Gospel, Xbox, Pt. 2
Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
“I don’t have the right words to say. I’m no pastor or preacher. I don’t even like church. But I do know this; God loves you. Nothing will change that. No drugs, no mom yelling at you, no suicidal thought. He really loves you, man.”
M@rvin’s mic was out. Mini catch-up; the guy had just told me he wanted to end his life right as the life of his mic ended. To be fair, his ability to speak. He was 19, I was 16.
“Can you still hear me?”
He was Marcus, the main character in Gears. Gruff, massive, and with a voice of pure black oil. But M@rvin moved Marcus’s gun up and down. I knew that meant yes. He could hear me.
But I was winging it. I was way out of my element. And I was no stranger to the notion of suicide.
“Are you feeling any better?”
Marcus didn’t move. His character just stared at me for several seconds. But then he nodded his head by moving his right joystick up and down.
“Good, man. I’ve got school tomorrow but I can stay on as long as you need.”
No response. Marcus was still. I got nervous. And around a minute later, I feared the worst.
I got a message from him over Xbox live.
“Thanks for this. My mom and I just got into a big fight and I just smoked my last blunt. Bad stuff was getting to me. Don’t know about God or Jesus, but for some reason I feel like somebody out there cares.”
I didn’t know how to respond. The next few days were business as usual. As in, he carried me in the matches, got a billion kills when I’d get one and a half, and he was trash talking like a mother fricker (this one is for my friends at home).
Like many peeps I’ve met over the years, I don’t know what St@rvin M@rvin is up to now. From all I can gather, he may still well be a diehard gamer with a mouth like a sailor and a tendency for deep highs on a variety of substances.
But Xbox is boundaried by nature. You can’t hug someone over a mic. You can’t fix anything over a message. You can’t even look someone in the eyes to tell them that God loves them.
And yet, that very boundary promotes honesty. There’s no real stake for me to tell an anonymous stranger that he shouldn’t kill himself. Sure, because I try to be a decent person, I’ll step in and do what I am able to do. Because’s he’s made in God’s image, I will work to try and show him dignity as a given.
But because I’ve never physically met St@rvin M@rvin, I’m not in the same social circles. We didn’t go to school together. We didn’t twiddle our thumbs at the same boring church service.
I have no idea what he is like in any other context save Xbox. Yet because I loved him there, loved a lot of brothers and a few sisters a lot like him there, I still want to see his name online.
I still want him to see my name online. To know that even one person out there gets it. Even if they’ve got a silly gamertag like killerkeller23. But even ObiwanCalobi182, the newly reformed killerkeller23, needs some reminding of the value of life.
I just didn’t know it would be from VinnyDoCuzHeDuz over a phone and not over a mic.
Xbox isn’t always so heavy and sad like this. Sometimes it really is all fun and games and no one loses an eye. Maybe a head.
adamb2533, or “uh-dom-beh” as I like to call him, is pretty good at games. He’s like M@rvin in this way.
We first met on Overwatch (where I met many friends who will emerge later). The game is the most like a sport I’ve ever played, save for a sports game, but usually even sports games don’t play like the actual sport they are supposed to (that one is for Lookie98, freaking 2k, man).
Two teams, three roles, one objective. The objective isn’t really worth explaining beyond that it is a team effort, usually, to accomplish. But the roles are, again, very sports ish.
Damage dealers, what we call DPS (damage per second), are the star players. In football, think running backs or wide receivers. In basketball, think the star guard, the pure scorer. They are the flashy ones, the guys or gals who should be getting the play of the game (but rarely do).
Tanks are the ones who pick up the slack. The offensive and defensive linemen, the super tall guys who guzzle up all the rebounds. They often are at the center of the action, the fighting, and often the blame for the L.
Healers are, well, healers. When the DPS and tanks go about doing their business, the healers are intended to support them in their goals. In theory, they are the quarterbacks and the point guards. IN THEORY, they kinda dictate how things should go in a skirmish. But theory matters nil in reality when most DPS go off and do their own thing looking for play of the game and get killed while tanks run away from their healers, die, and then blame the healers they ran away from.
