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  #11  
Old 12-29-2010, 01:41 PM
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steck finish this shit!!!! this is good stuff man
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  #12  
Old 12-29-2010, 02:37 PM
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Steck the burger place in HB is called T.K. Burgers.

http://www.tkburgers.com/home.html

and i agree, their burgers are very good.
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Old 12-30-2010, 12:38 AM
131SteckTastic131 131SteckTastic131 is offline
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i'ma work on my next on tomorow.
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  #14  
Old 12-30-2010, 02:25 AM
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Originally Posted by diOs View Post
Steck the burger place in HB is called T.K. Burgers.

http://www.tkburgers.com/home.html

and i agree, their burgers are very good.
lol you found tk burger, the lines long there around lunch time
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  #15  
Old 12-30-2010, 06:19 PM
131SteckTastic131 131SteckTastic131 is offline
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Toilet Bowl of America:
The misery and euphoria that was Illinois.


Today is June first, and marks the end of another holiday weekend. Traveling the day after a holiday is common in America, even on a Tuesday. For now, the clouds are lying low and the thick fog is blanketing the highway as well as the commuters that are traveling this concrete trail to their journey's end. For a number of tired and belligerent "out of staters" its another early morning spent commencing a long road trip to their homes in New Jersey after spending four days in a shit of a state called Illinois. We were there competing in a tournament series that is currently validating our lifestyle claim as paintballers.

The tournament is composed from a game that's an exaggeration of lazertag, airsoft, and chest played on a field about two times the size of a basketball court. May I add that in any other outdoor sport being played at its highest level, the playing surface might be professional grade astro-turf that a Philadelphia Phillie would be worthy of. However, in paintball it would be thin carpet on top of asphalt. A sport where even the best of the best sometimes have to play in sub-par conditions, but still do so because of the hollow idea that competitive paintball will launch itself into the mainstream just as long as we keep pushing ourselves and showing dedication. Maybe it will one day, maybe it won't. I had dreamed of making a living playing paintball and for me it will probably stay a fantasy, same could be said for my teammates. Being that we don't live off our performance inside the nets, we are the fortunate few in tournament paintball that still enjoy the thrills and in a way the discouragement that comes within a season. I say that because along with the victories that justify our efforts, its the adversities and the desire to improve after a lose that helps us continue the season.

I guess we're lucky here in Joilet, Illinois where we got to play the Chicago open on gentle soil and long blades of grass, but of course in typical paintball fashion, the lush green grass was located within breathing distance of a major construction site and a oil refinery. The later of which produces clouds of smog so big that they form in the miles around the refinery and causes a particular case of overcast that contributes to the landscape of the Illinois I saw, all of which makes New Jersey smell and look like a flower.

If it sounds like I am complaining, I'm sorry. I'm somewhat cranky this morning, a consequence of little sleep throughout the weekend. The only hotel we could afford for the trip comes complete with a busted air conditioner that no matter how you set it, blasts cold air though the vents transforming our two bedded "suite" with a cot into a igloo, so cold you might have to chip ice of the walls. In the other room the air conditioner stopped working all together and caused my teammates last night to wake up to the hot, stingy Illinois air that we had already come to know and hate. The inconsistencies in room temperature becomes almost as reliable of an alarm clock as the hungry baby's cry next door that screeched into our eardrums at 4 o' clock every mourning and once followed by a prank phone call in which we were asked if we wanted to blow the guy on the other side of the line. So with that and the strong stink of chlorine in the lobby, a result of the hotel's pool being only two steps away from the entrance, left me wondering if it would have been better to camp. That thought of course left my mind after playing though yesterday's thunder storm from hell, which caused a long delay in tournament finals. That would have made for a lot of wet clothes and a cold drive home.

There is a saving grace from my sorrows this morning, and I see it every time I type into this screen, and that's my second place medal. It's so bright and glorious looking that it reminds me why I put so much practice and money into an otherwise worthless tournament. It helps instill in my mind the good time my friends and I managed to have in the toilet bowl of America. From the viking tears, to helping ourselves to original UNO deep dish in the heart downtown Chicago. From reluctantly re-enacting West Side Story on the steps that line Lake Michigan to marching though Navy pier and heart of Chicago. When I look at this medal, I think to myself "Well, at least we didn't have to play in Ohio".
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Last edited by 131SteckTastic131; 12-31-2010 at 02:04 AM..
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  #16  
Old 12-31-2010, 02:23 AM
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Porn was the first thing that came to my mind, then you came out with this gourmet shit
Good luck with the next coming years guys.
same... i was like "is that what they call that nowadays?"
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  #17  
Old 04-26-2011, 09:15 PM
131SteckTastic131 131SteckTastic131 is offline
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My Account of DC, slowly and surley i am getting these all up!
Irish on Paper

Part 1

I wish I could be typing this in a hotel room next to grimy gear bags while chewing on miniature mints, or while transporting myself though some means back home; I'm not. Instead, I am sitting in my uncle’s basement about a week and a half after our last tournament, The DC Open. I am exactic since I just found my iTouch which I had concluded to have been lost or stolen during my time spent in Virginia, however, I am also some what worried that this entry won't have the same substance and feeling that others have. On the bright side, I am smoking a Cuban Stock and working on a second glass of turkey and coke, enjoying my one true night off in a long time and taking in a Phillies game. I had also decided that while these memories are still fresh inside of me I should get to work on this entry, and so I begin.

