‘Players’ “Playoffs” Is a Surprisingly Profound Episode of TV

No one does a mockumentary like Dan Perrault and Tony Yacenda. Ever since American Vandal, the duo have proven that they’re uniquely talented at taking seemingly silly premises and pushing them to their limits. It’s a talent that is especially evident in Players‘ seventh episode, “Playoffs.” After hours spent dissecting the bitter rivalry between two esports players and their ridiculous obsessions with things like Axe body spray and Taco Bell Cantina, the series takes an unexpected break to dwell on the overwhelming loneliness of high school reunions. The surprisingly introspective installment questions if greatness is worth its cost.

If you haven’t checked out Players yet, you need to fix that. The fictional docuseries follows Fugitive, a professional League of Legends team past its prime. During the height of its fame and success, everyone in the esports world praised Fugutive’s team leader, Creamcheese (Misha Brooks). Now, years later, Creamcheese is old news as the 17-year-old gaming prodigy Organizm (Da’Jour Jones) joins the team’s ranks much to the chagrin of this aging veteran.

Much like American Vandal before it, Players always manages to be respectful of its world while still mocking its inhabitants. All of the gaming elements are taken seriously, to the point that the series can serve as an amusing guide to esports for the uninitiated. Instead of mocking gamers, the punchlines always revolve around the egos and petty squabbles of these pro athletes. And none of them are pettier or less mature than Creamcheese. Most of the season has seen this adult either ruthlessly bully his teenaged teammate or throw temper tantrums befitting of a toddler. He’s the antihero we’ve been begrudgingly asked to support. But it isn’t until the the staggeringly sincere “Playoffs” that Creamcheese feels worthy of this attention.

Heading into the titular playoffs, Creamcheese casually tweets that he wants to wrap up this huge game in three minutes so that he can make it to his high school reunion. To the absolute awe of everyone in this world, he’s true to his word. Fugitive is able to shut out its rival in mere minutes, finally playing “to their ceiling”, as a commentator notes. This is a pivotal moment for Fugitive, Organizm, and Creamcheese. But instead of celebrating with high fives and Patron shots, the camera follow Creamcheese to one of the saddest reunions brought to screen.

It’s not the reunion that’s particularly depressing in and of itself. It’s a scene that looks like everyone’s high school reunion: a mid-level pub serving groups of name tagged people pretending that they aren’t strangers to one another. No, it’s Creamcheese who makes the scene somber.

There is no doubt that Creamcheese — or Trevor — has made something of himself after high school. As he obnoxiously screams at one of his former classmates, he’s been making $820,000 a year as a professional gamer. But the name “Creamcheese” means nothing to this group of people Trevor was so sure he would impress. Only a couple of them even know about esports, the all-encompassing niche community that has consumed his life for a decade. Most of them have probably never heard of League of Legends. The ex that he was clearly hoping to see doesn’t even arrive, later saying “I didn’t know people actually went to those.”

As Creamcheese wanders among his old acquaintances and desperately tries to convince a former teammate to hang out, the rest of the episode becomes a quiet reflection on how loneliness and greatness often go hand in hand. It’s true that Creamcheese is an extraordinary player. But it’s also true that to this group of his peers he’s still the same person he’s always been: a guy who’s too into video games and won’t grow up. Being one of the best cost him his reputation, his family, and for a time his girlfriend. It’s consumed his life to the point where he’s nearly incapable of having typical friendships, let alone relationships. For a brief moment, we see this man not as an around man child but as a living legend walking through the ghosts of his sacrifices. And it’s sad.

Toward the end of the episode, Creamcheese dejectedly puts a Toblerone bar in the cup holder of his Porsche. Both are symbolic of the high school sweetheart he lost — the Toblerone an inside joke between them, and the Porsche as the car he bought to impress her. But it’s also a moment that extends past Morgan (Taylor Misiak). Even coming off of a huge victory and arriving in the nicest car possible, Creamcheese is still a footnote in the lives of the people he cares about the most. His family is gone, his best friend and greatest ally is on another team, and the woman he loves didn’t even bother to show up. He’s not loved or hated. He’s tolerated. Witnessing that indifference through the eyes of this man who cares so much is haunting.

In the final moments of “Playoffs”, Creamcheese returns to the world he knows. He plops down next to his former rival and asks Organizm if he wants to play another round. Then, in a rare moment of tenderness, Creamcheese gives Organizm the candy bar meant for his ex. As they train, Creamcheese relaxes back into his niche life as his foray into the normal world disappears behind him. Whether this is a wise or healthy move is never explored. After all, self-reflection is a luxury rarely afforded on the path to greatness.