The Memories We Share

by Mizenhauer

This last off-season was far from normal. We're used to being strung along until the last minute, wondering how many events will be held and how low the prize money will dip. But, for the first time, we truly had to face the void. For ten months, we had to wonder if we would ever see the GSL again.

I was lucky enough to be in South Korea these past few weeks. I got a chance to visit the GSL studio, watch some games, and speak to herO, Cure, Maru and Rogue. Each of them was so grateful that they had another opportunity to play in Code S. I guess it shouldn't be surprising—it was a tournament that shaped a huge portion of their lives.

I appreciated that it was something we had so deeply in common. Code S wasn’t the first event I encountered, but it was the first to make me realize the glory of competitive StarCraft II. I never expected it would lead to me writing about the game, befriending progamers, and without getting too personal here—having my life changed in many important ways.

Watching in the studio, my most vivid GSL memories came rushing back—some good, some bad, some just funny—but all part of the same emotional fabric. With hopes of creating a few more in the coming weeks, I'd like to share them with you.

Mvp's Legendary Finals

When it comes to iconic moments in StarCraft II history, it's impossible not to start with Mvp. For me, and I would think for many other fans, the King of Wings was one of the first players to truly demand your attention during the early iterations of GSL. Time and again, he displayed a level of class that was a cut above the rest of the scene. Mind you, there were plenty of other excellent players at the time, but Mvp bordered on perfect. He starred in many high profile matches, beating virtually all of his contemporaries into submission with his own, divine style of StarCraft.

And, yet, out of all those legendary series, the most memorable must be his 2012 Code S Season 2 final against Squirtle. Even amidst thousands of series played over 15 years of competitive StarCraft II, their showdown has endured as possibly the most celebrated.

The battle between Mvp and Squirtle had the makings of a modern day epic before they even entered the booth. This was David versus Goliath. Rocky versus Drago. Roland versus the Saracens… …but somehow, the three-time GSL champion was the underdog. Earlier in his career, Mvp would have been favored against just about anyone. But in 2012, the rest of the scene had made up considerable ground, and Mvp was hobbled by wrist and shoulder injuries. His macro wasn’t as faultless as it once was, and his micro no longer bordered on surgical. Mvp, who had participated in more high pressure games than any other StarCraft II progamer, had the mental advantage of experiencing nearly every conceivable situation. But it was unclear how much that would matter against a rising star reaching the peak of his powers.

Looking back, it's surprising that nearly 65% of Liquibet users trusted in Mvp's greatness—perhaps they were inclined to vote with their hearts. The other 35% believed that time waits for no man, and that Mvp’s reign as King had reached an end.

After three games, however, it seemed as if Squirtle’s usurpation had been dead on arrival. He may have had the raw horsepower, but Mvp’s superior decision-making and calculated aggression was keeping the challenger in check. Down 3-0, the StarTale Protoss needed to show some life if he had any hope of walking away victorious. Thankfully, for his believers, Squirtle snapped out of his daze and remembered he was an unstoppable ascendent talent, and soundly defeated Mvp in a macro game to win his first map.

With that, the series turned to game five on Metropolis. We knew Squirtle needed to keep playing at the highest level to extend the series even further, but no one tuning in could have anticipated that they were about to witness one of the signature moments of StarCraft II. After a grueling 35 minute tug of war, Mvp and Squirtle began to refine their armies into the deadliest fighting forces their race could muster. For Mvp, that meant maxing out on Battlecruisers. Having left himself with a mere 20 workers, Mvp was able to assemble a massive fleet (28 to be exact) of the capital ships. Protected by a healthy number of Ghosts, it seemed as if his opponent’s 20 odd High Templars and a dozen or so Archons were in dire straits. Knowing neither player would be able to properly remax once the dust had settled, Squirtle needed to land a decisive blow.

What came next will forever stay with me. The type of memory that is so vibrant it will never fully fade. There I sat, the shadowy confines of my room, lit only by the glow of my laptop. Squirtle was trying to get his Archons into range, but Mvp’s Battlecruisers were picking them off before they could get close enough to retaliate. 'The game is his,' I thought to myself. 'Mvp has won his fourth GSL title!' There was simply no way he was going to be denied.

But, just then, from the corner of the screen, I saw a Mothership just barely drift into sight. In the time it took for my heart to skip a beat, a Vortex engulfed Mvp’s armada. I watched transfixed as everything Mvp had worked for all game was sucked down into a calamitous singularity, and was reduced to a cloud of space debris upon its exit.