Lot of pent up angst when describing this game. Petty angst I share greatly with adamb2533 (and Vinny and all the other squamates I play this game with occasionally).
The first match I met adamb2533 he was playing D.Va. A character clearly designed for boys to… appreciate (tall, skinny, Korean, conventionally attractive in an anime sort of way), D.Va has always been good. But adamb2533 took her to another level entirely.
The match had ended and adamb2533 had a 80% elimination score. Again, gibberish to y’all, but basically, this is like Kobe scoring 80+, this is like Brady throwing 6+ touchdowns, this is like the first listen of Kendrick’s DAMN.
He was DESTROYING the enemy team. I sheepishly got on the mic.
“Can I… join y’all?”
Another person, not this god tier adam fellow, got on the mic. Clearly prepubescent.
“Sure. But you need to be a healer.”
You might hear this at first and be excited for me. Cool, I get to be on the team with a great player. What a relief! Surely we were going to win, win, and then win some more.
But being a healer, being a tank, well, a tank that isn’t a star player like D.Va or others, is kinda second class. It’s never stated directly, but it’s well established in the community that certain characters are “lesser” in the skill they require to be effective. Some of it is factual, some of it just egotistical.
In other words, to play with Jordan, I wasn’t going to be Pippen. Not even Rodman. I was probably coming off the bench.
Time went by, several dozens of matches as well, and I got accustomed to playing at a higher level as, quite literally, a role player. And I played my role efficiently to help put my team in position to get the Ws.
Quick flashback; in past blogs, I talked about my love for b-ball. I also talked about how playing it on any sort of serious level was always a negative experience for yours truly. I was a great shot, better than most on the team, except when the lights were on. And my teammates were keen to let me know this. I never felt like I was a part of the team. Varsity, jv, or even freshman, it seemed there was never a place for me.
But starting off playing with this guy in his 30s, with a family, successful business, and a penchant for destroying twelve year old scrubs, I got a sense that I fit with the system. Some seasons better than others. It was as if a quiet and mutual respect fostered as he knew I would do whatever it took, do any of the “dirty” work, to get us to win (all while hoping we weren’t playing with a Genji who was throwing, that one is for my Overwatch friends).
The game of Overwatch always shifts. What we call the meta. Imagine trends in fashion, in music, in tv shows. Sometimes it’s about cuffing jeans, sometimes it’s about beanies (in Portland, it always is), sometimes it’s about auto-tune, sometimes it’s about trap, etc. Video games work the same way. Sometimes the game evolves to the point that certain strategies work better than most. So then, the “meta” is whatever is the best conventional strategy at the time.
And one “meta” in particular I felt like I finally got to be Pippen status. Well, more like Stockton and adamb2533 was Malone. For football guys, I was Brady and he was peak Moss.
I was Ana. She’s a… fancy healer. Picking her is somewhat of a status symbol. It’s saying “I’m a healer, but I’m also the shit.” Or, it puts a huge ass target on your back if you end up sucking (which most often do). Anyway, adamb2533 was Reinhardt. Imagine Shaq. Yao Ming. Andre the Giant. Schwarzenegger. You get the idea. He’s big as all get out.
Anyway, the two have a natural synergy. They work super well together. Again, using sports metaphors, their “pick and rolls” are excellent, their post routes are a natural fit. They scratch each other’s backs really well.
At this point, I was in the big little league. I had a shiny purple emblem next to my name. Diamond. Confirmed I don’t suck. I’m pretty good, proven by purple sheen. adam2533 was diamond always because whatever, but hey, I was playing with the cool cats now. I needed to play catch up and I had finally caught up.
To explain a complex gaming issue in the briefest way possible, in Overwatch, for years, anybody that joined a game could decide their role. And so, because the internet, that meant everyone was the DPS, the star player. Using sports again, imagine having 3 Kobes, imagine have Messi on defense, offense, and midfield. Imagine having Kanye on a song feat Ye, Yeezy, and Konman. It basically confirms an L. But because everything is anonymous, because the internet, because America is individualistic and everyone wants the glory and no one wants the unsexy roles, no one switches.
