If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism. - Hunter S. Thompson

So it’s the start of the second day and already, even when trying to work and be on my best behaviour, I’ve had an incident. Talk about bad luck… At least the head of the security operation came over and apologised for the accusations getting thrown about while I sip on my power drink of Strongbow and Jolt Orange. I just need to get a bit of energy going and we can get back on the business trail… I remember that I’ve actually missed “Dead Set” on E4 so decide to get my dose of Zombie action from the Left 4 Dead stand right near the bar. I have been looking forward to this for some time and fully expect it to attract a lot of CS:S dropouts when it is released.

I’m playing with three other people but really can’t be bothered to attempt to communicate them so just WASDA around with a Mac 10 spraying down Zombies. The game looks good and I see they’ve added a few things since the preview I saw just prior to the PC Gamer event. It’d be nice to see if there was some way this could be turned into a competitive game, as there hasn’t really been one yet. Sure, Zombie Mod is amusing when there’s a load of you and you’re drunk, Zombie Master never seemed to take off despite being a really good premise… I think the only people in the world who even played that recently were Pete and I… But it’s incredible to think that with all the scope for such a scenario, a really good online zombie game hasn’t materialised.

The agenda for today is fairly straightforward. The knockout games will be starting in an hour or two so it’s time to actually hunker down and watch some of them. I’ve spent the day productively, typing up my diary and editing out the bits Pete put in when I wasn’t looking. I can’t help but feel he’s taken the title of “diary battle” too literally as my entries are all peppered with swear words and casual racism. Still, after a night that cold I’m just happy to be alive so when I see him I won’t be too annoyed. God knows how the people in the tents are coping and that’s going to be me later tonight.

That terrible flash of realisation that I’ll be at the Fragmasters BBQ and the characters it will bring to I-series. I don’t think I’m ready for the arrival of Floydy, the peddler and pimp who earns his declared income as a travelling home made Viagra salesman. The special ingredient is nettles he told me last time we crossed paths. Then in that entourage you have TJ who is the loudest drunk at any LAN, easily out blaring Farley and Boostey combined if they were having a slanging match. Reflecting on what set of terrible circumstances brought me together with these people will only depress me; the fact I call them friends even more so. Certainly when the body is flagging it does you no good to take the mind down such dark and depraved cul-de-sacs. Instead think of today’s fixtures.

Anyone who comes to LAN has to have something of the masochist about his or her personality... Forget the body shock you have to ensure just to get through it, but think about it if you're just some amateur player. You pay all that money, come all that way, just to lose and even then someone, somewhere will scrutinise your performance with such precise detail that they will be able to pinpoint the exact moment where you peaked, failed, cheated or anything else they want to say. Of course there are those who do it for "the love of the game" but you have to wonder about those people... Like Peter Buckley who finally threw in the towel for the last time in his boxing career with a record of 256 losses from 300 fights. Good lord, who would set themselves up for that sort of continual punishment? Well, cruel people would say the Thomas "beta" Hanna driven FM Tox!c team...

Why is this game with London Mint some kind of supposed grudge match? Why is it the one that generates the most insults both before and after it is completed? And you know this fixture is coming, both teams on some tragically unavoidable collision course that will see London Mint emerge as victors and a bunch of excuses peddled by the losers. I'd wager a roster change to come off the back of it because there ALWAYS has to be someone to take the fall. And I can say all this safely at this time of day before the knockouts have even begun. So can anyone else. No psychic ability required to predict that future. It's as inevitable as the Salvo victory.

And on perhaps related matters I caught a glimpse of something in the paper only that morning:
"A man suffering from a rare 'aquaholic' thirst was found dead after drinking a massive volume of water from an outside hosepipe"
A terrible story... If only he had listened when told to stop drinking.

There is to be no peace for me as I type these notes, the fact I'm wearing my visor the indicator to those who know me that I'm working and not to be disturbed. But every five seconds people are telling my about the tournament being a fuck up... "Stick that in your diary Gonzo... It's a fucking joke" and other such outbursts. I don't know why Multiplay continues to court controversy with their choices of how to run a tournament. It smacks of an arrogance bordering on contempt for their paying customers. I recall a long-winded thread, one that was frankly embarrassing to read in terms of the things being said by a tournament admin, on these very forums. Yet despite a perfect and detailed explanation of how to run it properly, this was disregarded. As I can tell they have neither implemented "World Cup Classic" or "World Cup Fair" as they like to call it and instead have opted for the lesser-known "World Cup Disaster" only to be used in times of high comedy.

