GEEK BEAT: When capture the flag turns ugly

I hate to admit I’m not very familiar with the military that fights today’s wars.

I am, however, really familiar with the military that fought in the conflict known as the Star Wars.

My limited knowledge of the current “real” military comes mostly from the History Channel and video games.

From these sources I’ve learned the following: We really opened a can at Yorktown and for some reason, it’s really important to capture the other guys’ flag.

I’ve never really understood why it’s so important to steal a piece of cloth from the other army; I just know that it is.

In my travels around the world I’ve discovered I can’t look at another country’s flag without feeling an overwhelming urge to sneak in and capture it.

It’s not that I disrespect the other countries. I don’t even really want their flag that bad.

I just want to capture it.

I’ve always felt that way. At least since I was twelve and joined Boy Scouts.

My troop was hard-core when it came to capture the flag. We took it very seriously. In the pursuit of a flag I have tripped over rocks, fallen down mountains and been sliced open by barbed wire.

None of this, however, can compare to the time I almost paid the ultimate price in the name of the almighty flag. I really wish I was making this story up, but I’m not.

My troop was doing some river rafting down the Snake River. We had stopped for the night and set up camp in patch of trees.

Behind the trees was a clearing that was obviously created by Mother Nature for the sole purpose of us playing hard-core capture the flag.

The clearing was flat, covered with waist-high grass and split exactly down the middle with a game trail. Dense trees surrounded us on all sides.

As soon as it was dark, we split up in two teams and went about our business. I was on offense.

Being the last true Idaho ninja, I was a natural for offense; I was stealthy, patient and hard-core.

Over the course of an hour, I crawled, ever so subtlety through the thick grass. There was no way anyone could have known I was there. I was like a cat or a really, really sneaky dog of some kind.

Finally I got within 50 feet of the flag. My heart was racing as I moved forward, mere inches at a time. I was so close I could hear the guys guarding the flag talk back and forth.

As I moved ever so slowly forward I heard one of them announce his plans.

“Need to pee, where should I do it?” he asked his fellow guard who was also our Scoutmaster.

“I don’t care,” Scoutmaster Vince sighed. “Over there is fine,” he said, motioning in my general direction.

Now, the kid had a whole bunch of trees to chose from, but instead, he starts walking right toward me, stopping maybe 20 feet in front of me.

With my eyes closed, I hear our Scoutmaster yell, “That’s way to close to me. Go a little further, please.”

And so, like an obedient (not to mention thrifty, brave, clean and reverent) Scout, he kept walking.

It was at this point in my life I realized just how good at hiding I was and how big a problem it can be, because he stopped literally right in front of me, and I heard him unzip his pants.

It was probably the hardest decision I had faced until that point. I didn’t want to lose, but I didn’t want to get peed on either.

I was hard-core, but that’s really asking a lot from a twelve-year-old.

Fortunately I never had to make that choice because I was saved by someone else making a run for the flag, drawing the defender away before he could write his name on me.

This is one of the many reasons I’m firmly convinced that Boy Scouts are just a government conspiracy to recruit and train the next generation of flag-capturing supersoldiers.

Sure, it claims to teach kids useful life skills, but I’m an Eagle Scout and the only things I learned in Scouts, besides the dangers of blue darts, are flag-related: how to salute one, how to fold one and, of course, how to capture one.

Not that I mind though. If I’m going to be a soldier, I’m glad I’m going to be a super one.

I’ll even let the bad guys pee on me if it’ll help.

Geek on.

Steve Shinney is a senior in computer science and a one sneaky SOB. Comments can be sent to him at steveshinney@cc.usu.edu, but he’ll

probably be reading them over your shoulder while you write it anyway.