stayed up most of the night gaming in the hotel and all of them slept through the first round. I shake my head when I hear that. Imagining traveling all the way to San Diego for the biggest tournament of the year and sleeping through it. Actually, one loss doesn’t eliminate you because it’s a mixer. Each round players are paired against others with similar records. After ten rounds, the top eight fight it out in single elimination. Final eighters all get some decent money, but the prize pool is really top heavy. The big money goes to first and second.
I win my second round pretty easily and during the break DT wanders into the hall and finds me working though some moves on my laptop. About a minute later so does the one person I’ve been hoping to avoid.
“Would you look at this,” comes this booming voice from behind my head. “No wonder I couldn’t find you. You’re such a puny wuss.”
When I turn my head there is a wall of human flesh behind my head. Before I can do anything DT jumps up and says, “Well fatso, I’m not.”
Stompazer laughs, this big theatrical laugh like a movie ogre.
“I don’t deal with noobs or stickmen,” he says. “And you’re both.”
Just then the tournament director announces that the pairings for round three are posted.
“I’m just waiting for my chance,” Stomp says, “I’m going to take you down.”
“Sure,” I say. “Just like last time.”
“Last time was a fluke!” He’s all red in the face and almost screaming. “Never happen again. Never!”
I stand up and head off to one of the pairing boards, trying to act like he’s not there. But truth is, he’s a truly creepy presence. Big and obnoxious like one of those giant trolls in a massive multi-player rpg that require a team of forty gamers to bring down.
11.
I start nervously, but sweep my next round and rack up another routine win in my fourth. I’m keeping my secret weapon under wraps until I need it. After lunch break we sit back down and I know I’m going to be paired against someone who is 4-0 or 3-1 at the least. The tournament director gets us all in our seats and I see I’m up against an older guy who is 4-0. He’s got a scraggly beard and stringy hair and looks like he hasn’t slept or bathed since the beginning of the year. Most guys, they’ll say something when they sit down across from you before ducking behind the monitors. This guy, who plays under the handle MilesBlue, says nothing.
“Round five will begin in three minutes,” the announcer says.
Miles comes out smoking and it’s a toss-up through midgame when I decide I can’t wait any longer and begin to sneak some miners up against the back of his main fortress. Then I suddenly stack them up and send a couple warriors over the top. A couple of minutes later the game is over. As we stand up the guy gives me a weird look.
“Sure would like to know how you pulled that off,” he says.
“Practice, practice, practice,” I say and offer him my hand. He declines the offer.
That makes me 5-0. For the final round of the day I’m surprised to get assigned one of the feature tables, even though I should have guessed. Only ten people are 5-0. It’s pretty exciting, playing in front of a crowd, your every move showing up on a twenty-foot screen. I know there’ll be no easy matches the rest of the way, and I recognize most of the guys at the top of the results list.
I used to watch Garrett and his teammates before high school games. Running the drills and slapping each other and just before the lineup was called, making this circle with their hands around each other’s shoulders. I realize I have my own rituals before a match, just like they did. I play with my mouse, moving it to the right, then left, than back again. My right leg gets the bouncies, and I like to rock in my chair. I go through all of this stuff, and do it again, because being on the feature table, it’s just that much more nerve wracking. I stop rocking my chair and focus on the screen as the game clock ticks down.
As the match gets underway I forget about the crowd and the projection of my game and just concentrate on trying to get the upper hand. Only when I pull my new maneuver and hear the combined gasp from the crowd do I remember where I am. The game winds down fast after that.
DT runs over to the roped area and gives me a huge high five.
“Man, you are hot!” he says.
I notice that a whole bunch of judges are congregating around a laptop at the judge’s table. I don’t think much about it. There’s always at least one player who appeals a game or complains that it was the equipment’s fault.
We hang out until they post the final results of day one. Only five of us are still undefeated. But I groan when I see that Stompazer is 5-1.
I figure if I go 2-2 or better on day two I’m guaranteed to make the final eight. That would put me just three matches from $30k.
DT and I head out to the same pizza place we found the night before. Despite being the first week of June, it’s surprising cool outside and the air smells of the ocean and grilled food from nearby restaurants. We talk Starfare nonstop. DT keeps telling me that I’m going to sweep the whole tourney undefeated. That there’s no defense for my new move. I try to be modest, but I’m not arguing. By the time we get back to the lobby I’m so beat I just want to collapse back in bed. DT says he’s going to see if Morgan is hanging in the gaming room before heading up. I’m asleep within seconds of hitting the stack of oversized hotel pillows.
12.
It doesn’t take long, next morning, to figure something is up. Before the assignments come out they have all of the competitors gather in a big scrum in front of the judge’s table. The head referee clears his throat over the mike. Then he taps it and says, “Is this working?” We all shout for him to get on it with and he does.
“After due consideration of yesterday’s match play the judges and Starfare’s software team have decided that a minor patch will be in effect for today’s matches. This will be transparent to most of you, affecting only an anomaly in an unintended use of miners.”
I feel something falling from my chest toward my shoes.
“However, we have determined that nothing illegal or unethical was involved in the use of this bug and all matches from yesterday will stand.”
I feel like everyone is staring at me.
As we disperse and wait for first round pairings I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal, that I can still match up even with anyone in the field. And that I don’t have to win every match to make the final eight.
But I never quite get back my equilibrium and sleepwalk through my first two matches, losing both of them. DT shows up around then and sits me down and gives me a real cussing out. I guess it helps because I win a close match in round three. With one match left, DT and I run through the possibilities and after doing the math about ten times conclude that a win gets me in for sure and that a draw would put me into a tiebreaker with two or three other players. The tiebreak goes to minutes played which would be a give-me, with all the quick games I played on day one.
Final round I get paired with another 7-2 player and as we get set up to play I explain to him that we can both make the final eight if we agree to a draw. But if we