In a warm weekend just past the core of the summer, the NPPL held its third event of the season at Pev’s Paintball in Alde, Virginia. This will be my second time attending this event. I had remembered walking back to the parking in 2009 and after walking up the tiny incline that leads to the lot how terrific the Appalachian Mountains looked, they clearly made out the landscape that surrounds the event and I enjoyed staring into the forest canapé that blankets their slopes with a dark and rich shade of green, quite a contrast to Joliet, Illinois in which the distant views held construction and clouds of smog. It is well known in the paintball community that Pevs puts out the absolute best experience one can have in tournaments so it’s a relief to have a great event to play at, because it makes up for the almost complete lack of anything else to do away from the field, although I still find solace in a hotel lobby playing pool with the guys, it might not be a strip club but its better then a night of sitcom television at home.

Before I start with the tournament I should throw in some background information. The roster for this event would be different then the roster that took home second at Chicago. Andrew Flory, probably the most versatile player of the team, was making the trip. A true competitor and a good friend, I had played tournament paintball with this kid since 2006, and will stand in the pits of every pump tournament with him since. To his credit, he has been a notorious beast in the FPPL nights and top of the line Air smith. He can literally play snake, corner, Doritos’s, coach, and fix my gun 5 times in the same tournament. Then we have Micky Jaeger. Up and coming snake player in the Xball organization at Top Gun, Mick has the skill set to be a great player and sometimes it shows. You’ll get flashes of potential at practice and though out a tournament. Off the field he is funny and sometimes empty headed, he has a strong hold on what works on a paintball field but I’m sure he thinks Herbert Hoover sells vacuums. Notoriously cheap and, at times, shameless in his attempts to make ends meet, he has a lot of heart and played a key role at DC. This would be the second event I was playing for the Scrubs, although I felt confident going into event, in retrospect, I was exhausted and I think that might have showed. The first roster change from the last tournament was huge. Carl Atkins, our captain and dominating back player, wasn’t making the trip. Apparently somebody was getting married, and I guess he just couldn’t miss the free booze at the reception. I had all the confidence in Kenny Cole as our interim Captain, but the whole team knew what we were losing. Carl’s leadership is organic, and inspiring, he knows how to read the team and seems to dovetail the emotions in a productive manner. He won’t give you a 20 minute speech; instead he uses honestly and draws from his experiences as a kid on the Division A circuit some ten years ago with his father. He is also responsible for a lot of the team’s success on the field, he wields an important gun of break and posses a strong paintball IQ, and never had I felt uncomfortable fulfilling a job he assigned me. I thought for sure this might be too big of a lost to overcome; however, Kenny Cole was no slouch. His involvement with the team’s organization is huge and he is always finding new ways to rouse motivation in our huddles; his star was shinning bright in the time we spent in Alde and is a true testament to Kenny’s leadership. The other roster change was, in my opinion, very deserving. Since Kenny decided he wasn’t going to play unless he had to, it made an opening for no other then Jose Dios, AKA Chicken Heart. Jose had been an All-star teammate of mine in the last four tournaments; needless to say during practices he made a habit of snapping me out or finding ways to move me up the field. His honestly and sometimes harsh view of the world is surprisingly refreshing. Filled with stories, he makes road trips quick and traveling rather entertaining. He knows how to paint a warehouse, win a gunfight, how to sleepwalk, how Jimmy Hoffa was killed, how the twin towers were taken down, and reads more ridiculous craigslist ads then any sane man would admit to knowing. His skills will finally make their showing on the first squad, and I was looking forward to it.

Me personally, I couldn’t wait for this tournament. It’s been a long summer so far, and I couldn’t wait to forget my life once again and lose myself in the tornado of competition, adrenaline, and foolishness that is the NPPL. It’s becoming clear now that this activity means more to me then the initial adrenaline rush that people describe it as. My passion for the sport started in middle school and continues now into my early years of adulthood. These tournaments act like small individual breaks from life, relaxation in a way. Not always in the sense of a typical vacation but in the same way some one would rest their eyes on their couch after work. Part relief and part relaxation, it clears the mind and in a cheesy way my spirit while simultaneously giving opportunity to express myself on a stage in front of my piers.