Thank God for flex players. Like adamb2533 and ObiwanCalobi182. Put simply, the players who do switch to characters that the team needs.
Anyway, suffice to say, we did the swallow your pride thing dozens of times. But the cool part? We actually did get the sexy plays.
Basically, the whole team would be dead, save for adam and myself, but we would still clutch the point, us 2 v 6. My supporting him with everything Ana provided, he taking on the entire team as Reinhardt and having no regard for the dignity of the other team.
This was peak for my Overwatch career. I haven’t had the shiny purple for several seasons now. I’m washed up now, a role player permanently with occasional flashes of his previous brilliance.
But through the years of swapping, occasionally yelling at randoms who wouldn’t switch characters, stomaching tough losses, triumphing nail biting wins, and becoming a Swiss army knife with my skill set of being whatever the team needed, I gained a lot of confidence. A lot of understanding of online psychology. A random friend from Indiana who, although I am not terribly close with, rarely get terribly deep with, and occasionally disagree with, I normally synergize incredibly well with. For several months as I posted these blogs on Facebook, he consistently liked them, in fact. I’ve got no clue whether he read them in full, but hey, once an Xbox teammate, and then later an Xbox favorited friend, then always a friend IRL.
Just like Lacrossekid187, just like St@rvinM@rvin, just like Gg20, I haven’t played with the guy for a minute. But something as simple as my swallowing my loathing for Call of Duty, and a party invite, and we are off to the races.
Just be sure to keep carrying me to victory, adam.
Gaming is booming but the stigma remains.
2020 has been a bitch of a year, amirite? Stuck in our houses, unable to grab a drink at a crappy bar let alone go to a concert or go to the movies or even go to freaking church, COVID has taken it all.
But gaming, probably to no one’s surprise, is taking off. The revenue, apparently, is better than sports and film combined (thanks, largely and obviously, to the inability to see live games or go to the theater for the most part).
Yet there’s still a sense that gaming is kinda dirty. It’s like a better version of porn in a lot of people’s minds; sure, there isn’t objectification of women (well… actually), there isn’t entire illegal, dehumanizing industries profiting off of it, and it doesn’t contribute to many more men now suffering from ED, but it does have addictive qualities. It can, and often does, prevent people from engaging in the real world. And, probably most damaging, it can inhibit people from realizing their dreams.
But, and yes, there is a but in spite of all that legitimate bad, it can also promote perseverance. It can be a powerful way to engage with stories on par and sometimes exceeding Oscar winning movies and Nebula award winning books (and generally exceeding most Netflix tvs shows because most of Netflix is trash). The thing I like most?
It can deepen relationships amongst men.
I’ve already discussed helping an anonymous 19 year old decide not to end his life, but what if I told you about all the times I have been helped? Listened too? Prevented my own penchant for suicidal thought?
I do think it’s wise to game in moderation. Of course, and it should go without saying. Indulging in entire weekends with a mic, controller, cheap pizza, cheaper beers, and other activities that tend to happen with physical isolation? Nobody really wants that.
But folks, I have played with and gotten at least nominally close with several dozen people over the internet channel of Xbox live. Anxiety is on the rise, pre Corona. Depression is way more prominent than even the most bold therapists will admit. And physical isolation may even increase way more after this awful season of quarantine is over.
I’ll admit I don’t know how gaming will help or not help. But I will say I’m not convinced it only makes things worse. There are several brothers I’ve met who have benefitted from regularly playing with a bunch of other dudes who help them laugh, help them cut loose, help them open up when the male ego defenses are finally whittled down.
This I experienced not during Xbox but because of Xbox. And it proved that VinnyDoCuzHeDuz is far more sensitive than even he knew.
I’m psyched I’m done with the school district. Won’t get all political here but suffice to say, the whole system is… fricked (again for friends at home, IRL friends).
