On Runaway and endings
Blizzard Entertainment
There are some events so significant that people have to ask, "Where were you when?" They ask this because when those events occur, time stops, and for a moment, it seems like the whole world has its eyes on the same thing. Every person experiences life differently, but in these few brief moments, humankind shares a milestone, a memory crystallizing in time to become a commonality.
Obviously, a video game tournament isn't comparable to events like the destruction of the Berlin Wall, or the first man to set foot on the moon. But if you asked me where I was when Runaway finally won Contenders, I could tell you, and I bet a lot of other people could, too.
It was warm and muggy that day, as August days in Hong Kong usually are. I jolted awake five minutes before my alarm, stomach in knots. As the stream counted down on the TV I drew my knees up on the couch and clasped my hands, praying to whichever indifferent god controls the flow of esports. My gut feeling had decided to take the day off, leaving me to writhe in anxiety as the series dragged on.
But what I remember most of all is the winning moment. The sudden tightening of my chest, almost verging on despair, as though my body wasn't yet willing to believe it had really happened. The players launching out of their seats and colliding, coalescing into a mass of sobs and laughter. Relief crashing over me like a wave, cathartic and strange and wonderful. The stage lights blazing pink. Eager hands grasping at their trophy. Flowervin's tear-stained face, turned up to the sky.
There was a sort of magic that day. I don't think I could forget it if I tried.
Runaway 1.0 (Blizzard Entertainment)
Here are the facts: the Runaway that lifted the trophy that day, the one that worked and cried and fought and won, is gone. When they left, they were replaced by another Runaway, a team made of different names but still bursting with the same youthful tenacity, the same reckless emotionality. That one is gone now, too.
The Overwatch League is the end goal for a pro player. Making it there means financial security, international recognition, and the knowledge that all of your work has been worth something. Nobody will ever be satisfied with the victories that come before. Nobody will ever be satisfied in Runaway. They come, they learn, and then they leave.
There were two Runaways, and now they are both gone.
The first Runaway had to claw their way up, ascending to each new height by the skin of their teeth. It took a long time, but on an August day, they finally hoisted themselves up and basked in the sensation being on top of the world. Suddenly everything seemed full of possibility. The promise of forever was just on the horizon. And when they all went to the Overwatch League together, it seemed like that promise had actually come true.
The second Runaway knew from the start that they weren't going to last. Victory came easy to them, but every success was tempered by the knowledge that there would, eventually, be an end. So for a year they made the most of their time together. They always played with their hearts on their sleeves, became familiar with triumph and defeat. And when the year was over, they did what they were always going to do. They left.
Runaway 2.0 (Blizzard Entertainment)
The first Runaway is now iconic, remembered as the greatest story in pro Overwatch — and the greatest tragedy. Those players will always be tied to that legendary team. They were willing to stake everything on the chance that they might stay together forever, and they lost.
The second Runaway never had that chance. They will never be mythologized, because theirs was a story with an expiration date. When another year passes, their individual journeys will have overshadowed everything they ever did together.
Runaway is not the Overwatch League, and the Overwatch League is the end goal, so everyone leaves Runaway eventually.
No matter how you look at it, the second Runaway was more successful than the first. They achieved better results. They went undefeated for five months. Each player quickly entered the conversation for best in their role outside of the league. And they grew into a family, too. But every passing week was more sand through the hourglass. Sooner or later, their time would be up.
"Amongst each other, we think about how we want to enter the league every day," Leejaegon once said in an interview (translated by Swingchip). They must have known that the chances of going to the league together were close to zero. Still, they wanted it, and worked for it.
I'll always remember the day Runaway was eliminated from the Gauntlet. I was in Toronto, like Shawn Mendes in the song 'If I Can't Have You'. It was the night before my birthday. The game began an hour before midnight.
The details of the match are fuzzy now, but I can still picture the aftermath as clear as day. I can see the players collapsing one by one, burying their faces in their hands, hiding their tears but not the sobs shaking their shoulders. The pressure must have been immense. They buckled under the weight of knowing that it was the last time they'd ever stand together on a Korean stage again.
The clock ticked past midnight. Another year had passed for me, just as it had for them. Their time was up.
Runaway's final tournament together was the NEXT Cup in China. Later, on stream, Flowervin told a story about the team's first real goodbye (translated by gatamchun).
"After the NEXT Cup, one of the players had to go straight to another country from China. He wanted to see his teammates one last time, however he could, so after checking his luggage he sprinted back to the waiting area, but they had already gone through security. "Ah, man, I ran all the way here... I can’t see you guys now." He wanted to see them one last time so badly. It’s really sad, and that’s just part of Tier 2. I think you have to make clear that Tier 2 teams are fated to say goodbye. You have to break up to be happy."
I've been thinking about the two Runaways' different trajectories quite a lot ever since the first roster was cut from the Vancouver Titans. After such an abrupt ending, all we're left with is hypotheticals. There's an eternal what if hanging over the legacy of the first Runaway now, the thought that maybe it really would have been better if the team had split up after 2018. Their story would have ended early, but at least the ending would have been triumphant rather than disastrous. That feeling of victory really would have lasted forever.
The second Runaway was lucky in this regard. Though the players were sad to part with one another, the outcome was inevitable. We will never wonder what if or lament the unfairness of it. They achieved great things while they were together, and have gone on to achieve great things in their new homes. It's comforting to know that one Runaway, at least, got a kinder ending. It didn't feel that way in the moment, but now I know it to be true. It was a bittersweet ending, but the one that they deserved.
I'm certain future generations of Runaway will never make the same mark that these first two iterations did. They'll never reach such dizzying heights as that first Contenders win, nor such devastating lows as the loss in the Gauntlet.
That's okay. They don't have to. Runaway is not the end goal, which means it is not the end. It can simply be a part of these players' journeys as they ascend to bigger and better things. All we can do is hope that, as long as their time with Runaway lasts, they are happy.
The two Runaways together (Blizzard Entertainment)
