Big Adventures with Paula McGuire

ATTACK, they say, is the best form of defence. But when attack is only the pointy thing you use to hang Christmas decorations, you know they didn’t factor your kind in to their adage.

I guess my fait has just never been au with aggression. During a boxing match, I root for the ref and I’ve known wet paper bags to be insulted by my challenge. It’s true, my fighting spirit is friendlier than Casper so, this week, taking on an adventure that requires some light rivalry was so far outside my comfort zone I needed inoculations.

Archery Tag Extreme is a Scottish enterprise, bringing to our welcoming shores the all-American game ... of archery tag, obviously.

OK, I can forgive you for never having heard of this relative newcomer to our sporting lexicon – I can’t hold a grudge with a glove made of glue – but if you don’t want to give it a try after hearing that it’s a cross between medieval warfare and dodge-ball, I’m putting out an APB for your sense of whimsy.

I’ll admit, I don’t remember the last time I was handed a bow and arrow, and a licence to use them both willy and nilly. One or the other, sure, but not both. But last weekend, in the caged comfort of an indoor football pitch, I had the weapon and the carte blanche, and one of them was about to get marked.

Super Soccer in Glasgow is a venue I’ve never had cause to visit before, given that the only studs I’ve ever worn were attached to an ill-advised denim waistcoat.

The pitches, normally playing host to five and seven-a-side games, and something cheerfully known as Bubble Football, are perfect to accommodate budding Robin Hoods. In our case, 14 of such – or 13 Hoods, and this redbreast.

Austin, the founder of Archery Tag Extreme and a proficient bowman, started the session with a rundown of the rules and a run-up to the arrows. Two foam-tipped arrows each, to be precise, collected at a sprint from the neutral zone, since hoarding ammunition is one of those rules I mentioned.

In teams of seven, we lined up at opposite ends of the field, the tension fully able to palp without our input. Faces masked for safety – and because Sith Lords don’t have a monopoly on menace – we strung our first arrow and awaited the referee’s starting whistle.

Quiet fell, or perhaps it just hadn’t risen: it was the day of rest, after all. One sharp blast and all hell broke loose; if hell rings with the laughter of play and the thwunk of sponge on padded arm guards.

The group was mixed-age, with youngsters bringing the maturity average up a few counts, while the rest tried to equal at least their energy. Mostly novices, we spent the necessary half-second internalising the five-line rulebook, before deciding we were experts and adopting the position – or just fostering it for the time being.

Basically, fire arrows across the turf, hit your opponents, celebrate your prowess. Of course, every Tell has their apple and, for extreme archery taggers, the target is a small hanging disc, loaded with bells to alert the match that you are Legolas himself for having the wherewithal to hit it.

Goals scored in this way by the end of the six minute match will win you the game – and, if you live in folklore land, the fair maiden’s heart. Needless to say, I won’t be involved in a hand-fasting any time soon. The game, if played properly, is fast and dynamic, with enough hustle to outwit a conman. If played like only I do, however, it’s a full minute spent trying to get the knack of nocks, followed by a quick dash to the corner spot.

You see, unlike in the original sport, the extreme version of archery tag keeps players in the game, probably because it’s funnier to watch them suffer.

Instead of being out of the squad when hit, you simply take yourself into the corner to think about what you’ve done for a count of 15, before hitting the battlefield again as quickly as your wounded pride will take you.

Barely seconds into the first session and I’d made better acquaintance with that time-out spot than I have with many of my nearest and dearest. But those brief sojourns in exile only fuelled my enthusiasm, if not my progress.

In short, I couldn’t hit a cow with a banjo’s backside. Neither moving target nor stationary felt my arrows’ glance, sidelong or otherwise.

While I’ll never be accepted into the Merry Men, I was one happy lady during that hour of combat. I grinned to glorious victory then chuckled through a three-goal defeat, all the while enjoying the view from the lofty position of being carried by my team.

They didn’t seem to mind that the only skill I brought to the table was the ability to produce a table at short notice. Or maybe they were just too busy stealing from the ammo-rich to care.

If you fancy yourself as Hawkeye’s hauners, extreme archery tag is the game for you.

And while my attack packs less punch than watery sangria, I can steadfastly defend my decision to give this sport a shot, and urge you all to go out and do the same.

To have your own extreme archery tag adventure, contact Austin at archerytagextreme@yahoo.com, or check out the Facebook page: www.facebook.com/Archerytagextreme

Have a suggestion for Paula? Get in touch with your crazy ideas at bigadventures@thenational.scot