The pilot stormed into the bar on a mission. He was going to drown his woes or bust some heads or both. Slamming a pile of coins onto the bar he demanded the bartender give him a bottle of the hardest liquor he had.
The bartender pulled an old dusty bottle from under the bar, blew the dust off and popped the sealed cork. He slammed in a fresh pourer and placed the bottle and glass just outta reach of the pilot, and said, “Being this close to a Craftsmen registration hub, we get a lot of pilots year-round. However, only twice a year do they typically come in hell bent on destroying something. Usually their own liver and brain cells, but more often than not, some other patron’s face… More on the disgruntled side just after an annual clan tournament, and the usually gripe is about losing to the same clan as last time. But also right before a tournament starts when all the clans are registering. I hear it year after year, ‘no point, that clan always wins…’, ‘it’s not fair...’, ‘I don’t understand...’.”
“So partner, before you start spouting off about any of that nonsense, think about what you are going to do about the hand you’ve dealt. About the hands your clan has been dealt. About your priorities, about your clanmates’ priorities. Are you doing everything you can to improve? Are your clanmates? Sure you might like ‘em, but are you aligned with them? Sometimes, what you really need is to draw a card from another deck…”
“On occasion, you get a group of pilots that sit down together and decide that it is their turn to be at the top. They sit at the table wearing different clan colors and figure out what they got to do to make it happen. They sit at the table wearing different clan colors, but they know that next year they’ll be wearing the same clan colors… next year, they’ll have a shiny new gold badge to pin to their new clan colors… next year, they’ll have new brothers and sisters to replace the ones they left behind, ones that share the same goals and drives that they have.”
“Yeah, ‘bout decade and a half ago, there was a mighty clan that ruled the top tier in the tournament, they had been unstoppable for a long time. No other clan really came close to beating them. But you see that group of pilots over there? Yeah, the ones in those fancy uniforms covered in honors, laughing, having a great time. Yeah, they sat down wearing their colors from The Affiliation, M&L, The Brotherhood, to name a few, but they came back wearing one color and won gold. Granted, the top clan had since disbanded and they never went head-to-head, but the point is that they didn’t do it with what each clan had, but with what each individual could bring to the table of a new clan. Old loyalties brushed aside for a common goal. They were aligned, they came together from several different components and became one. That clan hasn’t lost in 11 years.”
“So, you gonna sit here grumbling to yourself waiting for your clanmates to arrive to grumble together. Or are you going to pull a chair next to that hotshot Kearney ace, or that fancy pilot from that Mercury group, or that rich kid in the plaid skirt with lots of flashy toys but hasn’t figured out how to use them… they all got the same hungry, angry look as you. Maybe see if you align with them, maybe see if you can make some kinda FUSION happen…”
The pilot looks at the bartender quizzically, a million calculations spinning in his head. The first thing that comes out of his mouth though is, “but I like my clanmates.”
The bartender shakes his head, and finally slides the bottle and glass to the pilot. “Well then my friend, try not to break anything in my bar, and I’ll keep a bottle waiting for you…”
Submitted by F.J. Brosenne #885020