A Tale of Timmy Stomping

Mar 24, 2011

I thought I’d share the tale of several games a group of Pigs and I played one night.

This is my leet win face.

We were running an almost-full party of pigs and friends in ground war, and found ourselves in a lobby with three high-prestige trash-talking timies (see below)  at the start of a domination match on Kowloon. The rank odor of their uber-leetness grew thick as their taunts pierced the air. Tightness in the chest, scowl on the face. It was time to teach these jerks a lesson!

The clock counted down to game start. Each pig ran his preferred starting route with not a word. We capped B flag first but lost it almost immediately, and knew we had a fight on our hands. Map control teetered back and forth like a pig in his clan night cups. Every call-out was taut with the urgency that only an older guy wanting to win a video game can muster.

“They’re behind us!”

“Monkey room!”

“Two on B.”

“F@#&$ lag… C’mon!!”

WTF?

Flags changed hands over and over. We traded blows — cap for cap, kill for kill, napalm strike fornapalm strike. Smoke and gas smeared the map and multiplied the confusion. Then suddenly, all was quiet. The score popped up on our screens… and we had won by a narrow margin!

The post-game lobby filled with low chuckles from our group, and the cries of the vanquished tween.

“Campers!”

“Yeah but check out my K/D! — and your entire team went negative!”

“Look who’s at the top of the lobby.”

And on and on. And our inevitable reply — steady as a funeral drum — “Yeah, but who won?”

Determined to prove the might of their grossly-inflated K/D ratios, the timmies pressed on. Camping for dogs, tac inserts, flak jackets, shotguns, snipers, tubes, they spared no stratagem. Game after game, the trash-talking trio and their unlucky teammates vainly hung on.

The shame...

Then, Berlin Wall, and the Timmy Stomping of a Lifetime. Such was the wrath of the Pig Army that for the first five minutes of the match our foe only caught brief glimpses of the B flag. Harassed, baited, ambushed, they could not gain a toehold, they could not leave their spawn, they could not sneeze.

Their drubbing continued for countless games until only one of the original offenders remained… and we backed out to pick up a pig looking for a room.

The good guys don’t always win, but we did that night. And it felt good. Thanks to my fellow Pigs for a great time and some deeply satisfying wins.