As someone who plays games for a living, multiplayer games are some of the most professionally detrimental things I can become entangled with. When you cover games, you need to hit games hard and then bounce to the next thing, and time-sink multiplayer games are the antithesis of that. For that reason, I have only ever allowed myself one of these at a time at most. For a while, that game was Rocket League.
I adored the competitive action, enjoyed training to ace aerials and flip resets, and for my sins, I admit I loved spamming "what a save" a little too much. However, it had been well over half a decade since I had kicked off in Rocket League. So, I tentatively drove back onto the field, and promptly had my chassis handed to me.
Humbled & Rumbled
To give some scope, when I left Rocket League behind, I deemed myself a pretty skilled player. With over one thousand hours in the game, I maintained a spot at the top end of the Diamond ranks. Making me, statistically speaking, in and around the top 25% of players. You're only ever one game away from being called trash in the chat, but based on the numbers, I was a decent player.
I expected a little drop-off upon my return, as I was nowhere near as sharp, but I assumed it was like riding a bike. The muscle memory would kick in, and everything would click into gear, right?
That simply didn’t happen. I was bumped around like a ragdoll; I lost almost all aerial battles, fumbled one-on-ones, and generally felt a step behind in every sequence of play. Which, as you might have guessed, saw me tumble down the rankings with the grace of an Epic-sanctioned Fortnite Battle Bus reversing into the Tour de France peloton.
I found myself leveling out around the lower end of platinum, dipping into gold when things really got desperate, which led me to question just how that whirlwind of losses had happened. I knew I wasn't that much worse than before.
This left only one explanation: The entire player base had gotten a whole lot better. And this sent me down a rabbit hole.
I Could Have Been An RLC1 Champ
My introduction to Rocket League, as many others will relate to, came from the game being featured as a PS Plus game of the month, which provided a surge of popularity that arguably gave the game the platform to become an eSports staple. These were my peak Rocket League years, and now I can understand why.
Every game has a period where everyone is mediocre at best. Mechanics are being learned, exploits and tactics are limited, and skilled players are relying on crossover skill from existing games to rise as the cream of the crop.
Think back to that time when no one knew how to build in Fortnite; before everyone knew the ideal team compositions in Overwatch; before all the cheating ruined Fall Guys and everything was wonderfully chaotic.
This couldn't be more true of Rocket League, as the first competitive season, in hindsight, is laughable.
Seriously, take the time to watch the final of RLC1, because even as a rusty, lapsed player, I think I could hang with those guys and compete at the highest level today. Not because I'm great, but because they were so damn goofy out there.
Granted, every player still had solid fundamentals, could hit aerials, and had decent positioning. But ten years ago, that was world-class. Today, that's enough to maybe get you out of gold, if you're lucky.
You need only watch one RLC1 match and then time travel ten years to the most recent competition to get the full picture, as the standard has been elevated to a degree that is almost beyond comprehension.
Top players today barely play on the ground at all. They have all manner of air control strategies, like backboard psychos, flip resets, and insane close-control dribbling. Not to mention, they punish any mistakes ruthlessly. This makes the lofty heights of Supersonic Legend unattainable for anyone not dedicating every waking moment to this game.
That's not surprising to me, as the best players always raise the bar. But what is staggering to me is just how much the average player has improved in a decade.
The average player can confidently hit aerials. Some can even air dribble with reasonable consistency. Wall control is almost always perfect, half-flip recoveries are common, shots are much more accurate and powerful across the board, and high-speed kick-off techniques can be seen even in the lower ranks.
Admittedly, ball chasing is still rampant, boost management is still pretty poor, and rotating still feels like an optional side quest in the lower ranks. But all in all, the standard has risen exponentially. Making winning a solo queue match at platinum feel like a champion rank match of yesteryear.
Because of the burn and churn of online multiplayer games these days, it's rare you get to see such an evolution. But even though I was routinely put in my place by those who have stuck with Rocket League over the last decade. It's been a return that I have savored and enjoyed.
I'm excited to see what the next decade of Rocket League has in store. And equally, I look forward to coming back again to be pummelled by some bronze rank players.
