Who’s the ultimate Roadhog? Whose death hook is quicker to clamp, a surer vice of animal ferocity? In a tug-of-war of barbed hooks and scrap metal dominance, I’ve decided that it’s me, and not that other Roadhog on the enemy team.

It is definitely not that Roadhog. I am in fact emoting on his discarded corpse and making guttural roaring noises in my desk chair (with voice chat on push-to-talk). And when he respawns and dares to hook me again, I will continue to win hook battle after hook battle, forever.

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Scrap blast. Hook. Punch. Scrap blast. I am the alpha Roadhog.

(Disclaimer: I am, quantifiably, not “the” alpha Roadhog).

Probably, it is impossible for me to play Roadhog and not pursue another Roadhog on sight. Most of the time, that other Roadhog drops everything and hunts me down, too, lumbering over with his hook readied, a stupid grin plastered on his porcine face (he’s wearing a mask—let me have this). “One of us will die now,” I say, to no one in particular, “and it will be beta-Roadhog, who, clearly, is that guy over there and not me.” Hook, line and sinker.

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The rush. The split-second of uncertainty, the high of savage impulse and sudden death! Hook battles are what make Roadhog vs. Roadhog unlike any other one-on-one Overwatch match-up.

Here little piggy...