Kings of Silver Text by Zealously Graphics by Meru, ReD





By Zealously



Artosis once said that all kings must die. The quote became somewhat infamous, though for its humor rather than its wisdom. After all, the fact hardly merits speaking out loud at all. Starcraft is a high-stakes stage where players square off in matches decided by the most minute details. Like all such competitive mediums, every king—even those considered untouchable during their respective ages—must eventually crumble and fade away from the spotlight. All that remains of those once-great kingdoms are the legacies, the leftover memories that sustain and direct the next generation of conquerors.



If the king is fortunate, he leaves behind a victorious legacy. A panoply of victories for his oeurve leave behind an almost palpable memory of success, and subsequently an arresting imago. We remember Boxer and Mvp for their seemingly superhuman abilities both when they were supposed to win and more so when they weren't. More than anything else we idolize these champions, the ones whose identities were defined by their preternatural ability to win.





No words are needed.



We raise high those who stand above their peers by virtue of their victories alone, their impossible successes and unlikely championships immortalized. These players are the greats of our game, defining each generation of players by driving the game — sometimes alone — the game into a new era.



This article is dedicated to the ones that were on the cusp, who laid the groundwork of kingdoms never finished, the ones that fell on the finish line just before they could create lasting legacies. This article is about the tragic almost-heroes of Starcraft, those whose legacies came to be tainted by their losses instead of defined by their victories. The perpetual kings of silver: the kongs.



Click on a player's portrait to read more about them Artosis once said that all kings must die. The quote became somewhat infamous, though for its humor rather than its wisdom. After all, the fact hardly merits speaking out loud at all. Starcraft is a high-stakes stage where players square off in matches decided by the most minute details. Like all such competitive mediums, every king—even those considered untouchable during their respective ages—must eventually crumble and fade away from the spotlight. All that remains of those once-great kingdoms are the legacies, the leftover memories that sustain and direct the next generation of conquerors.If the king is fortunate, he leaves behind a victorious legacy. A panoply of victories for his oeurve leave behind an almost palpable memory of success, and subsequently an arresting imago. We remember Boxer and Mvp for their seemingly superhuman abilities both when they were supposed to win and more so when they weren't. More than anything else we idolize these champions, the ones whose identities were defined by their preternatural ability to win.We raise high those who stand above their peers by virtue of their victories alone, their impossible successes and unlikely championships immortalized. These players are the greats of our game, defining each generation of players by driving the game — sometimes alone — the game into a new era.This article is dedicated to the ones that were on the cusp, who laid the groundwork of kingdoms never finished, the ones that fell on the finish line just before they could create lasting legacies. This article is about the tragic almost-heroes of Starcraft, those whose legacies came to be tainted by their losses instead of defined by their victories. The perpetual kings of silver: the kongs.

YellOw The First King of Silver

On November 30th, 2003, Hong Jin Ho—better known by his ID YellOw—conceded the 2003 TriGem MSL to iloveoov. It was his fifth and last Starleague finals, none of which ended with him victoriously lifting the trophy. His nickname at that point was ”King of Silver”, provocative and affectionate in equal measure, and reflected his inability to win when it mattered most. A king without a crown, YellOw was a towering titan of Brood War everywhere but in the Starleague finals, where the eyes of the world were on him.



Most fans claim that YellOw had a mental block (the severity of said obstacle being disputed) that kept him from winning the title he so hotly desired. Off the Starleague finals stage he was a presence to rival BoxeR, the most dominant player in BW's formative years. He made Starleagues look easy, rarely challenged before the very latest stages of the playoffs. He was instrumental in establishing KTF as one of the greatest teams in history, and an opponent worthy of respect no matter who you were. As a competitor YellOw was certainly not an object of pity. But under the light of his defeats, YellOw is viewed in an entirely different way.



Did an abstract and ill-defined psychological block keep him from winning a single Starleague? I would argue no. With his career long finished and with all the facts on the table, I would argue that the most important factor in Yellow's long line of silvers was bad luck. He unfortunately ended up face to face with the players best equipped to beat him in the first place. XellOs, NaDa, iloveoov and particularly Boxer were all deadly ZvT opponents on their best of days, and they were the opponents Yellow was pitted against in his many ventures onto the finals stage. His rivalry with Boxer was career-defining, but he did not randomly play worse against Boxer when they were playing in a finals setting. Objectively speaking, it is quite clear that Boxer knew what he needed to do in order to win, and that Yellow could not handle it. An issue of strategy and wit, but not impotence in the face of pressure.







