The next day was more or less a rinse and repeat of the day before. Except for this time, we went to a different diner and had a later start. Getting to Madison Square Garden was easier. The four of us figured since it was Saturday, there weren’t as many people commuting to and from work. Even getting into the venue was simpler. Amaya went into her slim line while the three of us joined to the mile-long line for stadium seating.
One game was going to be played at a time on stage.
The top 32.
Live from New York.
Must-see TV… er, stream, must-stream TV, or stream on a computer monitor or tablet. Whatever. Must0stream media, there.
Amaya’s first match was against 75K. My heart sank when I saw that on the tournament card that morning on the Elite Crushers website.
A top 8 matchup, right off the bat? Oh dear… at least it was double elimination.
Fortunately, the three of us had some of the best seats in the house. Amaya was given spectator passes for close friends or family members to sit in one of the first few rows on the main floor. Most of the top players just gave them to close friends. We were the fourth row back, and the tournament re-organized the seeding based on how everyone performed on the Friday tournament. 75K and Amaya were 15 and 16, which wasn’t unusual for a top eight player, but it wasn’t typical either.
“Hey guys, do you know Amaya’s record against 75K?” Wyatt asked.
Darren shook his head. “No, and you shouldn’t be looking that up anyways. Let’s just watch the game.”
“Feeling a little superstitious, are ya’?” Wyatt teased.
“No, dude. Just watch the match; let’s not focus on wins and losses. We are here to support our friend.”
Although it took a while for her match to start. She was the last one to play, so they had to wait for fifteen other games before she touched a controller. All fifteen were fantastic displays of masterful combos, dodges, and knock-outs. Watching the matches that came down to the wire gave me a shot of adrenaline. I imagined myself playing the game, and it gave me a thrill. I wanted nothing more than to be up on stage, competing with the best of the best. Last night I felt a sliver of hope for my playing career when we signed off the Arakan Sphere, and Wyatt said, “You’re gettin’ good at the game, Gordo. Gotta keep my eye on ya’.”
I wished I bought a singles tournament pass with every second. Maybe that could have been me on stage at that moment.
The top eight breezed through their matches, still not dropping a single game. Dayzees displayed his usual mastery and made his opponent scream and spike his controller at the ground. The crowd chuckled and clapped for Dayzees’s victory and his opponent was given a firm warning. Another outburst like that at another major tournament, he would be banned.
Games ticked by like minutes on the clock. Not a single seeding upset.
“Alex, round one is always exciting for a top 32 matchup!” Tommy Gotobed hollered into his microphone connected to the PA system at Madison Square Garden. “But rarely do we see the marquee matchup that is about to occur between the 15 and 16 seed: Amaya and 75K.”
The crowd whistled and clapped as if they heard a good joke from a decent comedian.
“Tommy, I’m torn on who I think it’s going to win. They certainly don’t hate each other like some other rivalries, but theirs is a friendly rivalry. The two have met in later rounds during tournaments, but it doesn’t happen often. As you see from this stat that is currently showing on the Jumbotron, Amaya leads this friendly rivalry three matches to one. Every single set has always gone to three games,” Alex, the other commentator, said.
“Looks like you were goin’ to find out anyway,” Wyatt whispered as he reached over me and elbowed Darren playfully. Darren tried to brush him of.
“Let’s get this matchup on its way then!” Tommy screamed.
The event’s facilitators wanted the dramatics more than anything, so they turned off all the lights in the stadium. Then a bunch of roaming white spotlights flew all over the arena.
“Everyone! Welcome to the stage two of the best players in the world who have ever touched Elite Crushers, 75K and Amaya!” Tommy shouted.
On the ground floor was a path where the talent entered from whatever green room they were killing time in. It led from one corner to where the center court was, and the two came out walking together, waving at fans as they cheered and applauded with a maniacal fanaticism. Of course, out of the support of our friend, Darren, Wyatt and I stood up, smashed our hands together repeatedly, and shouted to our lungs’ fullest capacity.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
When they took the stage, the lights came on, but the audience lighting was dimmed to cut the glare for the projection. They picked their characters, and they selected their stage. Game one was underway.
Unfortunately, the clash of the titans matchup the fans and media were expecting left much to be desired. At least after the first game. 75K practically ran circles around Amaya. She only knocked off 30% damage while he was landing swarms of omnipresent combos. I couldn’t blame Amaya. 75K looked like he brought his A+ effort. Although shouldn’t Amaya be able to handle him? She routinely made it to second place.
“Well, let’s see how game number two goes,” Tommy said.
