When I discovered that Major League Gaming, a professional video game tour, was going to be in Toronto, where I was living this summer, I decided to jump at the opportunity to attend the event. I have been a part of the XBox Live community for a few years now, playing under the gamer alias CrappyDan (which would admittedly be far more clever if it were not so apt). The most popular game being played at the event, "Halo 3," happened to be my undying fixation over the summer, so I figured it would be a fun change of pace to watch other teams of four become frustrated to the brink of cardiac failure.
The event occurred at Fan Expo Canada and served as a celebration of all things science fiction or any game that could be played with 24-sided dice. Upon entering the facility, I immediately felt underdressed. At the last minute, I had decided not to wear my Japanese schoolgirl outfit and matching samurai sword; I looked like a fish out of water in my street clothes.
To get an idea of what the place looked like, imagine a grown-up version of the kid who used to dress up as Boba Fett for Halloween and multiply him by 3,000. As we took in our surroundings, my friend quipped that "the best thing about going to a gaming convention is that you can't catch an STI."
At one end of the convention hall, spotlights flashed and a large crowd gathered. A colossal sign reading "MLG" indicated that I had indeed reached the mecca of the gaming world. I stared in awe along with hundreds of onlookers as eventual tournament champions and winners of the $20,000 grand prize faced off in a deadly game of capture-the-flag on three mammoth projection screens. The crowd cheered jubilantly as virtual men were Second Amendmented left and right in spectacular fashion.
Although I was interested in the game being played on the large screens, I was even more intrigued by the people sitting in front of the monitors who served as kamikaze puppeteers. Some looked young enough to be alternates on China's women's gymnastics team. Others looked as if it had been years since they had last taken advantage of the free sunlight available outdoors, but for the most part they looked like any normal person you'd encounter on a college campus. A coach stood behind the gamers, barking out the locations of approaching enemies like a quarterback identifying blitzing linebackers. The action was broadcast worldwide on the MLG Web site, and announcers could be heard giving play-by-play analysis of the unfolding action.
Teamwork, announcers, strategy, large stakes - if I didn't know better, I might call this a sport. What I watched wasn't a bunch of lazy, nerdy kids pushing buttons. It was a chess match - evolved.
Naturally, there are many detractors to violent games like "Halo" who claim that they rot one's brain and serve as a catalyst for violent behavior. Oddly enough, this crowd tends to be comprised of people who have never even picked up a controller. Studies have shown that video games can help enhance players' analytical skills and make them more perceptive. Violence has to be blamed on something aside from shoddy parenting, and rap music and video games seem to be the popular pick at the moment.
The allure of professional gaming is not hard to figure out. It's an equal-opportunity sport that anyone can excel at, regardless of their body composition. You don't have to be a 300-pound mammoth, a 6-foot-8-inch beanpole or have the uncanny ability run a three-minute mile to be a professional gamer. There are no god-given talents involved - only a commitment level to a respective game that's unparalleled. And generally, professional gamers are sponsored and can earn up to $250,000 a year for partaking in their passion.
I wonder why I even bother going to class anymore.
Treadway is a radio-television-film junior.
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