Boxer ends YellOw's Starleague run in the semifinals, barely giving his opponent time to sit down in the booth



YellOw was never alone at the top. He was always accompanied by Boxer and usually overshadowed by him. It is no stretch to say that they were the two players that were steps above their competition, and Boxer yet another step above YellOw. The Terran player that founded what would later become SK Telecom, Boxer introduced mental warfare into the game, utilizing psychological tricks and trash-talk to bring his opponents off their game. Boxer didn't simply play the game, he played the opponents by twisting their expectations and breaking their confidence. Three bunker rushes in a row was unthinkable given how low and unsportsmanlike it was at the time, but there was no question that when Boxer pulled it off against YellOw, it had been planned beforehand. It was the grasp of strategy and innovation that set Boxer apart from YellOw, and what allowed him to ultimately beat YellOw every time it mattered.



Rather than set a goal I just don’t want to let myself down. That's the most important thing. Even if I fail, I want to give a performance that won’t leave any regrets this season.

-YellOw, after winning the 2005 Snickers All-Star League



YellOw's mental block, if such a thing existed, did not encompass all finals. His issues did not lie in just the pressure of playing at the end of that stage. He won many special events in his career, ranging from the small GameBugs Supremacy Battle to the highly prestigious KT OnGameNet King of Kings tournament*. He was consistently one of the best Zergs—at several points [i]the best, period—and if you were to look at his career without the silver lining you would see a Zerg that left his mark upon competitive Brood War as one of the best, not simply a loser who kept falling to different players when championships were on the line. His persistence was far superior to that of any of his rivals, and he persevered and performed long after his rivals had retired.

*Even there, he lost to Boxer in the round robin section of the tournament.



And yet, this is the legacy YellOw has left behind: a memory of the man chasing Boxer's heels, crushing old records only to find that someone else had just crushed them even harder. Most fans claim that YellOw had a mental block (the severity of said obstacle being disputed) that kept him from winning the title he so hotly desired. Off the Starleague finals stage he was a presence to rival BoxeR, the most dominant player in BW's formative years. He made Starleagues look easy, rarely challenged before the very latest stages of the playoffs. He was instrumental in establishing KTF as one of the greatest teams in history, and an opponent worthy of respect no matter who you were. As a competitor YellOw was certainly not an object of pity. But under the light of his defeats, YellOw is viewed in an entirely different way.Did an abstract and ill-defined psychological block keep him from winning a single Starleague? I would argue no. With his career long finished and with all the facts on the table, I would argue that the most important factor in Yellow's long line of silvers was bad luck. He unfortunately ended up face to face with the players best equipped to beat him in the first place. XellOs, NaDa, iloveoov and particularly Boxer were all deadly ZvT opponents on their best of days, and they were the opponents Yellow was pitted against in his many ventures onto the finals stage. His rivalry with Boxer was career-defining, but he did not randomly play worse against Boxer when they were playing in a finals setting. Objectively speaking, it is quite clear that Boxer knew what he needed to do in order to win, and that Yellow could not handle it. An issue of strategy and wit, but not impotence in the face of pressure.YellOw was never alone at the top. He was always accompanied by Boxer and usually overshadowed by him. It is no stretch to say that they were the two players that were steps above their competition, and Boxer yet another step above YellOw. The Terran player that founded what would later become SK Telecom, Boxer introduced mental warfare into the game, utilizing psychological tricks and trash-talk to bring his opponents off their game. Boxer didn't simply play the game, he played the opponents by twisting their expectations and breaking their confidence. Three bunker rushes in a row was unthinkable given how low and unsportsmanlike it was at the time, but there was no question that when Boxer pulled it off against YellOw, it had been planned beforehand. It was the grasp of strategy and innovation that set Boxer apart from YellOw, and what allowed him to ultimately beat YellOw every time it mattered.YellOw's mental block, if such a thing existed, did not encompassfinals. His issues did not lie in just the pressure of playing at the end of that stage. He won many special events in his career, ranging from the small GameBugs Supremacy Battle to the highly prestigious KT OnGameNet King of Kings tournament*. He was consistently one of the best Zergs—at several points [i]the best, period—and if you were to look at his career without the silver lining you would see a Zerg that left his mark upon competitive Brood War as one of the best, not simply a loser who kept falling to different players when championships were on the line. His persistence was far superior to that of any of his rivals, and he persevered and performed long after his rivals had retired.And yet, this is the legacy YellOw has left behind: a memory of the man chasing Boxer's heels, crushing old records only to find that someone else had just crushed them even harder.