It was clear that Squirtle's black hole hadn't just altered the outcome of a single game, but had caused a gravitational shift in the entire series. The challenger proceeded to take a third straight victory, and headed into game seven with all the cosmic momentum behind him. No one else in the game could have survived the spiral of defeat that had been set in motion. Unfortunately for Squirtle, the greatest of all time had just enough left in the tank to reach escape velocity.

To me, game seven is as much a kaleidoscope of emotions as it is a series of images. The anticipation as Mvp’s SCV's headed across the map. The relief when Squirtle's Probe failed to scout the proxy Barracks. The anxiety when the first group of Marines were nearly rebuffed by a single Zealot. The sadness when it seemed as if Mvp’s gambit had failed. The hope when Squirtle's Stalkers ventured forth too soon, only to be sandwiched between two groups of Marines. The disbelief, as a Bunker went up in the Protoss main, of seeing an unthinkable comeback unfolding before my eyes. Finally, elation as Squirtle's final Pylons went down, completing a legendary victory.


That was the night I realized I didn't just like competitive StarCraft II, I loved it. It lit the spark of passion that still burns within me, over ten years later. Thank you Jung Jong-hyun. Because of you, we're still here.

Neeb Nearly Sets a New Bar for "Foreigners"

Anyone who has been around TL.net for long enough has heard the term "Korean elitist." While such language might seem awfully quaint in 2025, it bears remembering that non-Korean players were almost comically outmatched during the first half of StarCraft II's history. "Almost," because one must tip their hat to Stephano, HuK, Scarlett, and a select few. However, by and large, theirs was a depressing cause to support. When the so-called "foreigners" played Koreans, it was like watching amateurs flailing helplessly against, well, professional gamers. This isn't to denigrate the effort and work ethic of foreigners at the time. Rather, it accentuates the massive advantage gained from coming up through the Korean esports ecosystem—the most successful scouting, development, and finishing apparatus that exists to this day.

Many international fans despaired at their lot in StarCraft life, but continued to valiantly keep the faith. Others sided with the winners, relishing in the endless cycle of false hope and disappointment on the opposite side of the table. Guess which lot I fell in with!

Enter Neeb. The unassuming Protoss from upstate New York shocked the world in 2016, when he won the KeSPA Cup to become the first 'foreigner' to win a StarCraft championship on Korean soil since Grrrr… back in 2000.

In the moment, it seemed that international fans might have finally found a new hope who could compete with top tier Koreans. I knew better, though. Neeb had won the event by lucking into PvP's and spamming the same build every time. Okay, maybe for once, the foreigner had a better read on the meta than the Koreans. But, in the end, he was just going to be a flash in the pan. He had struggled to beat Pet 3-2 in quarterfinals—f***ing PET.

How, then, did I find myself cheering for Neeb two years later as he stood on the brink of an even greater achievement in GSL Code S?

Neeb's first attempt to scale the walls of Code S came in 2017, which resulted in the very foreigner-ish result of being felled in the qualifiers by the lowly Hurricane. A year later, Neeb gave it another try in 2018's Season 3, and this time he got to the starting line. However, he did so by beating Dandy, Cloudy, and ByuL in the qualifiers, and the TL.net writing staff predicted a prompt RO32 elimination. Surprisingly, Neeb survived the first hurdle, defeating Losira and aLive to advance in second place. Did that change the outlook? Of course not. #1 seed Maru exercised his champion's rights during the RO16 group selections, hand-picking Neeb and Reynor as his personal punching bags. I happened to write the preview for that group, and picked Maru and Impact—not a particularly accomplished Code S player—to advance.

Obviously, Maru came in first place. However, Neeb proved me wrong, taking down Impact and Reynor to slip by as the group runner-up. Doubt only seemed to make Neeb even stronger, and in the RO8, he scored a major upset by beating an opponent of an entirely different caliber. Reigning WCS and IEM world champion Rogue had a history of underperforming in GSL Code S at the time, but even that didn't prepare audiences for Neeb's comprehensive 3-1 victory in largely straight-up games.

Neeb passed an immense milestone in doing so, becoming just the second foreigner after Jinro to reach the RO4 of Code S/GSL Open. Weighing eras against each other is tricky business, but I had to think what Neeb had done was more impressive. Jinro had made his run all the way back in 2010—hadn't the Korean hegemony become even more deeply entrenched since then?

Only one player remained standing between Neeb and a historic GSL finals appearance: another former world champion in TY.

