competing to compete - by brett kim - goldandgreen

11:38am, Saturday night. My frat had just cancelled our party tonight, so I was in the thralls of my third ranked game of the night, the first time I’ve played a competitive FPS game in years. I was playing with my high school friends, and it felt like a classic night back in the good ol’ days, grinding out Rainbow Six Siege after getting my shit done. And I was thoroughly miserable. I was sitting at the bottom of the leaderboard at 0 kills and 5 deaths. My once (self-proclaimed) prodigious aim still showed itself in remnants, but for the most part, I was a fish out of water. I didn’t know how to use my gadgets, I had no knowledge about what scope or secondary I could use, and I had the game sense of a concussed pigeon after flying through a window (in units you might understand, twice the skill of Elan). But as we racked up loss after loss, and my friends’ hard work to get their ranks slipped between our fingers after round loss after round loss, I realized something really innate to

11:38am, Saturday night. My frat had just cancelled our party tonight, so I was in the thralls of my third ranked game of the night, the first time I’ve played a competitive FPS game in years. I was playing with my high school friends, and it felt like a classic night back in the good ol’ days, grinding out Rainbow Six Siege after getting my shit done. And I was thoroughly miserable. I was sitting at the bottom of the leaderboard at 0 kills and 5 deaths. My once (self-proclaimed) prodigious aim still showed itself in remnants, but for the most part, I was a fish out of water. I didn’t know how