MK Mvp's Victim On the 13th of November, 2010, MarineKingPrime was narrowly edged out in the final game of GSL Open Season 2. After a nail-biting series from a player who cheekily borrowed BoxeR's name, MKP was overwhelmed by Nestea's zerglings and surrendered his dreams of a cinderella run. This loss would be the start of a long line of second places. Within a span of 7 months he made three more GSL finals—twice in Code S, once in Code A—and fell short all three times. An innovator of Terran who laid the foundation for all MM micro, a man of ample killer instinct...except when everything was on the line





The new BoxeR, defeated.



Marineking has won three championships. This is a fact many tend to forget, not always on purpose. He was, for some time, the best Terran in the world during 2012 and arguably also the best player overall. In his consecutive MLG finals he would face DongRaeGu, the other competitor for that illustrious title, all three times and beat him twice. Three consecutive MLG finals, when the MLG circuit was nearing the height of its prestige, was and remains a monstrous achievement worthy of recognition. Few players had what it took to make it through the brackets of those events, facing the combined might of both Korea's finest and the best that the international scene had to offer: Marineking did it three times in a row, maintaining dominance against a wide field of players and playstyles. But even so, those days are not talked about. In common memory Marineking is the perennial choker of Starcraft II, a player to whom finals seem to be impassable hurdles.



Rather [than being sad], I’m proud of having 3 times of finals. The more I have finals matches, the more earnest to win I become. So, I become more and more enthusiastic. I want to be the best, but my goals are also to be popular and remain long in the memory of the fans.



When Mvp shut Marineking out 4-0 in the finals of GSL January, it was the ascension of the former Woongjin A-teamer that many people had seen coming. Mvp was on a different level from everyone and had asserted similar dominance in the Gainward SC2 Tournament that took place not long before. When Mvp entered the booth, he made it clear that he was in control, both of the match and of the meta he dictated. Mvp introduced macro-centric play into Starcraft II long before it would have gained similar traction on its own, and it put him two steps ahead of the competition. He set trends and broke records, even prompting Blizzard to step in to fix balance issues that seemed glaring when he exploited them. These were some of Mvp's strengths and undoubtedly those most clearly visible, but not all there was to him.











It is logical to assume that the better player wins against someone of inferior prowess, but dedicated fans know that this is often not the case. While their match was a battle of pure mechanics, it also extended outside the game itself. Mvp's macro was superior to Marineking's, but Marineking's micro was easily just as good; in all likelihood, he was better at that point. This hardly mattered. Mvp didn't come to the finals prepared to face just another Terran, he came prepared to beat Marineking specifically. It was the start of a long and incredibly one-sided rivalry that offered Marineking no respite, even when he was at his peak. When Marineking was given the chance to compete overseas, away from the clinical beatdowns Mvp put him through, it was his opportunity to shine.











So why do we associate Marineking with helpless losses on the big stage? We remember him burying his face in his hands as Mvp walked over him, his heartbroken expression as he realized his third GSL final would end the same way as his previous two had. Despite championships and significant innovations, despite victories that would have been career-defining for nearly any other player, Marineking's identity is defined by his losses, not the moments when he stood on top.

Marinekingwon three championships. This is a fact many tend to forget, not always on purpose. He was, for some time, the best Terran in the world during 2012 and arguably also the best player overall. In his consecutive MLG finals he would face DongRaeGu, the other competitor for that illustrious title, all three times and beat him twice. Three consecutive MLG finals, when the MLG circuit was nearing the height of its prestige, was and remains a monstrous achievement worthy of recognition. Few players had what it took to make it through the brackets of those events, facing the combined might of both Korea's finest and the best that the international scene had to offer: Marineking did it three times in a row, maintaining dominance against a wide field of players and playstyles. But even so, those days are not talked about. In common memory Marineking is the perennial choker of Starcraft II, a player to whom finals seem to be impassable hurdles.When Mvp shut Marineking out 4-0 in the finals of GSL January, it was the ascension of the former Woongjin A-teamer that many people had seen coming. Mvp was on a different level from everyone and had asserted similar dominance in the Gainward SC2 Tournament that took place not long before. When Mvp entered the booth, he made it clear thatwas in control, both of the match and of the meta he dictated. Mvp introduced macro-centric play into Starcraft II long before it would have gained similar traction on its own, and it put him two steps ahead of the competition. He set trends and broke records, even prompting Blizzard to step in to fix balance issues that seemed glaring when he exploited them. These were some of Mvp's strengths and undoubtedly those most clearly visible, but not all there was to him.It is logical to assume that the betterwins against someone of inferior prowess, but dedicated fans know that this is often not the case. While their match was a battle of pure mechanics, it also extended outside the game itself. Mvp's macro was superior to Marineking's, but Marineking's micro was easily just as good; in all likelihood, he was better at that point. This hardly mattered. Mvp didn't come to the finals prepared to face just another Terran, he came prepared to beat Marineking. It was the start of a long and incredibly one-sided rivalry that offered Marineking no respite, even when he was at his peak. When Marineking was given the chance to compete overseas, away from the clinical beatdowns Mvp put him through, it was his opportunity to shine.So why do we associate Marineking with helpless losses on the big stage? We remember him burying his face in his hands as Mvp walked over him, his heartbroken expression as he realized his third GSL final would end the same way as his previous two had. Despite championships and significant innovations, despite victories that would have been career-defining for nearly any other player, Marineking's identity is defined by his losses, not the moments when he stood on top.

