How Heavy Kevy, Fool, and Fatal1ty showed me
the light
- and then showed me the door.
FOR A WHILE, I had
expectations and dreams. I started my writing career at an early
age, so I was almost always the youngest guy in the newsroom. Like
an up-and-coming athlete, I was a prospect - a little raw, maybe,
but with enough promise that people would usually say things like,
"You'll go places, kid." I never went anywhere. Well, I went to
Dallas, but that's about it.
Recently, I turned 30 and abandoned the idea of becoming the next
Joseph Heller and started thinking about becoming the next Bazooka
Joe - I could, you know, maybe start penning those comic strips
that are wrapped around bubble gum. That seems like solid work. The
truth is, when I take stock of my life, it seems a little sad. I
figured I'd be married by this point; instead, I recently ended a
serious three-year relationship. I thought I'd own a spectacular
home on a beach somewhere, but in reality, I rent an apartment, and
you have to walk down an alley and past two dumpsters to get there.
I thought I'd have a dog (I have an obese cat) and that I'd be
famous (nope) and mature (definitely not).
This is my version of a midlife crisis.
I realize that all of this means I won't live very long, but, as my
father was fond of saying, "Que sera, sera." However, there is a
positive side: All this self-evaluation has led to a sort of
epiphany. I've figured out a way to get my act together - to get
back on track and point myself toward something meaningful. Sure
it's a little cliché to have a midlife crisis and then snap out of
it with some grand discovery, but wait until you hear my idea.
Ready?
Video games.
I know. Pure genius.
I've decided to become a professional gamer. As it turns out, this
is an actual vocation, the digital equivalent of competitive
eating. In
Japan, professional gaming leagues are a big deal - the
matches or contests or whatever they're called are broadcast on TV.
Here in the States, the concept of professional gaming is beginning
to catch on. The Championship Gaming Series, for instance, which
was launched earlier this year by DirectTV, now has six franchises,
including the Carolina Core and the LA Complexity. Plus, gaming
legend Johnathan "Fatal1ty" Wendel has signed on as the league's
official spokesperson, and he will also do the league's color
commentary. That's just like getting
Michael Jordan to sit in the
booth for
NBA games … only, uh, different. What's best of all,
though, is that the Championship Gaming Series has promised to give
away more than $1 million in prizes during the inaugural season. I
could really use $1 mil. And how hard could the competition be? For
the most part, the league is dominated by teenagers and
20-somethings. Did any of them set the Ms. Pac-Man high score at my
grandfather's bar? No. No, they didn't.
In fact, I was something of a gamer during my youth. It's been a
while since I've played regularly, but it has to be just like
riding a bike, right? As a kid, I was weak and small. But with a
controller in my hand, I was a giant, capable of smashing my
opponents at will. I was exceptional at sports games, particularly
football. No one could throw the 100-yard pass in Tecmo Super Bowl
the way I could. Unfortunately, no one plays Tecmo Super Bowl
anymore. Instead of returning to that, I'll have to engage the
competition through Madden, the industry standard for football
games. The goal is to train for a few months by playing online and
against my friends. Then I'll enter the EA Sports Madden Challenge
(the annual tournament that crowns the game's champion), win the
$100,000 first-place prize, and restart my life.
This is the diary of my journey.
Week One
In order to have a sound mind, you need a sound body. I decide to
train like Rocky - I go running for the first time in 12 years. I
run five miles. It doesn't go well. I start the run on a Tuesday
morning. I'm not sure what time I finish - Thursday afternoon,
maybe? And instead of drinking raw eggs, I scramble them with
cheese. They are delicious. I don't play any games, though. You
have to work up to these things.
Week Two
A lot of gamers hone their skills online. Here's the problem: I
can't figure out how to connect my next-generation console to the
Internet. I've bought the necessary wires and such at a store, and
I'm following the instructions, but it's not working. Is it a bad
sign that as you're trying to launch a professional gaming career,
you find you're not bright enough to use the hardware? Wait, don't
answer that.
Week Three
For motivation, I tape a picture of Ayan Tariq to my TV. He won
last year's Madden Challenge. His handle - the nickname he's called
by other gamers - is Fool. Yes, he's a … I feel like I should be
able to make a joke here, but nothing comes to mind. Too bad he
doesn't have a name I could easily lampoon. If this were a battle
of wits, he would have already bested me. Not good.
Week Four
I have to be honest: The gaming isn't going well. Not only am I
still unable to connect to the Internet (stupid plugs and ports and
manuals - even Stephen Hawking couldn't figure this out), I also
haven't beaten the computer in, oh, let's see now, ever. I've been
playing on the second-easiest setting Madden offers, yet I still
can't figure out how to defend the skinny post nor how to run the
ball for more than a yard and a half without getting tackled. My
offense is anemic, and my defense is worse. When I call and ask my
friend Heavy Kevy, who's an avid gamer, what this means for my
prospects of becoming a pro, he laughs at me - for a long time.
Then he hangs up.
Week Five
I've enlisted Heavy. We play poker together, and I regularly clean
him out, so he's all too happy to share some Madden pointers while
completely throttling me. We spend hours "hitting the sticks,"
which is gamer lingo for "playing so much that you get calluses."
After countless games and more lopsided losses than I can remember,
I finally improve a little. In fact, on one fateful night, shortly
before Heavy goes home, I lose by just one touchdown. For me,
that's a victory. I dance in my living room as Heavy walks out.
Week Six
Heavy tells me that I'm not ready to take on Fool - or any other
pro, for that matter. He tells me I need more seasoning before I
can step up to that level. He also thinks it's a really bad sign
that I still haven't connected my machine to the Internet. He says
I'm "technotarded." But, being a good pal, he invites me to a mini
Madden tournament he's hosting. There's a $50 entry fee, those who
place in the top three will be paid, and there will be about 20
competitors. It sounds good to me. I tell him I'll be there. Hey,
it's not a competitive gaming league, but even
Derek Jeter had to
pay his dues in the minors.
The Heavy Kevy Invitational
I could bore you with the details of how amazingly I played, of
long touchdown passes and fantastic interceptions. I could tell you
about how, unexpectedly, I blazed through a field that had more
than one Madden Challenge veteran in it (Heavy and his friends
regularly play in the tournament). I could tell you that I took
first place and won the sweet, sweet cash. I could tell you all of
that … but I'd be lying. In actuality, I got smoked. I lost two
games in a double-elimination tournament by incredibly wide margins
- the wizards at
MIT probably think it's mathematically impossible
for a person to be so terrible at something.
SO, WHERE DOES that leave me? Well, after
nearly two months of training and numerous beat downs, I've become
abject. It appears that I'm not cut out to become a professional
gamer. (You're safe for now, Fool, but sleep with one eye open.) It
seems that I'll have to keep doing what I'm doing - stringing
together words in the hopes that some publication with deep pockets
will have mercy on me.
And who knows? Maybe that Bazooka Joe job will open up soon. Que sera, sera.