Professional Video Gaming Tournament Day 3:

The final shot:

By this point in the weekend, the men’s washroom smells like a damp hockey bag. The hotel’s cleaning staff cannot be impressed.

The techies running the website have not eaten in twelve hours. Games are running late. Almost every other person is wearing sweatpants. If it weren’t for the army-sized supply of AMP energy drinks, people would be sleeping in corners.

Realizing I have been in the Renaissance for three days without hearing the phrase “hotel party”, I make a decision. I break the most obvious rule of sports journalism: I go home before the final game is over. Luckily, I can watch a broadcast of the championship live, with streaming audio commentary from the comfort of my couch.

Thank god for the Internet. The Internet, and free energy drinks.

Update: My team loses. I’m not sure if this is good for my story—or bad. But thanks to the live commentary, I actually understand what's going on.

I am tempted to write the line: There is a shot. Then a fall. He whimpers, shakes and goes limp. Deflated, his soul leaves his Robotic blue body. I have been up far too long.