soO The Greatest Loser

It is the 19th of October, 2013. Eo Yoon Su doesn't know it yet, but he has just taken his first step on his path to becoming a legend. He stands on the stage and receives his 2nd place cheque after his 2-4 defeat to Dear and knows that he will return one day. He's good enough, and he has the competitive drive. He wants to leave a mark on Starcraft II in a way he couldn't in Brood War, and this placement is the first step. What he doesn't know is that he will break all records and make three additional GSL finals, all of them in a row. He will lose all of them, and in the process become infamous.



Similarly, it seems to be in the very nature of fans to worship the winners. It is the winners that embody the virtues of competition - dedication, purposefulness, passion - and therefore they are the ones most deserving of respect. Their achievements stand apart because they are the ones that went all the way, the ones that could muster the strength it took to lift the trophy in the end.



But their triumphs come at a cost. Every coin has two sides, and for each victor there is a loser. Some of the losers can take their losses with stride, convinced of their own ability, fully aware that their time will come. Their defeats whet their appetites for victory, and not rarely will they bounce back intent on fighting even harder.



On the whole, 2014 was characterized by two things: the prominence of Protoss, and the struggle of Zerg. While Protoss champions succeeded one another and competed for multiple championships over the course of the year, few stood out on the Zerg side of the field. Protoss had Zest, Rain, herO, Classic, Parting and a plethora of players racing each other for championships in Europe and America; for most of the year, Zerg had soO. Only towards the end of the year would soO be joined by others as Life and Solar rose to win titles. But while calling soO the lone defender of the Zerg race sounds like great praise, his year was a personal tragedy rather than a triumph.







No player in the history of Starcraft has suffered in the way soO has. We speak of YellOw and Marineking and other players with tendencies to lose in finals, but none of them can claim six lost finals in the span of a year without a special event to serve as buffer. soO has nothing to redeem him. There is no one who would question his prowess throughout 2014, no one that could reasonably pinpoint a defining weakness, and I still cannot talk about soO without the image of a broken man appearing uninvited in my head. soO's losses succeeded one another so frequently that they almost merged into one chain of disappointment, broken up only by the ceremonial journey to the next part. One of those—the 13-14 Proleague Finals—came about due to his team mates more so than his own shortcomings, but this does not change the memories. The image of him, stumbling out of his booth in a daze with the thousand-yard stare past the crowd, is seared into the collective memory of Starcraft.











He keeps getting these insane placings, second over and over and over again, and it's made him successful. When I look into his eyes I just see this anger, this passion and determination for a big win, and it'll keep pushing him until he makes it all the way.

-Brendan Valdes, on soO

The Final Consequence

If one was to describe soO from a stylistic perspective, the most accurately descriptive word would be perfection. Unlike many of the players that sat on the Zerg throne before him, soO is not a very stylistic player. He exerts control and maintains a mechanical level close to perfection for the majority of his games. Not uncommonly referred to as "simply the master of injects, no more", soO's strengths lie in the ordinary and the plain, occasionally broken up by bouts of craziness. Had he been a champion, he would have been praised for his mastery of the game in its most basic form.



To an even greater extent than YellOw and Marineking, we will likely remember soO as a loser. The first loser, granted, and the unrivaled best loser, the Best by far among those who didn't win. He remains a giant among Zerg players, a consistent centerpiece on a board full of erratic and streaky players. But regardless of these facts, soO is less praised for his play and incredible achievements than pitied for the times when he could not make it all the way, because those times stand so clearly apart from the majority of his career as to be beacons of failure. For this, he is judged with a different measuring stick than his contemporaries, held to a standard that accepts only championships. Championships that were within his grasp that he may now never come to win.



