Huttball Healing, Part II

Despite what I may have said about healing Huttball, I actually do like the game.  But in case there are any doubters as to the veracity of what I said before, I can offer an example from last night.

My husband and I queued for warzones, just to get our dailies finished.  The first one was Alderaan, and it was a loss.  The second one was the Voidstar, and it was also a loss.  My husband was convinced I lost both of the previous ones for our teams, actually.  He wanted me to watch certain objectives and when I got distracted because something was going to kill me, someone took those objectives.  Ergo, it was my fault.

So when the next warzone queued up and it was Huttball, my bruised ego was actually happy.  You see, in Huttball, there's not much harm I can do, as far as that goes, because there are no objectives to guard.  I run around healing friendly ball carriers, stunning enemy ball carriers, and blasting the enemy off platfoms whever possible.  It was a bonus to meet up with one of our own guildies on our team, which made it even better as we faced off against the Empire.

Even so, we lost, although, as usual, I rocked the healing.  My husband and I regrouped and requeued . . .

It was Huttball again!  This time, however, we were facing Republic players, not Empire.

It didn't take me very long to realize the guildie who had been on our Huttball team the previous iteration was on the opposite team this time.  And she (he? character was female) was killing me.  Literally.

Time and again, I found myself targeted by this guildie.  I think I spent more time up in the rez area than I did on the court.  (Well, ok, not quite that much, but it was a lot.)  And the vast majority of the dozen times I ended up there, I knew it was due in large part to this guildie, who was there every time I felt myself taking damage.

What kind of game pits guildie against guildie?!  (I know . . . Huttball . . . But as it is considered good strategy to kill the healers first, I can hardly blame her for her actions.)

Despite this, it ended up working out for us.  Through a hard-fought battle, both teams managed to score once.  And, as the seconds ticked away, my tank husband found himself in possession of the ball.  My job?  Keep him alive!

For once, everyone nearby left me alone and focused on him, but this was an arrangement with which we were equipped to deal.  Between his special abilities and my healing, he lived to watch the clock run out and the victory board flash across our screens.

In guild chat, our guildie sent this message, "Quinndarius, you won that one!"

"Yes, he did," I typed back.  "I spent a good deal of the time dead."  (It was my not-quite-so-subtle way of saying, "I saw you killing me over and over!")

"Um, about that . . ." she responded.

We all had a good laugh.