What I knew about Doinb before Worlds began is very little: he plays mid for FPX, he has a weird dog, he’s married, and his weird playstyle led FPX to the #1 seed. Like most fans, what I knew was entirely through scattered clippings. But one of my favorite moments of this Worlds was something I noticed in person, which is when I spotted Doinb at the airport en route to Paris for the Finals. He was joined by his wife, Umi. It took me a bit to realize that it was just him and not the entire FPX team that was there. Later, he’d post pictures of their day out online, and it dawned on me that he probably wanted to arrive a little earlier to spend a precious offday together with her in Paris.

I tell you this because it tells me a lot about Doinb, who is someone I — and anyone who has watched Worlds — know a lot better now. I tell you this because, on the whole, I knew very little about FPX at all (and there is much yet to learn). Like you, I’ve pieced the bits together as the tournament progressed. Even through parts of the Group Stage, I had a running gag with a friend where we claimed GimGoon doesn’t even exist. We said you could replace him with any random guy from the audience between sets and we wouldn’t know. Not because he was bad (after holding his own against TheShy last week, he’s clearly not), and not because he’s new (he’s been around since 2013, actually) — he’s just a fitting metaphor for how anybody, if they are good enough, can suddenly ascend to the top of this sport.

Doinb has become a star this Worlds both on and off the Rift. His unusual champion pool and roam-centric style have made him a primary discussion point for a lot of pundits. Off the Rift, his charismatic and upbeat personality have also drawn people to him – from bantering with G2 to cute moments with his wife, fans have been quick to flock to him. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d figure he’s been here before, and often at that. Among LPL specialists, though, he’s been considered one of the best players to have never made it Worlds before now. And in this sport, you’re nothing if you don’t make it to Worlds.

I asked him to reflect on those years – whether or not he ever doubted himself – and he said, “My wife always told me that if you work hard, you’ll get a good result. But every year before this, I just needed a little bit more luck to make it to Worlds. Or if I could have gone one step further, I could have made it to the Semifinals or Finals, but I could never get there. So I always said to my wife, ‘Am I not good enough?’ She always had to comfort and console me, but this year I am finally able to stand on the Finals stage. I think it’s proof of my wife’s advice — I worked harder and the results came.”

This, of course, is only true for some people. For every Doinb that makes it here, there is a Score who can only imagine what the feeling of being at Finals is like, and for every Score, there are 100 whose names you will never even know. Hard work can only take you so far in a game that only values the result. Those are things I knew going into this Worlds.

I also knew it didn’t matter that Team Liquid made the MSI Final because it wasn’t necessarily going to make their Worlds group any easier to climb from. I knew that Flamengo, even as the best team from Brazil, was going to have a hard time living up to the passion of their fans. I knew Uzi would cry if RNG was knocked out – no matter what stage it would come. I knew China would not be kind to RNG, and I knew Korea is so desperate to be back at the top.

I didn’t know that Fnatic would make another Week 2 surge to once again make it to the Quarterfinals. I didn’t know Ning would sub in for IG and give all of their fans a two-week flash of what they once were. I didn’t know it would crash to a bitter end with TheShy – of all people – being caught out to seal the fate of the IG era. I didn’t know Faker would follow that just a day later with an equally baffling performance as SKT would bow out and extend Korea’s international win drought to exactly two years. I didn’t know every single North American team would be bounced out of the Group Stage, even if I strongly suspected it, and I didn’t know Griffin would lose another Best-of-5 set, even if that’s the pattern they’ve followed for over a year now.

In a week where everyone is making their last predictions – I have said 3-1 to FPX – a lot of scrutiny will be passed. In hindsight, people will say they knew or they didn’t know or who could have possibly seen this coming? But at this stage, there are only two possible results, even if the threads that can take us there are unlimited. One team will win, and in that moment hop out of their chairs in a moment of bliss. The other will sink into those chairs. You will see one team succumb to gravity and the other rise against it in defiance. At this moment, none of us know who is going to do what.

This is what it means to watch a live sport: you hunt for patterns and project an image of where that might end. You see the ball leave the pitcher’s hand and it looks like a fastball. You wind up for a swing, and then you miss. What has come instead is a changeup or a cutter or a slider. We see the pattern that says SKT has always made the Finals, and then the ball that is delivered is Caps making his second consecutive appearance. We see TheShy’s brilliance, and we follow that light to a place we think of as the future — another trip to the Finals — but it turns out to be an afterimage of last year. There is only shadow. Live competition blurs the line between knowing and unknowing, and the more you care, the more possibilities you see.