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Recommended: Yes (but only if you enjoy pain, elation, confusion, betrayal, teamwork, loneliness, triumph, despair, and car soccer)
Ah yes, Rocket League. The game where dreams go to both live and die—sometimes in the same match. A game so fundamentally perfect, I can only assume Psyonix struck a Faustian deal with the devil to engineer such blissful chaos.
Let’s begin with the concept. You take a soccer field, remove the humans, give the cars rocket boosters, and add aerial physics that only make sense in an alternate dimension where gravity is more of a polite suggestion. Genius. Soccer? Too slow. Racing? Too linear. But car soccer with aerial flips, 360 no-scope demos, and accidental own-goals? Perfection.
Mechanics?
Oh, they're simple. You press gas, jump, flip, boost, fly, bump, demo, dribble, wave dash, musty flick, ceiling shot, flip reset, turtle flick, pre-flip, fast aerial, pogo, chain dash, psycho, and—my personal favorite—"oops I own-goaled from my backboard again." Simple. Anyone can pick it up. Mastering it, however, requires roughly the same time investment as becoming a concert pianist or forging Mjölnir in the heart of a dying star.
Ranked?
An emotional rollercoaster where every teammate is either a retired RLCS pro or playing with their monitor off. One game, you’re the main character in an anime power arc. The next, your teammate is trying to freestyle in OT of a Game 5 while down 2 goals. Inspiring. Motivating. Totally healthy for the psyche.
Smurfs?
Nope, never heard of them. Definitely not every other lobby. And of course, that player with 74 touches, 1,000 points, and RLCS decals is totally new. Give them space, they’re learning.
Custom cars?
You ever wanted to play a sweaty match of esports-level car soccer while dressed as a fire-breathing Tyrannosaurus in a Top Hat with laser wheels and a platinum trail? Rocket League gets you. You want a Dominus that looks like a crime against good taste? You can. Want to look like a tryhard? Octane + white Zombas. Want to be the tryhard? Octane + no decals + alpha boost. It's not just a loadout—it's an identity crisis on four wheels.
Teammate Communications?
Oh, it's art. "Nice shot!" could mean "Nice shot!" or "Nice shot, idiot." Context is everything. And then there's quick chat: a language that transcends words. "What a save!" — weaponized sarcasm since 2015. Truly the Shakespearean dialect of modern gaming.
Servers?
Like fine wine—aged, delicate, and sometimes corked. There's nothing quite like teleporting mid-flip into your own goal and watching the replay reveal that, no, you were in fact right there the whole time.
Game Modes?
You've got competitive, casual, rumble, hoops, dropshot, snow day, and the chaotic neutral of them all: Heatseeker. Each a new way to be humbled.
Training Packs?
For those who don’t feel bad enough about themselves in regular matches, Psyonix includes aim training exercises that were designed by mechanical savants with 900 hours of free time and a personal vendetta against confidence. Thanks, guys.
Esports?
RLCS is like watching gods among mortals. They fly, flip reset, and pre-jump with such precision you’d think they were controlling the ball with telepathy. Then you boot up your game, miss an open net, and spend the next three minutes wondering if uninstalling might improve your mental health.
In Conclusion:
Rocket League is flawless. Perfect. A pure gaming experience where skill truly reigns. There's no RNG (except kickoff goals, bumps, demos, 50s, post-bounces, and teammates), no imbalance (except servers, car hitboxes, and the entire smurfing system), and no toxic players (just 99% of voice chat, quick chat, and everyone who queues 3s solo).
It’s my therapy. It’s my torment. It’s my happy place and my worst enemy. I love it. I hate it. I queue again.
10/10.
Would double flip reset into depression again.