Steve Job’s second story, that of “love and loss,” hit me at a degree that was very close to home. As many of my friends know, I am really in love with a competitive game called Smite. I have worn many hats in the time that I have played the game, but none have ever been as amazing as the time when I coached an amateur team that got a chance to compete at the international level.
This team was called We Garn Servo and was an Australian team comprised of 5 male players ages 16-22. I completed their lineup as their sixth member, and although we spent so much time together, it was obvious I didn’t quite fit in for a number of reasons. Firstly, they were 16+ hours ahead, and I wasn’t really able to spend the quality time a teammate typically does getting to know them. Our scrimmages were from 3-7 AM for me, so as soon as we were done, I was off to bed or else I was definitely not going to make it to class later that day. Secondly, the team was all guys. Normally, you would hope that wouldn’t mean anything, but there always seemed to be a bit of a divide; I was never really “one of the lads” as they would say.
Despite this, I worked incredibly hard to review their scrimmages, devise strategies, and compile statistics in order to give them the best possible chances at dominating their Oceanic league. And that’s exactly what they did. Though it was a rocky start, I have never felt more proud of anything that I’d ever done than the moment that we won our best of three set that secured our tickets to the international Smite Masters LAN event. That feeling of pride didn’t last forever.
A week after we won, I had been getting some mixed signals from the boys. A little later, I was told I was kicked from the team.
Kicked? You’re joking, right?
Alas, it was the truth. They decided that the ticket I had worked so hard to earn would be snatched from my hand and ripped to shreds. To say I was devastated was an understatement. Even as I think back now, I wish I had been able to change my fate, for my life could have been so different if I had actually been able to go.
However, that doesn’t mean I dislike where I ended up. That doesn’t mean I left my passion to float away with the cruel breeze like my ticket did. In fact, it made it much, much stronger. Since then, I have grown within the Smite community to a place where I am much happier — not to mention I actually have gotten paid to play it. Although I lost something very dear to me, I was able to reassess and find the place where I truly wanted to be. Rather than waking up to a deafening alarm at 3 AM to groggily watch scrimmages, I can create my own content and reach an audience beyond those that are interested in the niche international leagues.
I did love my coaching position with We Garn Servo, and though I lost it, I didn’t lose my love for the game, the community, and the job.