If I had wanted to, I could have easily come up with reasons to keep doubting Neeb. All the opponents he had defeated in the group stages had been midling Code S players, and perhaps I could admit Neeb was at least at that level. However, he hadn't shown any fight against apex predators like Dark and Maru, who TY was kinda like (not really, but I could have briefly convinced myself). As for Rogue, he had been slumping hard since winning IEM Katowice—so hard, he couldn't get over his Code S RO8 jinx even when gifted a foreigner as an opponent. TY, a former world champion who was only sometimes given to self-destructing in big tournaments (really trying here), would probably take care of business against a weaker opponent.

Instead, I chose to believe in Neeb. Maybe, through five GSL match wins, I saw a quality in his play that I had never noticed before. Maybe, I started to think a bit more highly of the 2018 Hangzhou StarCraft Carnival, where Neeb had defeated both Rogue and herO to win a handsome $31,000 payday. Maybe, I liked the idea of all the TY fans being forced to admit that despite his IEM world championship, their favorite player was still a choker living in Maru’s shadow (TY had been reverse swept four times in 2017). Maybe, I had finally allowed myself to become intoxicated by the narrative, or "hopium," as overly online folks have come to call it.

As TL.net users, by and large my fellow Korean Elitists, predicted TY's victory over Neeb at a 2.6:1 ratio in Liquibet, I announced my betrayal and picked a 4-3 victory for Neeb. For eight excruciatingly long years, foreigners had stumbled into new and increasingly humiliating ways to lose. This time, I declared the roles would be reversed. It was finally time for the chosen one to plant his flag in the finals of Code S and bring the hegemony to an end.

After three games, it appeared I was onto something. TY drew first blood with proxy-Cyclones, but Neeb evened the score with solid macro play in game two, and then pulled ahead with proxy tactics of his own in game three. I was elated. I had originally sold myself on the idea that Neeb would benefit from another reverse-sweep loss from TY, or some similarly cataclysmic collapse. Now, it seemed like Neeb wouldn’t need the help at all. Messages were sent on Discord, fists were pumped, and my dog was thoroughly confused.

Then, game four happened. To this day, it’s difficult to make sense of what transpired. After a relatively normal first ten or so minutes on 16-bit, TY started a series of doom drops to turn around a game that had started to get away from him. Neeb tried to mount a defense, but his widely spread out bases turned it into a losing effort. As the drops began to threaten even his main, and his counterattacks did nothing to slow TY's aggression, Neeb decided—or was forced—to take drastic measures.

Neeb gathered his army, crossed the map, and committed to a base trade. As the destruction derby progressed, it seemed like he had shown the decisiveness of a winner. Neeb was able to reduce TY's income to virtually nothing, safely withdraw his army to his main, and then catch a huge chunk of TY's forces that had waited too long to flee. A Blink forward took out multiple full Medivacs—the very choke I had been looking for!—leaving Neeb with a commanding army advantage and one mostly full mining base remaining.

To a viewer with full information, Neeb's road to victory was clear. All he had to do was withdraw to his last mining base, let basic economics take over, and receive the GG that would give him a 3-1 lead. From there, he would have no problem closing out the series in whatever manner he'd like.

Except, none of that happened.

Veteran SC2 viewers know that basetrades are not the most well-practiced scenario for progamers and accept that there will be some misplays and blunders. But even the most understanding fans would have had trouble giving Neeb a pass. Instead of consolidating his lead, Neeb sent his army across the map again, seemingly intent on cleaning up the imaginary scraps of TY's economy. TY realized the gift he had been given, and sent a small squad of infantry to destroy the full expansion. Even then, it wasn't too late for Neeb to withdraw, as distance-mining from his main Nexus would still net him a slow but sure win. Instead, he let TY's commandos march right into his main and destroy his last remaining Nexus, even as he had full energy for recall.


All of the sudden, Neeb's army advantage was almost completely negated. TY didn't have a chance at destroying the remaining Protoss buildings with his measly army, but a bankrupt Neeb didn't have a way to build the single air unit needed to hit the Terran buildings floating into the dead air surrounding the map. After a few minutes of scouring the terrestrial portions of the battlefield, Neeb realized the situation he was in. Instead of receiving the GG that had been due to him minutes ago, he was the first to send his opponent a message: "draw?"


From there, TY proceeded to win the rematch to tie the series, followed by two proxy-Cyclone builds to take the 4-2 win.

