These two are extraordinary players: Lee Sang-Hyeok (Faker), a Gamer, and Lin Dan, a badminton player.
Lee Sang-Hyeok, “Faker” (photo courtesy YouTube)
This November, Lee Sang-Hyeok, better known as Faker, lifted the Summoner’s Cup for the fifth time at the ripe old age of 28, cementing his status as the most decorated player in the history of the League of Legends world championships. It is a story of unreal longevity and incredible talent that unfolds like a perfect script. His team, T1, defeated all odds to forge a comeback victory against the tournament favorites.
Praises of Faker’s brilliance fill the incandescent stadium, sung by fans who didn’t quite dare articulate their hopes of seeing the man win a title he first won 12 years ago.
Lin Dan (photo courtesy NBC Sports)
Years earlier, in 2019, Lin Dan, another player with five world championships and a trophy cabinet heavier than most people’s bookshelves, sank to his knees as he won the Malaysia Open at 35, long past the retirement age of the average shuttler. But then again, he has been anything but average in the span of his 20-year career. 336 days, nine first-round exits, and increasingly loud calls for retirement after his last tournament win, this one title – which otherwise pales in comparison to his two Olympic golds and a truckload of prestigious victories – allows him to salvage his dignity and call time on his legendary career on his terms.
Famous for his roaring celebrations, the commentator notes how his unusually subdued reaction marks an almost meditative triumph, silencing not just his critics – some of whom were diehard fans from his younger days who couldn’t bear the sight of their invincible champion doggedly fighting on against the grip of age – but perhaps more importantly, the self-doubt that had inevitably crept in.
Even though T1 was one match away from not even qualifying for the Worlds, that Faker’s status and skill were beyond question, despite the popularity of Chen Long, the affable Olympic champion who stood on the other side of the net from ‘Big Brother Lin’ that the older legend had already completed the Super Grand Slam of winning all nine of badminton’s biggest titles 7 years ago. He did it despite all the odds. Fans rooted blindly for T1 and Lin Dan. 80.5% of the audience gathered in London predicted that T1 would win the title regardless of their disastrous pre-Worlds form, and Kuala Lumpur echoed with chants of the old general’s name, even though it was the home-ground of his greatest rival, Lee Chong Wei.
When one tries to understand these emotions, one finds they cannot be explained simply by common phenomena, like rooting for the underdog or sympathy for an older player struggling against energetic youngsters. These players had too many accolades to be considered underdogs and were too skilled to be defeated by youthful energy alone. No, they were continuing out of sheer love for the games they loved—what some would describe as the stubbornness of the highest order.
Faker reinvented his playstyle throughout his career to fit the ever-changing demands of being the best, evolving from a game centered around mechanical dexterity to strategic genius. Lin Dan transformed himself from a force of aggressive explosion on the court to a wily craftsman who could deftly send the shuttle to the opponent’s weakest corner. He engaged in long battles of attrition in which the vanquished player would often be left clueless about where he went wrong.
Where any ordinary person would have been content to at least gradually fade away and retire on a high, if not quite rest on their laurels, these two – and others like them, across sports and eras – could never have enough. Faker would credit his fans as his biggest motivation to continue playing in his post-match interview after being crowned the Most Valuable Player of the World finals. When asked why he continued to play badminton in an interview immediately after the earliest loss of his World Championship career in 2019, Lin Dan would answer: “God told me to do so.” There are two contrasting circumstances; the answers are similar in their apparent innocuity.
Yet, one suspects that there is something else, something inherently deeper, a love for the game that is indescribably intrinsic to a player’s psyche, that underpins all these reasons for continuing to play when, for the rest of the world, there is nothing left to play for. It’s the kind of love that made Faker respond promptly with a cheery smile when questioned about what advice he would give to his younger self who lifted the world trophy 12 years ago: “Just go have fun.” Or what made Lin Dan, probed about the greatest regret of his career upon retirement, answer unhesitatingly in three simple words: “I have none.”
And it is perhaps this very love, this passion bordering on insanity, this stubbornness, that arouses something within the most rational fan’s soul. It inspires a strange, almost unhinged kind of hope in a world that believes disappointment is inevitable. It liberates you. It empowers you to dare – dare to dream, dare to hope, dare to win, and dare to lose. Dare to dare.
It brings together a mild-mannered Korean gamer and a hot-headed retired Chinese shuttler in the state of being extraordinary.
Very well written column. Information and inspiration beautifully blended in lucid language. Legacy of writing inherited from mother has blossomed very early in life . Promise of a good career in legal drafting and analytical presentation of cases. Good piece on sports producing quotable quotes. Very reassuring for the new generation.