E-Mail This Article to a Friend Bring on the major leagues (continued)

I FIRST ENCOUNTER 13-year-old Bonnie "Xena" Burton during warm-ups. She's not hard to spot in this male-dominated crowd. A blonde girl with the face of a pixie who looks as though she should be uncomfortably navigating the strait between playing with dolls and putting on makeup, she's instead sticking it to seven male Halo players who are older and much bigger than she is.

Xena has been playing Halo professionally for over a year, and won the coveted title of "Best female Halo player" at Halo 50k2 in 2003. Judging by the gender breakdown of the room, that may not be the hardest feat in the world, but there's no doubting her talent. At the Boston event, she cracks the top 32 in the Halo FFA tournament, out of approximately 200 entrants.

Recalling my own parents' attitude towards my prodigious gaming when I was that age ("Will you turn that damn thing off!"), I'm curious how Xena's parents feel about carting their daughter around the country to play video games. "They're supportive," she says, "as long as I keep a good balance with everything else." To that end, she's active on her school's soccer team, and actually says she only plays Halo two or three times a week.

Perhaps it's not surprising that Xena's matches attract among the larger crowds of spectators at the Battle of Beantown. Her age and gender set her apart, and make her a target. "People underestimate me," she says with a grin.

Do they ever. The night before the event, Xena appeared at the GameStop in Saugus. To promote MLG, amateurs were invited to compete one-on-one with her. About fifteen people showed up, each hoping to take the precocious pro down a peg.

"Did any of them beat you?" I ask.

Xena replies matter-of-factly. "No."

HALO ISN'T the only proving ground at the Battle of Beantown, though it's certainly the largest and most hotly contested. Halo gaming stations take up half the room – plus, two giant projection screens are devoted to it – but on the other side, nine stations are set up for Super Smash Brothers Melee on the Nintendo GameCube.

The vibe is completely different on this side of the room. Smash players skew younger than Halo players – I see at least two competitors who are so small, their feet don't reach the ground from their chairs. And, in general, people are much friendlier over here. Whereas people play Halo in stony silence, opening their mouths only to drop a well-placed F-bomb, Smash players joke around throughout the game, even when they're losing.

Smash teams seem to be cobbled together at the last minute. I encounter one player asking another, "Hey, do you want to be on my team?" Moments later, Smash commissioner Jason Rice shouts through his megaphone, "Unknown Force! Unknown Force, I have a partner for you!" Introductory handshakes and grins follow. The camaraderie surprises me, but it doesn't surprise DiGiovanni.

"It's really social," he says. "You see the same faces over and over [at each event]." And, indeed, I get the impression that once the day is over these people will get together and, well, probably play video games.

(One of the most telling moments of the day is when Rice announces the end of the team Smash event. He tells the contestants to take a forty-five minute lunch break. Fifteen minutes later, every Smash station is still occupied.)

In an even darker corner of the room, two PlayStation 2s are hooked up and running Gran Turismo 3. For most of the morning, I see only a single person playing, running one lonely lap after another. By about two o'clock, five people have gathered there. It's becoming abundantly clear that the vast majority of gamers have come to this event for only one reason.

AND ALREADY, the Halo tournament has seen its share of drama. Like when some unaware spectator trips over a power cord, killing a game in progress and prompting cries of, "What the fuck, yo?" Or when a player named -KraKaLaKa- does an unnecessary victory dance after advancing to the second round, earning reproving stares from the other players at his station.

But why shouldn't people care? The total prize pot for the event, distributed between champions of every game, is $15,000, including $8,000 for the Halo winners. "That's cash money," says Apicella, looking pleased. For the invitation-only championship event in New York City, the stakes are even higher. "There'll be 50 thousand in cash, and 30 thousand in trips and prizes." (Remind me again why I went to college.)

Not everyone is so highly focused. Halo commissioner Puckett is having trouble finding one of the players for a second round match-up. "Canada to station eight!" he bellows into his megaphone, to no avail. Finally, someone locates Canada stretched out across several chairs, sleeping soundly, the hood of his red sweatshirt pulled tightly around his face. Puckett leans over and positions the bullhorn right next to Canada's ear.

"CANADA, STATION EIGHT!"

I hear the squeal of feedback. Canada leaps up, confused. Puckett starts laughing. Canada can barely stand, and staggers to the gaming station on wobbly legs. According to DiGiovanni, many of the players were up until all hours of the morning getting in last minute practice, so it's likely Canada is better rested than most at this point. He places fourth in his first match, rubbing his eyes after it's over. Then he dominates the second match, staving off a late run by FiddyK to win 50-49 and advance to the next round. Canada eventually qualifies for the finals.

Most of the scores aren't so even. I'm noticing a huge talent gap. The game ends when one player hits 50 kills, and it's not uncommon to see a spread of forty or more points between the first and eighth-place players. Yes, the event is open to the public, but clearly we've got some amateurs showing up thinking they can ball with the big boys. It's like watching someone challenge Michael Jordan to a pickup game.

IN THE END, the biggest surprise about Major League Gaming is how fully it earns that moniker. It's an efficiently run outfit, and you can tell just by talking to MLG officials for a few minutes how passionate they are about their endeavor. They've got the media savvy and the drive to push this thing into the mainstream.

But it's the players upon whom the fate of MLG ultimately rides, and solely by that measure the venture is in good hands. You might be pretty good at video games, but you're not this good. These are people who live and breathe games. (I mean that literally – according to Giovanni, some of them even sleep with their controllers the night before a tournament.) Watching the pros play Halo is something of a revelation. The awareness they possess, their accuracy, and, most of all, their endurance are all mind-boggling. I spent about six hours at the event, and left starving for sunlight.

The games went on for a day and a half more.