To this day I’m flabbergasted by what happened. Despite the final result being a 4-2 victory for TY, it was a series where Neeb very well could have advanced to the finals. In fact, I’m willing to say he should have. After a rocky start, he outplayed TY in games two, three, and 99.99% of four. All he had to do was recall a few seconds earlier.

While it was certainly an embarrassing loss for Neeb, in the big picture, you still had to see it as a huge career win. No, he didn't achieve the greatest foreigner GSL run of all time, but being only the second ever to reach the RO4 still goes down in GSL history as pretty damn great.

As for me, my Liquibets were left in shambles, I was relentlessly mocked on Discord, and my dog went back to sleep. But, overall, it turned out rooting for a foreigner wasn't so bad—maybe it was even a little fun! At least, it was interesting enough to remain as one of my most memorable moments from the GSL.

Unfortunately, INnoVation Becomes the GOAT

Being a fan of the GSL is very much about cheering for players you love, but it's also about coming to appreciate the ones you don't. For me, one of the most unlovable players was INnoVation.

No sooner had Mvp left for WCS Europe after setting the all-time standard for greatness in Korea, then did INnoVation emerge as a prospective heir in 2013. It seemed early for a player who had only begun playing StarCraft II in mid-2012, but his gameplay was already reminiscent of the all-around perfection Mvp had shown during in 2011 prime. "The Machine" felt like the ultimate weapon developed by the KeSPA industrial complex, designed specifically to erase the accomplishments of StarCraft II's pioneers.

It didn't take long for me to dislike him. Generation change is inevitable, but it couldn't have come with a less interesting face. INnoVation was everything I didn’t want in a pro StarCraft II player. He was the antithesis of Maru’s free-flowing, creative, electric playstyle—INnoVation was the embodiment of repetitive, rigid, perfection. He paved his legacy by out-expanding, out-producing, and steamrolling his opponent’s with all the finesse of, well, a steam roller.

He lacked the creativity of a Rogue or sOs, or the humanizing flaws of Zest and his bank. Even far lesser players could earn an ounce of my affection with a cheeky ceremony—all INnoVation offered was that knowing smirk. He couldn't even keep the KeSPA takeover storyline going, spending a year with Europe's Acer to sample the international circuit.

I couldn't stand each of his wins against soO, which came to number one-hundred and fifteen. I shook my head despondently when he utterly demolished sOs during the 2013 WCS Season 1 Finals. I seethed when he ended Cure's Cinderella run in the 2014 Code S Season 1 semifinals. I despaired when he coldly denied ByuL his last chance at winning a major title in the 2015 Code S Season 3 finals. I learned what true injustice was when he essentially took 2016 off, only to casually resume running roughshod over all my favorites the next year.

I reveled in moments like a supposedly washed-up Mvp winning his famous comeback on Akilon Wastes at INnoVation's expense. I cackled when his machine logic bugged out, and his army meandered uselessly around the map in an unfamiliar game situation. I still pump my fist every time I rewatch his mech army being destroyed by Maru's brilliant bio envelopment in Proleague.

Of course, my flimsy bastion of cope was meaningless in the face of the most destructive force StarCraft II had ever seen up to that time. INnoVation always won when he felt like winning—which thankfully wasn't all the time—but it was far more often than any other player of his era. Gradually, he racked up the titles needed to match Mvp in terms of resume.

In 2017, INnoVation started his most dominant career run in terms of collecting titles. He claimed three major titles in just the first eight months of the year, winning IEM Gyeonggi (technically held in December of 2016, but officially the start of WCS 2017), SSL Season 1, and GSL vs the World. There's something INnoVation didn't know at the time, and had he had known, he couldn't have cared less. But just like his parade pushes of Marines had defeated so many Zergs, his onslaught of championships was slowly beating down another opponent. I was becoming resigned to, maybe even respectful of his greatness.

In the days following INnoVation’s 4-0 victory against TY in the finals of GSL vs the World (an event in which he went an absurd 13-1), I gave the following admission.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. As I drove to the supermarket it was all I could think about. INnoVation has won GSL vs The World. The argument against him being the best player of all time is growing thinner and thinner. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m starting to resign myself that he very well could be. He is an ascendant talent. A player who makes terms like generational seem mild praise. He is far and away the strongest player in the world right now and shows no signs of letting up.”

With three GSL titles to his name—two Code S and one GSL vs. World—INnoVation was already walking on rarefied air headed into 2017 Code S Season 3. Another Code S win would see him match Mvp exactly for GSL titles, alongside a similar haul of trophies in other events. The once impossible mark seemed doomed to be passed if INnoVation continued to play anywhere close to the same level for the rest of the year.