Knowing what I had ahead of me the weeks before the tournament made the twelve hour work days at the shop and the other six hours of my day working on my new home (when there wasn't a practice) much, much easier. I put a lot of miles on my car in the last year, and an untold amount of stress and strain on myself. Making it to the venue this event was incredibly easy in comparison to the other events we had already completed, being that the drive is only a three hours from home.

I had already worked out a plan to meet Mick and his protégé’ Anthony at my work and from there commence on our road trip. It was a long day of course, and to cap it off I’d accidently made a small slice on my knee with the razor while scrapping the labels off the floor. It was a shallow and short cut but one that opened wide whenever I bent my knee. I promptly made a visit to the medical kit and stole several gauze pads, alcohol wipes, big ass bandages and several rolls of “ace wraps”. At the end of my shift I made a quick search for Mr. Jaeger and little Anthony in the parking lot and afterwards we packed up my car and headed below the Mason Dixon line. We were blaring a mix of static and Howard stern though my speakers and rambling on about our ongoing tournament season while little Anthony keep me feed with food and drink, fourteen years old and he is already a road trip vet! The more time I spent with these two the more impressed I was with little Anthony and more I got to understand Mickey’s humor.

It didn’t take long after we made it to the hotel that I took a shower and in those few minutes my mind went into neutral. Of course that was before the team came crashing in and made a ruckus. I started to sit back and take some hits off of Joey’s flask, and it wasn’t long after that I had downed the last 20oz’s that was left of a Steele Reserve. Something done in retaliation to being told "I was only Irish on paper". The rest of my night was spent waddling around talking to random people and shouting for particular sex acts before my night ended Indian style on the bathroom floor, pasted out on my ass freezing until almost morning when a teammate and his camera woke me up.


Next day we went out to the fields to walk the lay out and to scrim the local talent, but I personally spent the afternoon wallowing in self pity and nausea. So while they scrimmaged I grabbed our newest team assistant and got some BBQ, that shit was delicious. I felt like a new man and was ready to put it in somebody’s face, but atlas the practice was finished and headed back to our room at the Aloft for the dinner and a team meeting, we had a beer or two and hit the sack. The next day was big for us, we considered this our hometown event seeing how it was only three hours from home and the only east coast event all season; we wanted to win real badly. There were good teams there, the infamous Rock ‘N’ Cocks as well as Vigilante’, and a few teams that were unknown but couldn’t be overlooked. We knew what a good showing at this tournament could for our standings, so we weren’t going to settle for anything less then first.

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Last edited by 131SteckTastic131; 05-13-2011 at 04:24 PM..
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  #18  
Old 04-26-2011, 09:16 PM
131SteckTastic131 131SteckTastic131 is offline
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Irish on Paper
Part 2

We had a solid preliminary round and made Sunday. I wasn’t particularly happy with my performance, but nonetheless we were playing Sunday paintball again and kept our streak of making the cut alive. After another controlled sober night, shooting the shit to random strangers, and discussing paintball's future with fellow players, which is always an interesting conversation. I love hearing the different opinions and always conflicting views from other players on how to turn the paintball scene around and make it “mainstream”. Before I knew it, I was in “bed”, or should I say I was lying sideways on a bench with a sheet, dreaming of a Sunday victory.

When I woke up, chilled and groggy, I was already in a different mood then the one I was in last night. I tricked myself to sleep the night before, the body sleeps more comfortably when you tell itself tales of success and fortune, but that is never promised in competition much less paintball. I woke up stone cold in the heart and focused in the mind. I took care of my knee and wrapped it in solitude reminding myself of my responsibilities this morning.

We were in the semi finals against an Ohio based team Blind Aggression, who played solid but their tournament ended after a Steck-tacular flag run was capped off by no other then myself with a hard leap onto the flag table resulting in a broken hopper, another sore knee, but most importantly a spot to play in the final for a few hundred dollars and the right to call ourselves DC Open victors.

We went up against Vigilante, the two time NPPL winners coming off their Chicago victory where they beat us in two games amidst thunderstorms, and a rushed schedule. They are a really talented team that already beat us in the preliminary round in part to a stupid play on my behalf. Anthony packed each one of us with paint, Joey had made sure everything was in working order and reminded us of our game plane. Then Kenny took us to the corner of the pit. We all got on one knee, shoulder to shoulder. Kenny took the point, and quickly forced our attention on to what he had to say, his face was one that a commanding officer would wear, serious and spewing confidence in what he had to say. He spun together a passionate speech that brewed adrenaline and comradely in each one of us.

