Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of a truly free weekend. It’s 2026, and let me tell you, these moments are rarer than a non-toxic teammate in a competitive shooter. My plans were gloriously nonexistent. No laundry monoliths to conquer, no lawns impersonating jungles, and—miracle of miracles—my partner had whisked our kid away for some solo adventure time. This meant I was officially off the hook from my 500th consecutive reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Don’t get me wrong, Eric Carle is a legend, but after a while, you start having very specific thoughts about the caterpillar’s life choices.

My brain, a creature of habit forged in the fires of online play, immediately screamed one word: FIFA. The Ligue 1 Team of the Season cards were out. The digital streets were about to be sweaty. I could practically hear the collective, desperate prayers for a red Mbappe card echoing across the servers. My usual Weekend League ritual of chasing 11-14 wins was calling. But then I looked outside. The sun was shining. Actual, real-life summer had graced England. And a rebellious thought bloomed: Nah. I dragged my hammock outside, cracked open a book, and did the unthinkable—I relaxed.

It was bliss. The book was a gentle, hopeful sci-fi novella—a world that was the polar opposite of the Weekend League experience. That FIFA environment? Let's be real, it’s a special kind of toxic. We’re not just talking about the meta exploits or the repetitive celebrations. It’s the sheer, concentrated effort. It’s less "fun gaming session" and more "emotionally draining part-time job where your coworkers hate you." The constant grind, the rising tide of players quitting at 0-0 just to deny you any satisfaction... it was all set to be worse than ever this particular weekend. I felt a wave of relief for my PC, sparing me the console message barrage. So, I buried my head in the pages of a peaceful, fictional world instead.

Finishing the book left me in a serene, empty space of time. The beautiful void of a schedule. I pondered my options.

• FIFA? A hard pass. The thought alone made my thumbs ache.

• Apex Legends? Tempting, but the idea of hot-dropping into Fragment just to be lasered in 2.3 seconds lost its appeal.

So, what did I do? I went to bed at a time usually reserved for toddlers and fired up The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom. And it was glorious.

Here’s the thing about getting older, especially as a parent: your gaming perspective shifts seismically. I’ve poured more hours into live-service titans like FIFA and Apex than I care to admit—likely surpassing my childhood obsession with Pokémon Silver. But that grind has started to feel... fruitless. The promotion in Ultimate Team, the ranked climb in Apex—they give you a quick hit of serotonin, sure. But it’s a treadmill. A shiny, greased ladder that resets every season, forever. The victory screen fades, and you’re immediately back in the queue, chasing the same feeling. There’s no end, just an endless cycle of progression for progression’s sake.

Tears of the Kingdom offered something different. A feeling I hadn't gotten from a multiplayer match in years: genuine, lasting accomplishment.

It’s not that TotK is devoid of grind—you can chase Korok seeds until the cows come home—but it’s a grind I choose, on my terms. The game rewards curiosity and creativity in a hundred quiet ways FIFA never could.

FIFA/Apex Feeling	Tears of the Kingdom Feeling
Tense, stressful concentration	Wondrous, exploratory curiosity
Short-term elation from a win	Lasting satisfaction from solving a puzzle
Grinding for a resetting rank	Exploring for a permanent story moment
Interaction often toxic or silent	Interaction with charming, thankful NPCs

That moment when your janky, Frankenstein Ultrahand contraption actually carries you across a chasm? Priceless. Diving off a sky island into the vast unknown below? Breathtaking. Helping a random villager and receiving their heartfelt thanks? It feels meaningful in a way a post-match "GG EZ" never will. I’m nowhere near the final boss, but every small victory—beating a miniboss, unlocking a new ability, simply finding a stunning vista—feels like a real step forward in my adventure with Link.

This weekend taught me a lesson that’s going to stick. I’m not swearing off live-service games forever. The thrill of a well-played match is still real. But I’m done letting the grind dictate my fun. My time is more precious now. Sometimes, the most rewarding game session isn’t the one that moves you up a digital ladder. Sometimes, it’s the one that lets you build a ridiculous flying machine out of logs and fans, or simply lets you lie in a hammock, six inches above the grass, remembering what peace feels like. You don't always have to touch grass, but it turns out, remembering it exists is a pretty good start. 😌