He has made a name for himself, but not the name he set out to make when he started his progaming career, instead it's a name others are giving to him. The Silver Medalist. The Kong Line continues, very strongly carried by a player like soO.

-Tasteless and Artosis, on soO (after soO's loss to Classic)

Similarly, it seems to be in the very nature of fans to worship the winners. It is the winners that embody the virtues of competition - dedication, purposefulness, passion - and therefore they are the ones most deserving of respect. Their achievements stand apart because they are the ones that went all the way, the ones that could muster the strength it took to lift the trophy in the end.But their triumphs come at a cost. Every coin has two sides, and for each victor there is a loser. Some of the losers can take their losses with stride, convinced of their own ability, fully aware that their time will come. Their defeats whet their appetites for victory, and not rarely will they bounce back intent on fighting even harder.On the whole, 2014 was characterized by two things: the prominence of Protoss, and the struggle of Zerg. While Protoss champions succeeded one another and competed for multiple championships over the course of the year, few stood out on the Zerg side of the field. Protoss had Zest, Rain, herO, Classic, Parting and a plethora of players racing each other for championships in Europe and America; for most of the year, Zerg had soO. Only towards the end of the year would soO be joined by others as Life and Solar rose to win titles. But while calling soO the lone defender of the Zerg race sounds like great praise, his year was a personal tragedy rather than a triumph.No player in the history of Starcraft has suffered in the way soO has. We speak of YellOw and Marineking and other players with tendencies to lose in finals, but none of them can claimlost finals in the span of a year without a special event to serve as buffer. soO has nothing to redeem him. There is no one who would question his prowess throughout 2014, no one that could reasonably pinpoint a defining weakness, and Icannot talk about soO without the image of a broken man appearing uninvited in my head. soO's losses succeeded one another so frequently that they almost merged into one chain of disappointment, broken up only by the ceremonial journey to the next part. One of those—the 13-14 Proleague Finals—came about due to his team mates more so than his own shortcomings, but this does not change the memories. The image of him, stumbling out of his booth in a daze with the thousand-yard stare past the crowd, is seared into the collective memory of Starcraft.If one was to describe soO from a stylistic perspective, the most accurately descriptive word would be perfection. Unlike many of the players that sat on the Zerg throne before him, soO is not a very stylistic player. He exerts control and maintains a mechanical level close to perfection for the majority of his games. Not uncommonly referred to as "simply the master of injects, no more", soO's strengths lie in the ordinary and the plain, occasionally broken up by bouts of craziness. Had he been a champion, he would have been praised for his mastery of the game in its most basic form.To an even greater extent than YellOw and Marineking, we will likely remember soO as a loser. Theloser, granted, and the unrivaledloser, the Best by far among those who didn't win. He remains a giant among Zerg players, a consistent centerpiece on a board full of erratic and streaky players. But regardless of these facts, soO is less praised for his play and incredible achievements than pitied for the times when he could not make it all the way, because those times stand so clearly apart from the majority of his career as to be beacons of failure. For this, he is judged with a different measuring stick than his contemporaries, held to a standard that accepts only championships. Championships that were within his grasp that he may now never come to win.

Squirtle The Fallen Star Rivaled only by the aforementioned soO, Squirtle is considered one of the best players to have never won a championship. He stumbled on the finish line in Las Vegas after making a monstrous and exhausting



The series, from start to finish, was a battle of brains against brawn. Mvp was by no means weak and Squirtle by no means stupid, but Mvp nevertheless got an early and surprising 3-0 lead through a combination of metagame subversion and meticulous series planning. His play prior to the finals had been very aggressively oriented, but he turned the expectation of aggression on its head to catch Squirtle off guard, utilizing builds that were much more standard than what he had used to win against Parting and Naniwa. Squirtle bounced back in games 4, 5 and 6 as he tackled Mvp's variety and willingness to abuse map architecture with the same level of play that had nearly taken him all the way in Las Vegas. The famous split-map scenario on Atlantis Spaceship featuring mass BCs and a double Archon Toilet would have stood out, had it not been for the game that came immediately after.









Observe for a moment Squirtle's defeated slouch as he realizes that his overextension cost him not only the game, but his Royal Road championship and his chance at lasting greatness. Then consider the lingering effects of this match. In a stroke of genius, Mvp did the one thing no normal player would risk doing in the most important game of his career: he cheesed. Not only was it a cheese, it was a complete, no-coming-back-from-this all-in. With nearly impeccable micro, Squirtle held... and fell to the follow-up. He hammered in that there was one strategy that Squirtle could not stop, even at his best.