In a way, you could say my prayers were answered as INnoVation didn’t look nearly as imperious during Season 3. He dropped a game to Scarlett and a match to GuMiho in the group stages, and his focus didn't seem to improve in the playoffs. He jumped out to a 2-0 lead against ByuN in the RO8, but was nearly reverse-swept before he salvaged the situation. The semifinals was no better, as Dark took INnoVation the distance before The Machine dug deep in game seven to secure a spot in the finals against sOs.

Had it been any other player, I might have enjoyed INnoVation's run. He looked more man than machine, and he had reached the finals by channeling the best version of himself just long enough to survive. This iteration of INnoVation was dogged and resolute, traits I valued and adored in a StarCraft player. It was almost reminiscent of Mvp's fourth title run.

And, yet, I couldn’t help but be really pissed off. Even worse was the fact that I had little to no faith in sOs’ ability to defeat INnoVation in the BO7 finals. He would do his best to outfox INnoVation, of that I had no doubt, but you can only steal so many games with trickery and guile.

As was expected, sOs managed to drag INnoVation down into the muck with bizarre builds and peculiar decision making. But what I didn’t expect was for INnoVation to get stuck in the swamp, and for the score to be tied at three apiece after six games. However, just as he had done all season, INnoVation managed to barely keep his head above water until the very end, while sOs drowned in the mire of his own creation. sOs was forced to play a relatively standard strategy in game seven, and INnoVation closed him out with an equally standard tank push.


Back at home, I felt as defeated as sOs. A legacy of a man who had brought me so much joy with his humanity had been eradicated by a machine. At the same time, I was resigned to reality. While I could be emotional about players, I always did my best to stay clear-eyed when it came to assessing their ability. This much seemed clear: I would forever live in a world where INnoVation was better than Mvp, and the greatest of all time.

I begrudgingly acknowledged INnoVation's greatness all those years ago, but I still don’t worship at the altar of INnoVation. However, I know that it doesn’t matter how I feel, or how I tell myself I should feel, because you simply can’t tell the story of GSL without INnoVation. He played a part in too many games that I will always hold dear, and a part of too many important moments that I both cherish and lament.

Looking back, the unforgettable dominance with which he trampled one opponent after another made it inevitable he would become an undeniable part of GSL history. So, I’ll say it now in no uncertain terms. I don’t like INnoVation. I don’t admire INnoVation. I don’t even enjoy watching him play. None of that matters. There will never be anyone quite like him. And, for that, INnoVation will always have my respect.

Maru Wins His First GSL Code S

The longest running tournament in StarCraft II forces you to appreciate that without the lows, you can't fully appreciate the highs. And, in terms of lows, it would be an understatement to say that the release of Legacy of the Void tested my fandom.

Coming off the back of Heart of the Swarm, in which all my favorite players won major tournaments or thrived in Proleague, I found far fewer moments to cheer for. But after a bleak 2016 tolerating the 2/1/1, 3 Barracks Reaper openings, and super powered Ultralisks, 2017 came to my rescue. soO, herO, and sOs regained the type of form that had made me a fan during HotS. Meanwhile, new stars such as Stats, Dark, and TY continued to push the game to increasingly entertaining levels. Even Rogue, someone I had always supported for his quirky play in Proleague, unexpectedly became the best player in the world (albeit, I resented that he did so by becoming the foremost abuser of the dreaded Hydra-Ling-Bane composition).

However, as 2017 came to a close, there was one player who seemed to have not received the memo about how great the year was supposed to be for me. Where the f*** was Maru?

Rising to prominence in WoL for his prodigious talent at a young age, Maru had become a phenomenon in Heart of the Swarm. He may have been reserved and sheepish in real life, but in-game, he was brash, brazen, and brave. While other Terrans resorted to SCV pull all-ins, Maru played the macro game and charged down enemy Colossus with infantry. When other Terrans turned to turtle mech as a way to battle Zergs, Maru remained a staunch advocate of the far more entertaining Marine-Medivac-Marauder composition. Every game Maru played, win or lose, had you on the edge of your seat.


Some of that ability did carry over to Legacy of the Void, where he led Jin Air to victory in the final, 2016 season of Proleague with an absurd 22-4 record. However, on the individual front, he might as well have been invisible. Actually, scratch that. He probably would have been better off being invisible, given all the laughable ways he lost over the course of the first two years of Legacy of the Void.

