The Most Selfish Play Is the Most Altruistic One
I had always told the viewers before the match started that this matchup was worth watching. After all, Maokai’s base movement speed sat at the very bottom among top laners—330 to be exact. Jaxson’s was 350. Even without memorizing every stat, anyone could see the gap just by clicking on Maokai to check.
That made the lane matchup interesting. Maokai’s skill set was well-suited to counter Jaxson in theory, but one misstep in distance management or a skillshot and Jaxson could pin him down mercilessly. Maokai knew it too.
He could see that he was the counterpick, of course. That was true when Jaxson used his leap to stick to him. But if I just walked forward steadily, Maokai would keep the distance, slipping backward like a shadow. He understood that too. If we both burned our skills and fought to the death at the same spot, his passive life-steal would only let him survive a little longer, while Jaxson would be stronger in the end.
So Maokai settled for swinging his fists at the ground, farm the minions, steal the kills. It was obvious he was waiting for me to take the bait. His fist hitting the dirt was slow enough for me to react. I had been staying at range the whole time, ready to jump at any moment.
I stepped back a little.
The ground erupted into a wall of thorns that sliced Jaxson’s cloak and scattered.
I immediately leapt to the edge of the skill’s range and sent Jaxson surging forward. But Maokai sidestepped it with easy grace, staying well outside the counter range.
The dance between Jaxson and Maokai went like this. Every time he cast Ground Slam, I let it chip away at my life. If I ever got too close and rushed in, he would stun me and vanish. His passive healed whatever damage I took. But the whole loop started with him hitting me first. If I refused to take the damage, Maokai would simply be left with empty mana and a bad mood.
He had taken the minion kills anyway, so he hadn’t truly lost. Still, this was the only balanced way.
If I kept pushing forward and denied him the last-hit gold on minions while he was on cooldown, Maokai would have to choose between using his skills or farming. Either way, the gold difference widened. But in teamfights, Maokai’s presence was what mattered most. Tanks like him turned into meat shields, collapsed enemy lines, and made it almost impossible for the enemy to deal damage. They created crowd control and shaped the battlefield in our favor.
Jaxson, as a melee fighter, only had one real priority: kill the enemy carry if I died. I didn’t tank like a tank, and I wasn’t explosive like an assassin. In small skirmishes I could hold my ground. In big teamfights, though, one strong crowd-control spell from Maokai and I was done for.
Maokai knew that too. That was why he didn’t panic when things got late. Level difference could be closed in teamfights anyway. He just had to protect the turret and win the game.
But here was the thing.
We didn’t need to force a five-versus-five fight in a situation where the enemy team had a clear teamfight advantage. So I actually liked the current setup.
If we kept playing this way, Maokai would never be able to stop our side-lane push on his own. With an objective-heavy teamfight coming, he would need at least a mage or ADC on his team to stop us. Ideally four.
That was exactly the shape of play I wanted.
When the opportunity arose, I would smash in. Otherwise I would use my leap to walk the line and buy time for the rest of my team to get something.
That was basic warrior strategy when facing a tank.
Of course, if we created enough of a gap, five-versus-five fights would favor us anyway.
But what if our main team broke?
The whole point of stalling would be meaningless. The enemy could just ignore my four and attack the objective instead.
The real key to every operation was simple: whoever broke first lost.
This wasn’t only true in League of Champions. Every game worked the same way.
The top-lane wave was pretty stagnant. Both junglers had peeked at it once, but I had never let them get close. Maokai had been last-hitting the whole time, and even when my jungler showed up, he just got stunned and knocked back. Maokai walked away like nothing happened.
At that point I figured it was my turn to recall.
The lane was ending either way. We could teleport and start the next one.
Still, I counted the jungler’s early intervention as a success.
[Team] ChallengerClimber : Maokai was never that hard against Jaxson, right? We’re already up 30 CS.
[Team] Noel : It’s winnable.
[Team] PainfulDullard : Maokai just can’t do anything lol. How are you supposed to kill him with Jaxson?
[Team] UtilitySupportWannabe : Even with that gap, if we fight they’ll win the teamfight…
[Team] PainfulDullard : Exactly. If you’re going to pick a tank in a counter-pick game, just pick a real tank and stop getting clapped.
[Team] ChallengerClimber : You’re doing great. Why are you fighting?
[Team] PainfulDullard : You’re only doing well at laning, right? You need to think about teamfight contribution too when picking bans.
While that was happening, the enemy mid laner—our previous top laner—had been venting his rage at me in chat. Normally reports blocked chat automatically, but something had glitched and the messages were still showing.
It didn’t matter.
I had a job to do no matter what he said.
Playing the game like this was basically me being the lazy top laner who refused to join the main team. I might as well start cursing now. I could curse later too.
The game continued exactly as I had predicted.
Maokai couldn’t join because the turret was about to fall. Our teams were trading kills evenly—both at ten. Only I had been freed from the lane.