Defeated by Mvp's wit and his own recklessness, Squirtle comes to terms with the end of his Royal Road.



It is hardly a secret that the following months were hard on Squirtle. Not only did he fail to reciprocrate the favor by defeating Mvp at a later date, he failed entirely to reproduce the run that made him the most terrifying opponent in the world just weeks prior. Consider his



It may seem like a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion to say that certain players take their losses so hard as to never regain their confidence and make the climb back to the place they fell from, but it is nonetheless true that many of the players whose streaks were abruptly cut short on the finals stage never regain their footing. The natural process in a highly competitive environment, or a phenomenon moreso psychological in nature? Squirtle's career, at least, would argue the latter. To be honest, I still have not watched game 7 of last season's finals. It scares me (laughs). I really tried to forget about getting bunkered and cheesed in the past but today's games just made me relive those moments. I could've blocked those rushes but I failed to do so. Last season's final game 7 was a traumatic experience for me.

-Squirtle, after losing two games in a row to Keen's bunker rushes. Rivaled only by the aforementioned soO, Squirtle is considered one of the best players to have never won a championship. He stumbled on the finish line in Las Vegas after making a monstrous and exhausting bracket run , faltering after going up 3-2 in the finals. Although he considered not winning IPL4 a disappointment, he made his presence known when he returned to Korea and tore through the GSL playoffs bracket, making it to the finals as the overwhelming favorite to defeat the player would come to face him, three-time GSL champion IM.Mvp. The match is the most famous series ever played in Starcraft II, but for posterity's sake I will refresh your memory.The series, from start to finish, was a battle of brains against brawn. Mvp was by no means weak and Squirtle by no means stupid, but Mvp nevertheless got an early and surprising 3-0 lead through a combination of metagame subversion and meticulous series planning. His play prior to the finals had been very aggressively oriented, but he turned the expectation of aggression on its head to catch Squirtle off guard, utilizing builds that were much more standard than what he had used to win against Parting and Naniwa. Squirtle bounced back in games 4, 5 and 6 as he tackled Mvp's variety and willingness to abuse map architecture with the same level of play that had nearly taken him all the way in Las Vegas. The famous split-map scenario on Atlantis Spaceship featuring mass BCs and a double Archon Toilet would have stood out, had it not been for the game that came immediately after.Observe for a moment Squirtle's defeated slouch as he realizes that his overextension cost him not only the game, but his Royal Road championship and his chance at lasting greatness. Then consider the lingering effects of this match. In a stroke of genius, Mvp did the one thing no normal player would risk doing in the most important game of his career: he cheesed. Not only was it a cheese, it was a complete, no-coming-back-from-this all-in. With nearly impeccable micro, Squirtle held... and fell to the follow-up. He hammered in that there was one strategy that Squirtle could not stop, even at his best.It is hardly a secret that the following months were hard on Squirtle. Not only did he fail to reciprocrate the favor by defeating Mvp at a later date, he failed entirely to reproduce the run that made him the most terrifying opponent in the world just weeks prior. Consider his win rate during GSL Season 2 . 68% in games, 77% in matches. In the three-month period thereafter? 58% in games, a disappointing 50% in matches. It may seem like a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion to say that certain players take their losses so hard as to never regain their confidence and make the climb back to the place they fell from, but it is nonetheless true that many of the players whose streaks were abruptly cut short on the finals stage never regain their footing. The natural process in a highly competitive environment, or a phenomenon moreso psychological in nature? Squirtle's career, at least, would argue the latter.







It is in the very nature of competition to break the hearts of many competitors. Inevitably, every one of those who partake in the competition must eventually lose. If this were not the case, there would be no purpose to the competition. This is the essence that draws in those who would compete with others to prove their superiority and the reason that so many would give up thousands and thousands of hours in their quest for championships, and the reason that so many abandon their passion after coming to terms with the fact that they may never be the best.



Starcraft fans do not see results the same way fans of traditional sports do. Given the short lifespan of a game such as Starcraft, the even shorter careers of its players, and the lack of quantitative data besides placements, fans flock to champions and quickly move on when those players stop winning. Winners are easy to admire and require no effort to understand. They win, therefore they are worthy of respect. There are many examples of players that won a single championship and maintained a strong presence thereafter; however, they were discarded and forgotten once the novelty wore off. Conversely, there are precious few players that garnered significant fan followings without making multiple finals.



