Battlefield 2

Battlefield 2, for almost getting me kicked out of university. You made me care about game stats and rankings over grade point averages, and taught me that a kill-to-death ratio of under 2.0 is shameful. The 71 first-place Gold Medals I earned are still a badge of honor in my online gaming career.

I never cared about my K/D ratio or gold medals or badges of honour. I was too busy running for the jets, taking them high into the air and jumping out. Private Human Missile Pearson reporting for duty, sir!

I cared passionately about my kill-to-death ratio. My distaste for the enemy was nothing on my livid, roaring hatred for anyone on my team one place higher up the scoreboard than me. NO. GET DOWN. There is a MEDAL for topping that shit, and I MUST HAVE IT.
I did win some medals – I was a Medic, and I’d supplement my kill count with dozens of revives on dead players. I felt pretty good about myself. I’d even lead squads, risking my neck for my men – so long as none of them were scoring higher than me.
Then, after a long and happy career, I looked at my stats page. Kills to deaths? Not good, but that’s ok, I was a Medic. Score per minute? Not good, but that’s ok, I did a lot to help my team that wasn’t always rewarded. Wins to losses? Oh. Oh God.
Apparently I acted as some kind of bad luck charm, or perhaps just a terrible-teamplay charm, because having me on your side made you about 15% less likely to win. In a 64 player game, that’s impressively bad.