By Jonathan Lee
I’ve been sitting here for the past hour trying to explain what it feels like to see my name on the same travel itinerary as Boxer’s, Nestea’s and MVP’s. MLG Providence was the first time I’ve seen celebrities in person, and I don’t think it’s disingenuous to call pro gamers celebrities. They get turned into memes, write best-selling biographies, and get deafened by chanting. No one asks for autographs from a normal person.
So how do I describe what it felt like to see all the people whose articles I follow, all the silly pictures I laugh at and all the VODs I watch materialize into flesh-and-blood human beings who lounge around hotel lobbies checking Twitter, waiting for translators and asking where the bathroom is? As far as I know, there’s no label to neatly define and explain that experience, but I am a writer by training. So, I’ll try.
When I met pros for the first time in Providence, I was not starstruck in the slightest. I didn’t stammer once when I sat down to eat with Boxer and MMA and there was no awkwardness between MarineKing and me when I walked him back to his hotel.
At the risk of sounding trite, it was humanizing. I know this is a hackneyed conclusion but it’s true.
On Friday night, I saw Marineking leaving the convention center alone, so I jogged up and kept him company on our way back to the hotel. I broke the ice by talking about Reddit and teasing him about an interview where he said he wanted to ask Ellen Paige why she’s so cute. He laughed, surprised and a little flattered that I knew about the interview, and his trademark shyness lifted a bit.
“So truthfully speaking, from a Korean to a gyopo (a foreigner of Korean ancestry),” I asked in Korean, “How do you feel about American food?”
“Honestly…” Marineking ventured, careful not to offend, “I really miss ramyun (Korean instant noodles).”
I laughed. “If you come to the next MLG Event, I’ll bring some,” I said.
“Really?”
For just a second, I saw his eyes beam before he caught himself.
“Oh, uh… I would like that,” he said, bowing slightly, “Thank you.”
He was craving ramyun in particular because he was struggling with jet lag, a cold, and the grind of the Open Bracket. When he reached his floor, we bowed to each other and I wished him luck.
What did I get out of my first MLG Event?
정. The best way to explain jeong is when “I” disappears and only “we” exists. It is a deep empathy, a uniquely Korean sensation of being connected. This is why you always see pictures of Korean players, despite being from different teams, hugging each other and relaxing together. It is relationships between equals, relationships between teachers and students, relationships between older and younger brothers. To Koreans, it’s really the little things that cause that process of endearment and jeong to begin. Being gamers is just a fraction of their identity, not the whole.
I’m a newbie to the StarCraft scene. I am woefully unqualified to tell you the statistical history of how many TvZs Polt wins when opening with 2 Rax Bunker Rush or the viability of Fast Forge Expand on Shakuras Plateau. I’m an old school FPS guy. Most of my childhood was spent following FPS stars like Thresh, Fatal1ty, Volcano and Potti. But there’s something about StarCraft 2’s scene that really sets it apart from other games. Recently, pro gaming has been developing into a scene with a lot of human drama, beyond just prize pools and sponsorships, and nowhere is this narrative stronger than in StarCraft 2. Providence reinforced why I love esports and what I believe esports is.
Esports is a story, and it is a story that must be told with the realization that the characters are real, a story that understands that it goes beyond the scene and the game, because their human motivations are what makes the scene possible. It’s not just a story about victories and defeats, but friendships, betrayals, health problems, rivalries and buying cars for moms with tournament winnings.
For me, MLG Providence was when the story began.
