BEHOLD! A demon strikes. His name is insomnia and, against this ancient and evil foe, I am powerless. Because I have work in a measly 5 hours, I might as well just stay up and take an IV solution of caffeine dissolved in tiger blood with my morning coffee. After all, sleep is a poor substitute for stimulants.
Today, I would like to rant about clients, namely ones that are poorly made, games that are likewise poorly made and maps that are actually made well, if your name is Justin and you like sniping.
This week was warmfront week in every one's favorite league. My relationship with this map has always been sketchy. I take that back. I fucking hate warmfront. I hate every scout filled nook, every easily abuse-able height on middle, every bloody angle that the enterprising sniper can exploit for their own perverse, schadenfreudian pleasure. The map was born the bastard son of complaints about coldfront (an equally terrible map) and a certain invite player named Justin (note, I didn’t do my own fact checking in regards to this, one of my players assures me it is he that made this map). Those who are unfamiliar with Justin need only watch him play any map... ever. He snipes, he pushes the faces of unsuspecting medics in with the giant slug of justice from his vantage point as far away from danger as humanly possible.
With the knowledge that he is one of North America’s best snipers safely assumed, Justin took out his silver hammer, and with it, ensured that every player who steps on his creation be given a lobotomy, from his grandmother, to yours and every single blessed person in between. Only one person, a knight in shining armour, could prevent this disaster, Wonderwall, the roaming great (actually, any roamer will do, jumping snipers is relatively easy). Justin sat, in his baggy sweatpants and Grateful Dead T-shirt, face brightened in his parent’s otherwise dark basement, and pondered the solution to the problem. What he came up with was so evil, so devious, that even the great guardians of our sacred map pools were powerless in its wake. I talk of course, of The Great Warmfront Sniping Angle of “WHAT IN THE LITERAL FUCK WAS THAT?”.
yes, this is the blue cliff, and we are indeed looking into red forward spawn / second holding area.
Hark, what map through yonder balance breaks, it is this angle, and a medic the target.
All of my complaints and grievances regarding this week’s map however, are completely moot. My team didn’t even get to play it. One match was a forfeit win, the other... against mgib’s team. Nuff said.
But even that sniper infested, heavy encrusted, back cap clogged game couldn’t be played right. Just as the first mid was being resolved, people started crashing, dropping like flies. First the enemy medic, a man of dubious character and intentions, Jonas. (Let it be noted, we had to reschedule because Jonas had a date with a really cute guy, so he mucked up two separate attempts to play this game) Then me, and apparently two other gentlemen from the enemy team. Some client crashes, some game crashes. I had an entire hard drive fail on me mid match. Luckily, I have great backup protocols and only have a small amount of data on my primary drive anyway, so a rescue only took about 10 minutes. Once we started playing (about 20 minutes later), the inanity resumed.
But in the aftermath, it was my team that was victorious. Victory has a strange taste in my mouth, it is unfamiliar and not unlike that feeling when you bite into a chocolate, only to discover that it is filled with a giant macadamia nut, and you are allergic to nuts. I savored the flavor though, and found it quite to my liking, because even after every pick on me, after every denied uber and each frustrating mid fight, my team held strong. We communicated, we worked together. Calls were made, calls were listened to. Things were glorious. My team proved they could play this video game, and not look like they had their underpants mounted upon their noggin like the headdress of an institutionalized Apache Chief. It was a small, fleeting taste of pride and success, and I am addicted.
I want to congratulate my team, and every team that has thus far stuck together. TF2 is a game that requires far different skills than SC2, LoL, and even CS:S or other competitive FPS games. It requires the teamwork of a DotA clone, the finesse and quick thinking of an RTS and the sheer aim mixed with smart movement and positioning of a normal FPS. It is also a game where you have to put up with 5 other people, most of whom you will likely never actually meet. You play with these 5 other brave souls for upwards of 20 hours a week, almost as much as a part time job. Each win is jointly celebrated, and each devastating loss magnified amongst all your compatriots. Keep this in mind as you play. Even if you play at, or near the very pinnacle of skill, everyone makes mistakes. Roamers kill themselves, scouts miss every single shot, pockets look the wrong way, medics drop ubers (demoman is easy, anyone who messes up playing that class should consider choosing a different one). The lesson for this blog is to not hold that against them, to move on, learn from your mistakes, improve. This cycle is the only way a team can stay sane, stay together, reach the heights to which every scrubling aspires.
And if you do mess up, if you do burst out and bitch at someone, whether it be because you had a terrible day or he reallyshouldnothavegoneintothatstickytrapAGAIN, pull that player aside, apologize, move on. No one likes to be bitched at, if there is a problem area, work on it as a team and don’t single out any one player. It takes a team to drop an uber, it takes a single individual to alienate another.
Best of luck to everyone on viaduct week. We are in for three weeks of demo and sniper terror maps (viaduct, gravelpit, snakewater). Watch your heads, after all, you need those to play smart.
Love and brownies
Alexei “drshdwpuppet” Williams