When the first game started it was clear this was going to be a hard final, which it was. Both teams had played a strong tournament and neither was going to give up anything. It was hard dropping that first game, but I never seen so much positivity afterwards. I swiftly spoke my piece on the game plan for the second game and Mick was overwhelmingly sure what he had to do, and before you know it Anthony had us cleaned and podded for the next game. We knew what it meant to be playing for first; it’s never a guarantee that you will make it this far in a tournament, even if there are only five or six teams. It took a lot for us to get this second chance to bring home the spoils of first place, and to take down a powerhouse team like Vigilante. This is all anyone wants in paintball, a shot to show they are the best! As I sometimes yell out at the start gate, “Let’s show the world we are the best at what we do!” Our hard work in the weeks leading to this event and the season in a whole once again brought us here. Do we faultier in the face of pressure or do we finally make it over the hump and raise that golden trophy that had eluded us in the last year? Why not here? Why not now? Behind the nets, we hear the cheers from Ji’s family; wouldn’t it be a great sight for his family to see him holding this trophy? It would have been great to see Andrew and I finally take first after all these years playing together or for Dios who spent the most time out of everyone one the second team or in the pits to taste victory from inside the nets! After all it was on this synthetic turf a year ago we all started this journey together and had grown in leaps and bounds as a team, as individuals and as friends. On that stroll out to the start gate, “Artist in an Ambulance” was blaring over the PA, a tune that is seared in my mind from playing a particular paintball video over and over again. This reminded me how much time I had toiled anonymously in random arenas against foolish teams with players who forgot about me the moment I pulled out of the parking lot and the hours I spent following other teams at these events when I didn’t have the means to compete. I deserved this too goddamnit! I turned my hopper on, spun the knob of my on/off, pulled the elastic of my barrel sock and fired off a shot at the turf, then without much thought I crouched and stared into the crack of the bunkers that would in a few moments be jammed with my stream of paintballs, each one as important as the one before.

Reliving the moments as I type this my heart is beating seemingly as fast as it was on that day. Also, having now replayed the game in my head dozens of times, I uh- wish I could have done more. I really do. When Karl Poynter put those last paintballs on the side of my back, I regressed instantly to self loathing and disappointment. I argued something to the referee and placed my gun on the table with the others, looked back to the field where the refs were making decisions after the flag was hung then I joined my brothers in the deadbox. I don’t remember what I said, if I talked about if there should have been a penalty or if I spoke about how hard we fought this weekend and we shouldn’t hang our heads. I remember how heavy my chest felt, as if every organ in my rib cage turned into steel. Vigilante won it, even after a penalty was assessed, they deserved it for sure and I don’t mean to come off any other way. As we walked out behind the deadbox I tried to be as stand up as possible but it is difficult after a hard lost.

Entering the pits I had systematically stripped myself of my pack, lanyard and mask without missing a step and sulked at the edge of the pits and netting. It’s almost with embarrassment that I confessed my eyes were watering. These tournaments mean a lot to me, I don’t do much else with my time or with my money. I live day in and day out for these moments of glory and despair and to have come this close again and to lose was like a cheap shot to my heart, but you can’t let those emotions take control, to make footholds in your spirit. I quickly gathered myself and with a big smile on face took part in the congratulations with each other and immediately started with our story telling. You have to be resilient, not just in paintball but in life. Your spirit must be able to take a punch, spit its blood and swing back; otherwise one can expect to get pummeled right into the canvas and lack the strength to ever get back up.

We had gathered our things and congratulated each other on another strong tournament and made our way to the registration booth to collect our second place check and medals. We had spent some time watch games and talking with the Art of pump guys (The Poynter brothers of Vigilante). After a comical misunderstanding with some of the HK guys we took off for a post tournament dinner at Famous Daves, the same restaurant where we had spent our first night as a team together a year earlier. A lot of faces were missing between that dinner and this one: Bruno, Noely, Kevin, among others. Typing this I have memories of first hashing out game plans and strategy during our early practices that august over a year ago, and getting a feel for the team. Nonetheless, it’s the guys that I still shared the dinner table with that have the balls, heart, and self restraint that is necessary to compete and be good teammates and that’s why we are in good standing to take the season title at Vegas.

The three of us that drove down together shook hands with the others and made our goodbyes as we jumped back into my silver sedan for the trek home. Three hours later and we had made it back to my work, where I saw off Mick and Anthony. Then, for the first time in over four days, I was alone. I sat back in my driver seat, and stared off across the parking lot into the tiny piece of marshland down yonder and the chirping geese that surround it. I lite a black and mild, turned over the engine, puffed smoke into the sunset and headed home.

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Last edited by 131SteckTastic131; 05-13-2011 at 04:05 PM..
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  #19  
Old 04-26-2011, 10:49 PM
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Damn Matt, after reading that I got the urge to play paintball.

We really need to video our trips so you can voice the stories over it.
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Old 05-02-2011, 12:13 AM
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Very nice work buddy. You have a real talent for this, keep it up.
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