Zen and the Art of Losing in a Battleground

There was a time, in the distant past, when I ran as a Holy Spec Paladin.

It's now hard to believe, given that I DPS almost exclusively, but I have healed instances on both Quintalan and Tomakan.  Nothing since 4.0.1 dropped, but I retain some of the trappings of those days on my UI, with Healbot and Decursive being the prime examples.  Like any good Ret Spec is capable of, I can step up in emergencies and heal in an instance when the Healer drops.  I may not look pretty doing it, but at least I can hold my own with Ret's limited mana.  (And I look much better healing than tanking.  Ol' Twinkletoes Redbeard doesn't exactly strike fear in the hearts of trash mobs.)

In spite of all of that, I have been tempted to switch to Holy Spec when I see absolutely no healing in sight in a BG.  I figure, 'bad heals is better than no heals', but then I remember that Quint's Holy Spec gear is stuck somewhere between T9 and entry level Cata greens.  I suspect that Neve would have more armor on her than Quint in his creaky old Holy Spec gear, and when I last looked at Tom's Holy Spec gear I laughed when I found items dating from Uldaman. 

Well, it was a thought.  And believe me, after running WSG on my furball dozens of times, you can just tell you've got a winning or losing situation based on the number of healers.

A good tank or two can make up for a dearth of healers, but having three good healers in WSG can make a team an unstoppable juggernaut, tank or no tank.  Sure, you have to still play smart and not have everyone running off in different directions*, but your odds of winning just went up by a huge amount.

***

I'd like to say that I'm an expert at BGs, but come on.  I merely run them.  The experts are the ones that use my toons for a doormat.

My poor furball and his oversexed Succubus sidekick got caught in a WSG buzzsaw last night.  After about 5 minutes into this particular run, a pair of Rogues, a kitty Druid, and a Holy Spec Pally set up a tent and went camping at the Alliance graveyard.  No matter what we did, we could only barely get to the edge of the graveyard before we got sapped, sliced, and diced.  The few times I escaped, I ran into the secondary tier of the rest of the Horde crew who had set up a Worgen-dog stand.  I lost track of the number of times I died, and since the Horde side was content to rack up HKs, the game dragged on until the time limit.

And then, a measure of vindication.  The end screen popped up to deafening silence.

The game ended in a tie.

I laughed bitterly when I saw the number of times I died:  21.  Yes, that's right.  Twenty one.

And I still tied them.

[Insert Appropriate Zen Comment Here]



*Like I saw in Arathi Basin late this afternoon.  "Go to the Farm!  Go to the Farm!" someone cried when we lost the Stables.  What happened?  Two to Lumber Mill, two to Mine, three fought in the road between the Blacksmith and the Stables, and one went to the Farm.  The rest defended the Stables, and watched the saga unfold.  Needless to say, we lost.