instructing them all to put their weapons down and stay where they were! Now, some of the people that play in my husband’s group are young, like, teenager young,and many of them were scared. Of course, my husband and his brother found this to be very amusing. And that’s when the cruisers showed up, 4 or 5 driving up a public bike path with lights flashing, a combination of both borough and state police, in full response gear that included shotguns! The merry band of warriors got to know some of PA’s Finest (God they need to invent a sarcasm font) while they checked every one of their guns (most of them have 2 or 3) to make sure none of the guns were actually real. Once their inspection was over, they were bid a good day and politely asked to check in with the borough office the next time they play so that thousands of taxpayer dollars valuable police resources weren’t wasted on responding to their non threatening war games.
Hoorah from Mandyland,