Full speed ahead, Mr. ManneX, with our entire staff behind our new posting schedule. Want to comment? Please do, with the button in blue at the bottom of the post. Want to bitch? Kindly drink some pool chemicals. Cliffnotes? Take Old Highway 81 west to Coronado Heights, go up the winding road, park, walk to the edge, look over, jump.
Speaking of jumps, I recently made the jump from casual online play to
the competitive realm, participating in the Project Gotham “Manuals
Masters” tournament over Xbox Live. The whole thing was a lot like
losing your virginity: it’s awkward, you don’t perform well, and it’s
over way too soon. Not to say that my performance was completely
flaccid; I did qualify 49th
out of about three thousand entrants. I was simply overmatched, going
up against World Cyber Games champions, guys who’ve made more money
during a single tournament than I’ve made in all my 20 years. Words
like omnipotent and transcendent are completely justified when describing their in-game abilities.
But my elimination in the quarterfinals wasn’t the real disappointment;
I never expected to go all the way. No, what really disappointed me
was seeing certain high-level players suffer cases of road rage and
using cheating tactics
to get ahead. I had always believed – naively – that the highest
players wouldn’t make use of such below-the-belt moves in competition.
But despite the high-minded principles, my McLaren SLR has the dented
quarter panels and missing door mirrors to prove that I got checked
into the wall twice.
Cry me a fucking river, you’re thinking, but I’m not trying to
bitch/whine/moan about my loss. It just came as an unscheduled
reminder that cockbiting artards exist on all levels. They’re
everywhere.
So keep that one in mind as I climb down off my soapbox, and I’ll see you in the game