I finished the minions, sneaked into the enemy jungle, and placed wards on every path an enemy jungler might take.
I kept taking minion kills while ignoring the tower and Maokai. If he came to investigate, I’d see his level and decide whether to fight or run.
Time was always an advantage.
While I did that, our minions would die to the tower and I’d lose experience. But our team, having grown a little, would have a real lead to work with.
I only split-push twice.
The first time, the enemy jungler was angry that his camp was stolen. He chased me, but when he realized he couldn’t kill me alone he brought his mid laner too.
I loved smashing enemy mouths, but I wasn’t stupid enough to fight a 2v1 when I knew I would lose. I just crossed the wall and escaped without hesitation.
Maokai used his ultimate, a flood of thorns that covered the whole field. I dodged it easily. The second-place mover in speed—the enemy jungler—still used his ward and followed, but the skillshot missed and he gave up chasing, just fuming.
He finally realized that just hitting me would only add up to more loss. So he abandoned the top lane entirely and went for the dragon on the other side.
The dragon was about to spawn. Both teams started the fierce vision battle.
Maokai was the only one left to duel me.
If a fight started, he would probably teleport in. Then I would push the lane even harder.
League of Champions was a team game. Game developers and most players knew it.
But everyone still wanted to be the hero.
They wanted to be the mage blasting area damage to melt enemies. The ADC who punched down every role equally. The assassin who ruled the map. Tanks and supports were expected to sacrifice, but warriors could be heroes too—sticking in the middle of the battlefield, surviving, and wiping out everyone.
But that kind of play rarely worked at high levels.
So the smarter way to be the hero was the opposite: make others fight for you.
I had already bought time. Now I would ask my team to give me more—by making sacrifices.
It sounded selfish.
But sometimes the most selfish play was the most altruistic one.
In League of Champions, what did altruism even mean?
It meant giving up CS for the ADC or mage, controlling vision for everyone, taking hits for the team, and applying buffs. In the end, it was just about winning the game.
If we were talking about fun, did I really need to sacrifice my own fun for everyone else’s?
That was why I was already pinging the enemy Nexus.
No joining. Just keep pushing the tower.
[Team] PainfulDullard : The bug just grew bigger than Maokai and only backs off lol.
[Team] UtilitySupportWannabe : The teamfight on their side is scary though… maybe split is the only answer.
[Team] ChallengerClimber : Support’s Shurelya buffed us. Let’s just avoid fights and stall.
[Team] ChallengerClimber : We can take the dragon.
[Team] CannonSmashGod : Yeah, if they burst the dragon we can steal too.
[CannonSmashGod — Ultimate ready]
Of course they knew it would be a disadvantage too. Maokai showed up and tried to start a fight.
Our team responded by buffing everyone with movement speed and just poking instead of committing.
Maokai’s teleport position had already been spotted. Our team slipped away.
He came anyway. He couldn’t stall anymore.
The enemy team was hitting the dragon while I was still on my way to destroy the tower.
The first tower had already been wrecked. The second was almost gone. If I was lucky I could get the inhibitor too.
That’s when the twist happened.
[Team] ChallengerClimber : When you pin the dragon it’s about 600, right?
[Team] ChallengerClimber : Just ping and we’ll drop the ultimate.
[Team] CannonSmashGod : Yeah, even the dragon, maybe 620.
[ChallengerClimber is targeting the dragon]
[Team] CannonSmashGod : Go steal it.
[ChallengerClimber has stolen the dragon!]
Birego had planned to take the dragon for himself, then have our team come to steal the buff and let him eat it.
But our team wasn’t that easy.
The mid laner bombed from far away exactly when the jungler asked. Birego used his ultimate at the perfect time and stole the dragon with a skillshot.
Most junglers trying to steal objects either broke the wolf pit outside the nest or used their mobility.
Either way the enemy could react.
They could stop, focus the jungler, knock him away, or finish the dragon themselves.
But Birego’s ultimate had a weird interaction. After a moment of focus he always moved to the exact spot I wanted. I had already placed my ultimate outside the safe zone, so the dragon nest was guaranteed to be his landing spot. The ultimate granted unstoppable movement, and nothing could interrupt it.
I threw the ultimate down, blinked to the dragon, and slammed it with a skillshot.
Birego reacted with lightning speed, kicked me, and Maokai tried to lock me with his twist, but I landed on the exact spot where the ultimate had been cast and crushed them both.
[Team] ChallengerClimber : What the hell was that?!
[Team] UtilitySupportWannabe : ??? How do you even do that?
[Team] CannonSmashGod : ????
A dozen question-mark pings rained on the enemy jungler. Even the enemy team looked stunned for a second inside the dragon nest.
[Noel has destroyed the enemy inhibitor tower!]
Thanks to that, I had gotten more than I originally planned.
When the enemy team finally moved to clear the lane I had been pushing, their enthusiasm was clearly gone.
Sometimes people say a player’s heart was broken when they did something like this.
In the end, the most selfish play really was the most altruistic one.