This isn't to say that fair-weather fans don't exist in traditional sports, but their persistence is greater in comparison. Streaks of dominance often span years instead of months (the Pep Guardiola era of FC Barcelona is roughly comparable to a Summer of Taeja). When periods of dominance end fans do migrate and seek the next big thing, but they do not do so before having suffered at least a fair share of defeats. In Starcraft, only the players that win championships are paid the respect given to those who play well in traditional sports. In Stacraft, the players that play well but do so away from the very biggest championship stages receive cult followings at best and suffer premature retirements at worst, never having been given the opportunity to prove that they could rank among the game's best. There is not enough room for all these players to get by simply by playing well. More is demanded.







Forever immortalized: Fruitdealer





This obsession with trophies and championships, more than anything, is what creates our kongs and silver surfers. Complete U-turns in fan approval are not rare, so the players that do not follow up on their successes can be discarded at flukes at a whim. It is much easier, and far more comfortable, to label a player either a fluke or a kong than it is to appreciate the difficulty of producing such a fluke in the first place. The ubiquitous demand for championships tells the players that unless they win, they are inconsequential and forgettable. For some this might be a motivator, but for most it threatens to break them.







Those who fully dedicate their lives to competition take their losses the hardest. 200 Butterfly is "just a race" to Michael Phelps about as much as a nuclear firestorm is "just a spark" and Phelps' loss to Le Clos at the 2012 Olympics was, as he himself later admitted, a much bigger disappointment than it "should be". Second best in the world, leaving behind the greatest legacy of any athlete in the history of the sport, yet not nearly enough.







The difference between victory and defeat.



This is the mindset of a true competitor, and it is the driving force behind both history's greatest competitive leaps forward and the most devastating collapses in sports. It brings with it the pressure to perform, which brought up as the primary reason behind disappointing losses and surprising slumps. When you both expect to win and are expected to win, second feels pitiful and weak. This builds an expectation, a personal demand that cannot always be met. Players push on, partly driven by the pressure, but very rarely fully embracing it. Usain Bolt may thrive in the spotlight and feed off the pressure ("I got no nerves, no nerves!"), but he is an anomaly who stands apart rather than the norm. To the vast majority, pressure is an obstacle that limits their ability to perform. This is why many players* are rumored to perform better in practice, where they are out of reach from the demands placed upon them.

*Known in Starcraft as "practice bonjwas", many players have been pegged as future champions by their more succesful teammates due to their prowess in practice. Frequently, these expectations are not met until much later, if ever.







What can be said about the kong that has not already been talked and written about in-depth? Every competition must have its first loser, and even the best players will sometimes fall short of the mark. But these players hardly seem worthy of the same admiration, crushed as they are beneath the expectations and the pressures of competition.



I offer an alternative view. I invite you to consider the immense significance of the kongs and try to envision Starcraft without them. Their stories may be few, but they are both powerful and distinctive. In a manner identical to that of the greatest champions, the kongs define their eras and provide us with the stories that keep us interested. After all, would Boxer really be the same without YellOw? What would you remember most clearly about GSL 2014 without soO's dominance and subsequent failures? What jokes could you make about aLive if his crowning achievement had not been taking one of the most dominant bracket runs of all time away from an exhausted Squirtle?



It is easy to flock to the champions, to identify with their successes and simply go along. It is much harder to support a player defined by his adversities, more comfortable to simply pity them than to identify with their humanity. That is the essence of the kong: the humanity. They are not the revered champions standing above the competition, seemingly unbeatable. They are those we can identify with on a more basic level, the players we can truly understand. We see their struggles and follow them, every step of the way, fully conscious that a big break may not ever come.



