The Inevitable Miracle

There are few things that embody aimless potential as well as the North American Starcraft scene. In previous years, it has been a source of rookies and upstarts who—while having some vague potential—never go anywhere with it. From State, to puCK, to JonSnow and Suppy and so many more, North America has failed to deliver on its promise to talent. It's been overshadowed by the mystery of China and the skill of Europe, and in prior years its WCS system has been overthrown by Koreans more than anywhere else. Even looking at the North American players who have risen to greatness—HuK, IdrA, Scarlett—they seem inconsistent even at their best, forever chasing form that might not come. When Neeb came into the scene, this destiny was already spelled out for him. He was an American terran in a sea of American terrans, and although he had a couple decent performances, they felt fleeting; for, why should Neeb succeed where so many others hadn't? His massive loss against Heart in 2014's third season of WCS only served to encapulate his fate. He was another nobody. Another player climbing a ladder to nowhere, seeming solid until the moment they played a Korean. Not even a top Korean. Just a Korean.

Then, the tides changed. In under four months, Neeb went from a terran nobody cared about to a protoss capable of eliminating StarDust from WCS and into retirement. It was as if Neeb changed his destiny alongside his race. Although it wasn't dramatic enough to render the future predictable by any means, it was clear that he wasn't just a nobody anymore. Neeb was headed someplace. Maybe a Scarlett, at best, we all said and laughed as he did well early in Legacy of the Void.

Then, he beat Polt and Hydra back to back to qualify for WCS Winter, and we all laughed a little less. Sure, he might've followed it up by choking and losing in the tournament proper, but it was an upset nobody could've imagined a year or two before. To think of an American terran defeating the Korean overlords of the region was unimaginable. To think of one doing so after swapping to protoss? Ridiculous. It wasn't surprising that Austin held Neeb's first finals as he showed marked improvement back on home soil. Just a couple months ago, he had lost to PtitDrogo 3-2. In that tournament, he demolished the French protoss. He lost to Hydra in the finals, but just as with the Frenchman, Neeb’s inflicted more than his fair share of vengeance on the Korean since. Since Austin, Neeb has beaten Hydra no fewer than five times, each one seeming more effortless than the last.

When a regular player defeats Hydra, it's often a match that takes a lot of effort or at the very least some clever cheeses. But for Neeb? It was effortless. Easy. Just another thing to do on his step towards the finals; so it's not much of a surprise to see him overcome the barrier held by his repeated failure in the latter stages of tournaments either. When he accomplished everything else, why stop there? Whereas some players such as Snute make wins look like a ridiculous combination of work ethic and style, Neeb makes wins look effortless. When Neeb defeats a player, he makes it seem inevitable, as if he could do it a million times over. He plays with just enough style to remain consistent, and just enough consistency to remain unpredictable. By all manner of opinion, Neeb is the ultimate foreigner. He harkens back to a NaNiwa or Stephano type figure with his endless improvement and unthinkable skill; but he hasn't made it just yet.

The throne is hard to keep. One only has to look at where NaNiwa and Stephano are now to remember that, or look at ShoWTimE - the other foreigner to win a major championship this year - and his performances after his win in Tours. After KeSPA Cup, Neeb has earned the attention of everyone, from Koreans to his home country, and everywhere in between. He conquered the scene for one brief moment, brighter than any star or flame. He accomplished a miracle so grandiose in scope that most don't even dream of it. For that, he's been cursed with a pressure unlike anything he's even felt.

Looking back at WCS Winter, that was the first time people had expectations of Neeb; previously, everyone stared on him with interest but not necessarily hope. After his qualifier wins, he faltered. Hard. He nearly avoided humiliation at the hands of Kelazhur, and largely disappointed against Hydra. Since then, the only time the community's eyes have been entirely on him and nobody else is now. On one hand, it has blessed him with the fame and recognition that he dreamed of in years past. On the other hand, it's a nerve-wracking blessing. It comes with expectations. It comes with fear. Now that he's tasted success, that hunger he felt for months - if not years - feels all the more poignant. And, as so many others can attest to, all the closer. Blizzcon is Neeb's chance to fight fate. It's his chance to prove that he's more than a single miracle. It's his opportunity to become something great—if he were to repeat his KeSPA Cup form here at Blizzcon, he wouldn't be a great player. He would be a legend.