I mean, why are teams playing opponents they had in the groups two or three times as they progress to the business end of the tournament? While I appreciate innovation as much as the next non-inbred, there is no need to try and re-invent the wheel when the seeding and standard double elimination format has worked perfectly fine in the past and continues to do so for almost everyone currently except Multiplay. Perhaps they want to add such a random element to it because the matches don’t really bring any. I don’t know their motivations. All I know is that I have not encountered a single person at this tournament who has had anything good to say about the way it was run and if that isn’t cause for concern then they really do have an unhealthy stranglehold on the UK LAN business.

The first game that attracted a ripple of attention was the new TLR side versus London Mint. It would be the first "proper" game for the CGS franchise and some would argue of the tournament. I stand behind them and try to look like I’m studying the game intently. Max is sat not so far from me and I remember all to well my vow to be a model professional. It is on de_train and TLR start as Terrorists. It is immediately clear from the opening exchanges TLR are in with a chance of this. Dumbazo and – dare I say it – Pez are playing extremely well and making London Mint work hard for every round despite the fact they have the easier side. Of course, the argument is that CGS sides do not need to practice maps such as these since they have been deemed unsuitable for TV. It is a decision that strikes me as a clear statement of intent – that if they could do it tomorrow they would become a separate entity from the rest of the mainstream CS:S scene. Perhaps in the future there will be CGS specific maps that are exclusive to the organisation for tournament use, an interesting move that would likely generate much griping.

It doesn’t matter ultimately – I don’t even think the game has a future any more and this LAN has not done a great deal to convince me otherwise. All we can do is dry hump CS:S until it stops twitching then move into something else, enjoying the fact that with the game dead and the community cast to the four winds we can lie about our achievements as we attempt to master our new game. But make I’ll make a mental not of the game unfolding before me because dumbazo tore a CGS side to pieces almost single handedly. I watched him play and thought to myself that there were elements of his game that seemed a little flawed… Yet these all seemed to work and when they didn’t his aim was always there to get him out of trouble. I saw him make an AWP head shot on someone coming round a corner and my eyes didn’t even register he was there before he was dead. That is speed and precision that will see him succeed in any First Person Shooter. Just an incredible individual performance and a million miles from what I saw at SummerSlam.

Of course it was not an individual performance and the team showed they have some real potential. I watched the team celebrating afterwards and there was a genuine warmth there, no fake displays of enthusiasm to please the manager / sponsor here. Across from them London Mint didn’t look particularly thrilled at having lost to a team that they clearly felt equipped to beat and Ben Woodward, watching his team play for the first time that I saw this event, didn’t look pleased either. Whatever happens with London Mint – and I still believe they will finish third at this tournament – I would expect a change to occur. The question is now, will it be one or two?

Max is off taking photos and all that standing and watching CS:S has made me thirsty so I sit down at the bar with ViniH and exchange old war stories until something interesting happens. Incidentally it doesn’t and I receive the standard invitation to attend the regular I-series barbeque from the degenerates I had mentioned earlier. We’re still on course for the predictable finish so why not. My diary seems to have been well received once we weeded out the “Too Long; Didn’t Read” shitters. God knows when the rest will see the light of day anyway? Why write about the results – they are there for everyone to see. No, this is my LAN diary, so forget the tournament… That was never the real story anyway. Perhaps the story is out there in the rain…

Better times perhaps await us who are now wretched. - Virgil

The Fragmasters Community BBQ has always been a staple part of every i-series for me. Despite every kid who stumbles upon the public being told about the terrible hack coder called "Castro Disastro" There's some members of the old guard that I'm always going to have time for. Just a bunch of old drunks who met by playing an online game when we probably should have been using the internet to locate loose women in our area, finding cures for baldness or signing up for experimental erectile disfunction treatments...

There are ten crates of beer and cider stacked in the middle of the shed and burgers are being cooked on what looks like an upside down bin lid. It's hard to tell because it is dark and raining torrentially. Floydy has had one of his herbal viagras and appears to be grinding his pelvis into the gravel through the shadows... TJ sidles up to me and says "I've had a FLASH of inspiration" and raises his hand to reveal to fully working flashbang grenades. He is giggling like a gypsy woman after a good day selling pegs and I know that carnage is only round the corner. I don't know what was more dangerous; the flashbang grenades or the four bottles of his homebrew whiskey that he also brought. TJ is a homebrew master, but never has he tried whiskey before. The label on the bottle is a picture of a man's arse with an arm up it to about the elbow joint. Underneath that, in flowery font, is the name of his creation "A Fist Up The Arse". "The active ingredient is potatoes" he would tell me with a black-toothed grin several times over the course of the weekend.

