The bar of Good Memories

Esse texto também está disponível em Português: O bar das Boas Memórias

August 30, 2024, 3 p.m., LOUD’s Gaming Office

Under a 30°C sun, I’m surprised to see Croc wearing a black jacket.

— Have you gotten used to this crazy São Paulo weather? – I ask.
— Oh, I’ve been here for three and a half years, right? – The… ex-LOUD Jungler replies.

A brief silence fills the afternoon in Vila Madalena. I confess that, on my way to the interview with Croc, any path I took seemed to lead to a sad ending. After four consecutive national League of Legends titles with LOUD and a melancholic farewell to CBLOL, the player is practically retiring.

Worse, not by his choice.

In South Korea, it’s mandatory for all men to perform military service by a certain age, and despite his efforts, Croc’s time had run out.

I break the silence.

— What are you going to do after… you know?
— I’m not sure – he says, looking far off. — Maybe I’ll open a bar.
— A bar?!
— Oh, I don’t know, but it would be cool, wouldn’t it?
— It would! – I say, smiling. — And what would be the name of this bar?
— 좋은 추억, or, in English, “Good Memories.”

From now on, Croc takes over the text.

I understand that, for Brazilians, talking about mandatory military service in Korea might seem like a sensitive subject, but it isn’t. Our entire lives, from childhood, we know that the time will come for all men to serve in the army, just as all Brazilian men must enlist when they turn eighteen.

Most of my childhood friends got the interruption of life that is mandatory military service out of the way as soon as they could. I spent a lot of time hearing their experiences, as well as some pro players I knew who had to go through this moment in their lives. It’s hard to put down the mouse after so long and go back to pen and paper, or pick up a gun.

To get it over with: accepting that I need to do this doesn’t make it easier. It’s a waste of time. I get angry, but in the end, it is what it is, and there’s nothing more I can do.

Maybe you might think that this affected me during this last Split, but honestly, it didn’t. It was more annoying when people asked me all the time about it, but I didn’t think about it myself. The only thing I tried to do was to postpone it for at least another year, but if it didn’t work out, it was okay; I knew I would have to go. I’m a very focused guy; what people say about me and the things around me affect me little, be it the army, criticism or girls, anyway, when I put my focus on something, no one can take it out of my head.

Many Splits before this one could have been my last before the army, and it ended up being true this time, and with that, I know that the first chapter of my life also ended.

But I’d like to talk more about this first chapter and the memories I carry with it.

I remember that when I left Rensga, Minerva started a live stream talking badly about how Trap worked with the team, and that made me create this group. I said, “Guys, let’s try everything to be competitive, do your best, and if that’s not enough, that’s okay, but don’t give up or worsen the image people have of us.”

Also because Korea is a small country, and those who play LoL have a lot in common. We know almost all the good Solo Queue players by their nicknames. It can be daunting to decide to move to Brazil, so as soon as I meet someone in this situation, I add them and try to bridge the gap from the start, so they don’t feel alone and understand that it’s not just about money, but giving their best.

League of Legends in Brazil isn’t a gentleman’s game; players shout and provoke each other, and this creates a spectacle for the broadcast and the fans. Back at the beginning of LCK, we had players like Piglet and imp, and it was fun. Nowadays, everyone is too humble, afraid to taunt and then lose the game. In Brazil, even guys who aren’t like that, like Route, fit in because they are competitive. In the end, we have more in common than people might think.

And the heart of it all is the community. I spent a year in Oceania, and the reason I didn’t do the same work there, about Korean players, as I did in Brazil is that it’s a very small region, with little audience, few players. The community makes everything make sense here, from teams investing, foreigners coming here, to the show we put on inside and outside the game.

And it’s because of the community that I stayed.

At my peak with LOUD, I had offers from LCK and also LCS. I stayed in Brazil only because I had already connected so much with LOUD and my teammates, but also because of how LOUD’s fans and the Brazilian community embraced me.