In 2016, he achieved just a single Code S appearance, which ended with him bombing out in the RO16. He improved in the following year, but still performed far below the level his talent demanded. Midway through 2017, six odd months into my tenure of writing for TL.net, I put pen to paper and made sure everyone knew exactly how I felt.

"When Maru’s in form he’s unstoppable. Every move, no matter how reckless it may appear, just goes his way. He makes people look silly. He even makes people cry. He’s a wrecking ball and his opponents are reduced to an unsightly destitute wall you find yourself wanting to fall.

And then he’s none of that. Maru's inability to maintain composure in critical situations is probably the greatest flaw that’s prevented him from becoming the best player in SC2 history. Go back to his biggest failures and watch how he manages to flub what ought to be simple tasks. He fails to build Turrets against Dark Templars. He leaves Depots down against Zergling run bys. Overcommitting into Marine surrounds. The community understandably tries to strike these errors from memory, but the simple fact remains. Just as Maru can be the best player in the world, he's prone to crumbling in an instant."

To be fair to Maru, my harshness may have been due to my high expectations. After all, some of my favorite wins were his OSL and SSL championship runs during Heart of the Swarm, and no one could have accused him of being un-clutch at the time. But, by 2017, it had been years since he had won a major individual title, and I feared that the magic that had made him one of my favorite players to watch had departed for a new vessel.

The way he closed out the year only made things worse. In Season 3 of Code S, he collapsed in the RO32 with 0-2 losses to Solar and a thoroughly washed up jjakji. Maru may have been skilled. He may have been fast. He may have even been the best player in the world at some point in the past. In that moment, however, it seemed like what he was best at was finding ways to lose.

As Maru entered 2018 Code S Season 1, I had to wonder if he was even one of the top three Terrans in the world. His group stage performances were hardly reassuring, as he snuck by in second place in both the RO32 and RO16. Nothing was convincing about his 3-2 victory over sOs in the RO8, and I was trepidatious ahead of his semifinal match against Dark.

However, even if I was prone to occasional bouts of despair, my heart won out and I proudly placed my Liquibet in favor of Maru. My ember of hope was rewarded, and Maru played superb StarCraft II to defeat Dark 4-2 and reach the Code S finals for the first time in his career. Fandom being fickle as it is, as suddenly as Maru's ability in big matches was rehabilitated, so was my faith fully restored.

Maru's finals opponent was to be Stats, who was in the midst of one of the greatest three year runs in StarCraft II history up to that point. Tournament results from LotV suggested Stats should be the heavy favorite, but every recollection of Maru's peak ability pushed it toward being dead even.

In the end, Stats showed every bit of his class, but this new version of Maru could not be denied. Unstoppable offense melded with impenetrable defense (which would soon become a new hallmark of Maru's play), and after four quick games, Maru led 3-1. Even Maru's game five loss felt like a moral victory in a way, as he showed all the offensive verve of the boy who had once made StarCraft II appointment viewing back in HotS. Maru sealed the deal in game six, confidently barrelling through Stats' Templars with Ghosts at his back. The GSL, Korea's sole-remaining major, had chronicled Maru's fall from grace. Finally, it had recorded his triumphant redemption.



I’ll never forget the beaming smile and the look of relief on Maru’s face when Stats’ GG’d for the final time. And, while I could try and recontextualize my feelings in hindsight, I think my words in the immediate aftermath put it best:

“Watching Maru win the GSL finals and kiss the trophy warmed my soul in a way all my cold calculations could not. He had done what I thought was impossible. His consistency, his creativity, his sheer bravado—everything was back the way it should have been. It was incomprehensible. It flew in the face of reason. Everything had been going so wrong for so long…

…I have this platform now, so I can talk about Maru to people other than my dad. That's good, because he wouldn't give me nearly as much s*** as I deserve. I was wrong about Maru. I wrote him off when I really shouldn’t have. I may never find a satisfactory reason as to how Maru turned everything around and became the best version of himself, but that's not too important. Turns out, I don’t know everything. I don't have to know everything. This time, it feels right to be wrong.”




Maybe there won’t be GSL next year, but I’ll always be thankful for this summer. I got to revisit the tournament that gave me Mvp versus Squirtle, and the time Maru finally got across the finish line. The place where Neeb nearly blew everyone’s mind, and INnoVation finally changed mine. No matter when it is that we finally have to say goodbye, we'll still have our memories that made us love the Global StarCraft II League.