By this stage I've been pretty much awake for two days, the fleeting snooze in Pete's car the only brief exception, and I'm starting to flag badly. You can only derive so many nutrients from a diet of cider and whiskey... I need something sweet, some vitamin C... Just something to give me a bit of energy so I can make it to the final. I look at the bloody burger in my hand, cooked by fire in the dark and dripping raw... I don't see how botchulism is going to improve my situation. Then I spy a plate of chocolate brownies over by the meat and beer. That is the answer to all my problems.

When no one is looking I take a massive handful and quickly gobble them down, swilling the chocolate round with some cider and vigorously wiping my lips in case I look like a negative of Al Jolson. Leave no evidence of any crime and who is to say that one has even been committed. Before I can even relax though I can here TJ screaming "incoming" and there is an almighty bang and then I'm blind. He's only set off the flashbang in the middle of a crowded barn and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one on the floor, stunned, deaf and blind.

Needless to say it didn't take long for security to turn up. The bald Scouser is the first thing I see as my eyes start working again.

"Well if it isn't Mr. Press Man" he says like one of the Cajuns out of Deliverance.

Apparently we're all guilty of some sort of violation of fire codes, despite the fact at i34 about ten barbeques took place in this very spot with no incident and Baldscouse tries to get the fire hose working to douse out the fire and ruin all our food. Good thing for us he's a cretin. Even turning on a tap is beyond him. Luckily some security guard called Marcus intervenes and it's all done peacefully and reasonably. We're asked about fireworks and despite the fact that we're all bleeding from the eyes and TJ is laughing uncontrollably we seem convincing when we say we've seen nothing. Hell, ultimately we're not lying.

After security drive back to the venue I hear someone shriek "WHO THE FUCK HAS EATEN ALL THE SPACECAKES?" and I know that the night has just got worse. Instead of the lift I need to cover the finals tomorrow the brownies are going to bury me. What will follow will be some hellishly introspective nightmare, an intense trip probably lasting about eight hours. I haven't done spacecakes since cruising the red light district of Amsterdam and not only had I slept soundly, I also had things such as hookers and breasts to distract me from the workings of my mind. I certainly didn't eat a plateful either.

I make my excuses and head back to the tent for some much needed sleep thinking if I can head off the trip all that will happen will be fevered piss-the-bed dreams, a much more palatable option than being awake and doing something so stupendously embarrassing I'll never work an event again. However, there is a problem. The rain has been going for seven hours straight and the tent is submerged in about a foot of water. I try climbing into my sleeping bag, but it is like sleeping inside a giant, used condom. There is to be no sleep here. Maybe some strong coffee will take the edge off. At least in the venue I'll be warm.

As I start walking towards the main building the trip is settling in, sped up by an empty stomach and a body on the verge of collapse. With each step I take forward, the place I'm walking towards gets further away. I'm not sure of the technical term for this phenomenon, but I think it's known by most people as "tripping balls". Only fair to cut the diary short, no point in telling you about my friendly Native American Spirit Guide "Ol' Chief Redeyes", In an attempt to find somewhere to sleep I even tried to check myself into the medical room citing "nervous exhaustion" but they turned me loose when someone with real problems needed to be treated, My night ended by me barricading myself into one of the press room toilets and sitting in the dark until I was fit to be seen by everyone once more.

Every stress leaves an indelible scar, and the organism pays for its survival after a stressful situation by becoming a little older. - Dr. Hans Selye

I awoke with a start with someone banging on the door. I say I’ll be out in a minute and there’s no response, but the banging stops. I look at my phone and see we’re already fast approaching the afternoon. Hard to tell if I was asleep at any point or not… It doesn’t feel like I have been and my eyes are still red and heavy. It takes me a few minutes before I can stand, the cakes still going strong in me. I stagger into the light and sit in front of the stand where the final will be played and sit down in a chair lapsing in and out of consciousness.

People walk past and say hello and a pile of drinks builds up around my feet from well-wishers and people leaving. It is incredible to think that the final of the event seems to be watched by no more people than the first set of knockout games. I always try and stick around for the final…There are good memories associated with the occasion. My journalistic counterpart Pete was wasted at i33 and during the live shoutcast kept shouting out what site they were going to. The one before that was the amazing “proved myself lads” final between London Mint and Reason. At i30 you had all the drama between mTw and fnatic, a frenzied festival of alt-tabbing and that illegal defuse. When the most is at stake the drama ramps up naturally, but there are not many people here to see it. Mind you, I’m not so sure I will either. Just drink the warm, sticky pints and you can make it through old-timer…

I wake up again and can’t tell if I’m having a flashback or not… In my vision url was shoutcasting the final and calling people “pussies” for playing in the exact same style he made famous. It’s all too much and I make the decision to leave at the exact point that the last bullet is fired. As that occurs I will write “Salvo Won” on my notepad and call for a taxi.

Salvo Won.