This picture was a gift from a fan, and it’s the only thing on my desk here at LOUD’s office besides my mouse and keyboard.

I don’t think the person took their time to give me this gift because I won four CBLOL titles, and if you look closely, there isn’t a CBLOL trophy on it. Also, the fans aren’t wearing LOUD shirts, but Brazil shirts. I received this gift during the regular season of this last Split, when things weren’t going so well.

When I look at it, it gives me the feeling of a second home.
When I look at it, I feel different emotions. Happiness, nostalgia, sadness…
When I look at it, I think that when people remember me, I’d like them to think of the Korean guy who came here to play in CBLOL. A somewhat cool guy, but who gave his all. That even if we had our problems with him, we loved him, and he will always be a part of us.

When my last match in CBLOL ended, I took a while to leave the stage and the press zone because I wanted to hug and thank all the fans who were present, as it might be the last time I saw them. Without fans, there is no CBLOL.

Why do we play if there’s no one to watch us?
Why do we lose if there are no fans to cry with us?
Why do we win if there are no fans to celebrate with us?

Fans are more important than players, at LOUD and in Esports. That’s why it hurt so much to end this Split the way we did. For the fans and for my team.

I’m not afraid of many things in my life, but this Split I had trouble staying motivated to keep being competitive and winning again. Even though we won CBLOL four times in a row, we still had the same disappointing international result every time.

When I climbed the stairs of the CBLOL studio after saying goodbye to the fans for the last time, we stood in silence for a while, and the whole movie of our journey played through my mind. Seeing RedBert crying, Route looking down, and especially tin and Robo at a loss for words at that moment hurt me. A lot.

I thought about our entire story on the van ride back to LOUD’s office, and there I wrote the messages you saw on Twitter for each of them. A piece of me stayed in those tweets, and that’s okay because I know I’ll carry a part of each of them with me for the rest of my life to complete myself.

When you read this text, I will have just arrived in Korea. My plan is to go to the army early next year, so I’ll still have some time to relax and think about all the moments and memories I had in Brazil.

It’s been almost four years of dedication, most of them with LOUD, winning titles, traveling the world with my friends, and playing League of Legends. I started playing LoL in 2012, so it’s been twelve years playing the same game almost every day. I’m tired. I want to do something different, maybe visit a university and have new, normal experiences. About a return to being a professional player in the future? I sincerely don’t know, but it may be hard.

I like basketball; I played a lot when I was in high school, but I couldn’t play while I was a pro player because I might break a finger.

I think I’ll get a pet, a dog. I’m a dog person.

Maybe I’ll open a bar.

I’m good with alcohol, I can handle it well (although the next day Croc would disagree as he is dying with a hangover). I like drinks, especially soju, beer, and Cosmopolitan, a drink I had for the first time with tinowns. Maybe I’ll also learn to make caipirinhas?

I’d be that type of bar owner who serves people and goes to each table to check how everyone is feeling, if they’re enjoying it. The name of the bar would be “Good Memories,” and maybe I could ask my customers what good memories they have from their lives, or perhaps leave a book and a pen at the bar’s entrance so they can draw or write a good memory they have.

As the first person in the bar, the first thing I would write would be:

"The story of the Korean player who found himself in Brazil. Until next time! "

With a hug and a special thank you to Croc, I say goodbye to the greatest foreign player in Brazilian League of Legends history, four-time CBLOL champion.

I get into my car and take a moment to start it. It wasn’t an ordinary conversation. Mainly because I came in expecting to leave feeling sad, and I’m leaving with happiness in my heart. Happy to have followed as a fan the journey of a foreigner who understood Brazil more than many Brazilians, who gave his all for a cause that few cared about, and who, even with trophies piled up on his shelf, considers his legacy to be the people, the community, his teammates, and the players who come from the other side of the world to try.

Not to make money. Not to play for ego. Not for a shortcut to Worlds.

Comes to win.

And in League of Legends and in life, Croc won.