Without YellOw, Boxer loses many of the moments that defined his career. Without Squirtle, Mvp no longer stands alone in the world as the most cold-blooded and calculated player in Starcraft II. Without soO, there is no centerpiece to hold 2014 together, no consistency in an otherwise chaotic story. That is the role the kongs have had to fill. They strove for greatness and in their drive to take the gold, they fell again and again and again. But it is in their struggle that their legacies have grown. They are the unsung heroes, the shadows that give depth to the Winners' light. The players who became the final sacrifices to the glory of the Champions To understand the identity of a kong we must first attempt to understand what creates the perception of the kong as something completely unique from other players.It is in the very nature of competition to break the hearts of many competitors. Inevitably, every one of those who partake in the competition must eventually lose. If this were not the case, there would be no purpose to the competition. This is the essence that draws in those who would compete with others to prove their superiority and the reason that so many would give up thousands and thousands of hours in their quest for championships, and the reason that so many abandon their passion after coming to terms with the fact that they may never be the best.Starcraft fans do not see results the same way fans of traditional sports do. Given the short lifespan of a game such as Starcraft, the even shorter careers of its players, and the lack of quantitative data besides placements, fans flock to champions and quickly move on when those players stop winning. Winners are easy to admire and require no effort to understand. They win, therefore they are worthy of respect. There are many examples of players that won a single championship and maintained a strong presence thereafter; however, they were discarded and forgotten once the novelty wore off. Conversely, there are precious few players that garnered significant fan followingsmaking multiple finals.This isn't to say that fair-weather fans don't exist in traditional sports, but their persistence is greater in comparison. Streaks of dominance often span years instead of months (the Pep Guardiola era of FC Barcelona is roughly comparable to a Summer of Taeja). When periods of dominance end fans do migrate and seek the next big thing, but they do not do so before having suffered at least a fair share of defeats. In Starcraft, only the players that winare paid the respect given to those who play well in traditional sports. In Stacraft, the players that play well but do so away from the very biggest championship stages receive cult followings at best and suffer premature retirements at worst, never having been given the opportunity to prove that they could rank among the game's best. There is not enough room for all these players to get by simply by playing well. More is demanded.This obsession with trophies and championships, more than anything, is what creates our kongs and silver surfers. Complete U-turns in fan approval are not rare, so the players that do not follow up on their successes can be discarded at flukes at a whim. It is much easier, and far more comfortable, to label a player either a fluke or a kong than it is to appreciate the difficulty of producing such ain the first place. The ubiquitous demand for championships tells the players that unless they win, they are inconsequential and forgettable. For some this might be a motivator, but for most it threatens to break them.Those who fully dedicate their lives to competition take their losses the hardest. 200 Butterfly is "just a race" to Michael Phelps about as much as a nuclear firestorm is "just a spark" and Phelps' loss to Le Clos at the 2012 Olympics was, as he himself later admitted, a much bigger disappointment than it "should be". Second best in the world, leaving behind the greatest legacy of any athlete in the history of the sport, yet not nearly enough.This is the mindset of a true competitor, and it is the driving force behind both history's greatest competitive leaps forward and the most devastating collapses in sports. It brings with it the pressure to perform, which brought up as the primary reason behind disappointing losses and surprising slumps. When you both expect to win and are expected to win, second feels pitiful and weak. This builds an expectation, a personal demand thatalways be met. Players push on, partly driven by the pressure, but very rarely fully embracing it. Usain Bolt may thrive in the spotlight and feed off the pressure ("I got no nerves, no nerves!"), but he is an anomaly who stands apart rather than the norm. To the vast majority, pressure is an obstacle that limits their ability to perform. This is why many players* are rumored to perform better in practice, where they are out of reach from the demands placed upon them.What can be said about the kong that has not already been talked and written about in-depth? Every competition must have its first loser, and even the best players will sometimes fall short of the mark. But these players hardly seem worthy of the same admiration, crushed as they are beneath the expectations and the pressures of competition.I offer an alternative view. I invite you to consider the immense significance of the kongs and try to envision Starcraft without them. Their stories may be few, but they are both powerful and distinctive. In a manner identical to that of the greatest champions, the kongs define their eras and provide us with the stories that keep us interested. After all, would Boxer really be the same without YellOw? What would you remember most clearly about GSL 2014 without soO's dominance and subsequent failures? What jokes could you make about aLive if his crowning achievement had not been taking one of the most dominant bracket runs of all time away from an exhausted Squirtle?It is easy to flock to the champions, to identify with their successes and simply go along. It is much harder to support a player defined by his adversities, more comfortable to simply pity them than to identify with their humanity. That is the essence of the kong: the humanity. They are not the revered champions standing above the competition, seemingly unbeatable. They are those we can identify with on a more basic level, the players we can truly. We see their struggles and follow them, every step of the way, fully conscious that a big break may not ever come.Without YellOw, Boxer loses many of the moments that defined his career. Without Squirtle, Mvp no longer stands alone in the world as the most cold-blooded and calculated player in Starcraft II. Without soO, there is no centerpiece to hold 2014 together, no consistency in an otherwise chaotic story. That is the role the kongs have had to fill. They strove for greatness and in their drive to take the gold, they fell again and again and again. But it is in their struggle that their legacies have grown. They are the unsung heroes, the shadows that give depth to the Winners' light. The players who became the final sacrifices to the glory of the Champions

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