The buzz is palpable in the air, the client’s updated, and my Discord is blowing up. Every year around this time, the same question echoes from casual viewers to hardcore analysts: Can your team win Worlds? As someone who’s followed the League of Legends competitive scene since the early days, I’ve learned that the official odds aren’t just numbers—they’re a story. A story of hope, legacy, and sometimes, heartbreaking disappointment. This year’s narrative feels especially charged, with LPL and LCK giants dominating the conversation, but let me tell you, the undercurrents are wilder than they seem.
Looking at the current odds, you’d think the script is already written. Gen.G sits comfortably at around 2.5 to 1, with Top Esports not far behind at 3 to 1. These aren’t just probabilities; they’re monuments to regional dominance and player legacies. But I’ve been around long enough to remember upsets that shattered expectations. Remember 2017? When Samsung Galaxy, against all predictions, swept SKT T1 in the finals? The odds that year told one story, but the rift told another. It’s that tension—between the expected and the actual—that makes Worlds the spectacle it is. You start to wonder if the favorites are truly destined for glory or if they’re heading for a collapse that will leave fans reeling.
And honestly, that’s what makes me think about storytelling in general. I was playing Assassin’s Creed Shadows recently, and its main story doesn’t really have an ending. Well, it does, but it’s bad—the worst the franchise has ever had. Naoe learns that her mother, who disappeared 14 years earlier, is a member of a group known as the Assassin Brotherhood and is actually still alive. Yasuke discovers the same Templar Order that originally enslaved him has plans for Japan and declares war on them, and both protagonists succeed in only finding two of the three MacGuffins necessary to ensure the protection of the country. It’s a mess—a classic case of building up hype only to fumble the conclusion. Sound familiar? In esports, we see teams on paper that look unbeatable, with star players and flawless records, yet they crumble when it matters most. Just like in that game, having most of the pieces doesn’t guarantee a win if you’re missing the final key.
Take T1, for instance. Their odds are hovering at 4 to 1, partly because of Faker’s legendary status, but also because of their inconsistent performances this season. I’ve watched them dominate drafts and then throw games over trivial macro errors. It’s frustrating, yet it’s why I love this sport—the human element can override any statistic. When I chatted with a former coach last week, he put it bluntly: "Odds reflect past performance, not future adaptability. A team might have 70% objective control historically, but if their mental fortitude cracks on stage, those numbers mean nothing." That’s the kicker, isn’t it? Data can guide us, but it can’t capture the pressure of a best-of-five when millions are watching.
Shifting focus to the LPL, JD Gaming is another example. They’re sitting at 5 to 1, which feels generous given their roster’s synergy. I’ve followed their jungler, Kanavi, for years, and his pathing creativity could dismantle even the tightest defenses. But then I recall Shadows again—how Yasuke’s war against the Templars mirrored a grudge match, only to end with incomplete goals. In esports, that translates to teams hyper-focusing on one rival while ignoring emerging threats. Last year, we saw DAMWON KIA do exactly that, and they fell short in semis. It’s a cautionary tale: if you’re only prepared for the giants, the dark horses will trample you.
So, where does that leave us? As we edge closer to the group draws, I’m leaning into the underdogs. Teams like G2 Esports, with odds as high as 15 to 1, have that chaotic energy that could rewrite the tournament. Sure, the data suggests they’ll bow out early, but data didn’t predict their MSI run in 2019. Personally, I’d rather bet on a squad with heart than one with perfect metrics. Because at the end of the day, Worlds isn’t just about who has the best stats—it’s about who can clutch the final teamfight, who can adapt under fire, and who can avoid the narrative pitfalls that doomed stories like Shadows. So, ask yourself: Can your team win Worlds? Maybe. But the real question is, are they ready for the ending they’ll have to write themselves?