But I remember when they put me in the ISC. Put simply, the room with the most intense behaviors, the least amount of support, and the most predatory toward those who have big hearts yet without unlimited capacity for compassion.
I was sent in there, last second, multiple days in a row. I was pushed, I was hit, I saw the reds in some of the kids eyes that reminded me of past experiences I’ve had of physical assault. Quick disclaimer; not saying these are bad kids. It’s a myth that some little ones are just rotten. Their behavior is their way of communicating they aren’t being served the way they need to be.
However, it doesn’t mean I experienced it this way. The flashbacks were rough. I felt completely trapped. Unsure whether I’d be sent back into those situations again just like when I was unsure whether I’d get home and get yelled at, shoved, occasionally hit.
I was having dark thoughts. I called that hotline featured in that Logic song. It’s weird to say but I knew it was just thoughts. But it did seriously make me think of quitting, crashing on others couches, doing whatever it took to get away from reliving those awful memories again.
I reached out to my sister via text. She’s one of my closest friends IRL. I’m writing this in her new state of the art house. She’s really clutch and allowing me to stay while I do grad school. If there was a Myspace top friends list IRL, she’d be close to the top.
So would VinnyDoCuzHeDuz. I texted him too. I said to both of them that I just had bad thoughts. Thankfully, I didn’t have a plan, didn’t want to seriously end things, didn’t think life was meaningless and all the poisonous thoughts many with suicidal ideation often experience. But it’s best to communicate even at the slightest notion of serious depression. Isolation fuels suicidal thought. Community squashes it.
I went on with the week and, thank God, thank the principal, thank Christina (my fellow para in arms, I miss you!), I wasn’t sent in that room. Someone upstairs figured out a way for the kingdom of God to bring some level of relief not only for me but for those absolute warriors still serving those very needy kids.
Saturday rolled around, pre end of the world 2019, and I was off to Rain or Shine, my fave coffee shop, which closed but is now apparently reopening! Anyway, I found my spot in the corner, chatted awkwardly with the barista Daphne who I was crushing on, and began working on the fantasy story I’ll finish while I’m still in the grave.
Suddenly I got a call. A call? If VinnyDoCuzHeDuz, codenamed “Vince,” reached out, it was via male communication; Xbox. But the guy was calling, and I honestly felt concerned. Stepping out, counting on the “believe in nice” car ads Damian Lillard does for Portland car dealerships that my old, decrepit MacBook wouldn’t get stolen, I answered.
The guy was sobbing. The burly, supra intelligent, even keeled dude, who I jokingly (and not so sensitively) called robotic, was hysterical. Several seconds passed, and I asked him what was wrong.
“I just don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.”
Friends reading, if this wasn’t the voice of God speaking tenderly from the most rational, level headed man I’ve ever known, I don’t what is. And sure, I heard this absolute blessing over the phone but it was built to this place via Xbox.
See, this dynamic 99 times out of 100 is inversed. We hop on, do the brief how’s your day nonsense, destroy or get destroyed on Rocket League, and then, about half of the time, I complain, moan, and rant about the latest relational hang up with the ladies. And he just sits there, the patience of a wiser Yoda, and processes my heart vomit. To explain why he holds me in such high regard, counts me as one of his closest friends, I’ll never understand.
I literally just gripe about how unfair life is for a sensitive, nerdy white guy going to grad school, with a decent job, and no serious adverse life experiences, and he just takes it in. Never says the “get over it” line I got a dozen times before.
This friendship, one of the closer ones I’ve ever had period, wasn’t developed because of sports. Wasn’t developed over skating. Wasn’t even developed over a men’s group or a church group or an AA group.
It was because we like to pick up a plastic controller and shoot random aliens with lasers that say “pew pew.”
Together.
If that’s not what the New Testament calls brotherly love, I don’t know what is.
But hey, a three stranded chord doesn’t quickly break, right?
Well our Xbox chord actually has four.
VinnyDoCuzHeDuz, ObiwanCalobi182, bashf00l, and wasuregenjitsu. But we don’t call that last guy by that gamertag.
We call him Drex.
To be continued…