Just like the first game, it didn’t get any better. In fact, if the matches were shown side-by-side, I don’t think there would be much difference in playing ability. 75K won. If I were to base my opinion on those two examples, 75K was clearly the better player.
“I’m not sure if you would call that an upset since it was just the 16 and 15 seed going toe to toe, but I know all of us here expected that to go a little differently,” Tommy said. I think he spoke the mind of every fan in the arena.
Amaya sunk her face into her hands and her whole head and body started twitching. I was upset that none of us could be up there to pull her aside and get her out of the public eye, but if she lost to anyone, I was glad it was 75K. He leaned over, put his hand on her shoulder, and rubbed it for the moment. Based on what I could tell from his lip movement, he was trying to see if she was okay.
The commentators didn’t announce a winner, and the stage lighting crew looked around and shrugged at each other. I’m sure they expected a light show to ensue after the match, but it didn’t feel appropriate.
Someone say something for the love of God! Take the attention away from Amaya. I’m sure it’s only making it worse.
“And with the end of that match, folks, it brings us to round two, still coming out to you with another set of 16 quality matches which will begin the winners and losers bracket. Please stay tuned.” Thank you, Tommy Gotobed.
A few stage crew people joined Amaya and 75K. They slowly lifted Amaya up from the chair as if she rolled her ankle. They ushered her directly behind the stage on a different path. Regardless, the crowd stood up and applauded.
“A-MY-A, A-MY-A,” the crowd chanted.
“Are they saying her name?” I whispered. I could never understand chants in a crowd.
“Yeah,” Darren said, rotating his head around the stadium with his jaw dropped and eyes confused. “A-MY-A!”
Wyatt and I joined in.
Round two started right away. Dayzees won his match to kick things off. No surprises there. As the three of us sat next to each other, I couldn’t help but think about how Amaya was doing. I checked my phone every other minute to see if she replied to my message: “Hey, is everything alright?”
It worried me that the message was left unread. Amaya was usually pretty good about checking her phone. She was not always the quickest to respond, but she would read the text quickly and reply when she had a chance.
We watched all the tournament matches, but they were hard to concentrate on. I could only think about Amaya having a breakdown and none of us being able to be there for her. Maybe she got it together, and she’s feeling better again.
Two matches before Amaya was due up I noticed two crew members dressed in all black whispering to a the commissioner who was standing by the commentator table on the ground floor. He was dressed in a suit and tie, his name was Lloyd Hernandez and he was (essentially) the figurehead for all of the Elite Crushers tournaments. I squinted at the two crew members, trying to read their lips, but I couldn’t make out anything. Lloyd was just solemnly nodding, then he leaned his head over and started talking to the broadcasters Alex and Tommy though the entire match. They nodded and after they announced the victory of the two players on stage, they followed up their message with, “…And we have been made aware that Amaya has forfeited her last match due to an emergency situation and she is no longer in the arena.”
The crowd gasped and chatter broke out everywhere.
“Guys, this is really fucked up,” Wyatt said as he launched off his chair. Wyatt rushed towards the area behind the stage, but he was walking along the side so he could be more discrete, which was a little hard for him to do since he was wearing a tank top, short shorts, and a paisley headband.
Darren and I shot up and chased after him.
“What the hell is he doing?” Darren said.
The three of us were stopped immediately at the entrance to the back of the arena, there was a guy there with a lanyard, wireless headset, and an iPad.
“Excuse me, excuse me, tournament members allowed only beyond this point,” the guy said.
“Look, we’re just trying to find Amaya,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah, you and all the other media guys.”
“We are not part of the media. We’re her friends, in fact, I’m her doubles partner tomorrow.”
“You’re her doubles partner?” He laughed, and I had never seen Wyatt look so hurt.
Wyatt’s face tightened together and his lips sank. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I am. Look, we even have spectator passes that were given to us by Amaya herself. Can you please go get her or something?”
“I see that you’re clearly upset, and frankly a lot of other people are too, but I don’t care if you’re related to her. Tournament players only beyond this point.”
“You don’t have to be such a fucking asshole about it.”
Darren put his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. My jaw dropped and I felt paralyzed. I wanted to help out in someway and pull Wyatt back but I was in a state of shock. Darren was roping him in.
“Yeah, just keep talkin’ like that, see how far it gets you,” the guy scoffed. “Did you even hear the announcement the broadcasters made? Amaya left the stadium, she didn’t tell anyone where she was going, she just left. Check your phones or something before you come screaming at me. If you’re really that important to her maybe she messaged you.”
Wyatt turned around and stormed out of the way and kept going until the three of us were outside Madison Square Garden. The three of us stood in a triangle silence.