If you can run good games
when all about you
Are dropping out and abandoning
theirs
If you can trust your vision
when all else doubt you
But understand why they don’t
share it
If you can watch the door and
not be tired by watching
Or have promises broken,
while keeping your own
Or deal with jealousy, from
those who did nothing
And yet still invite them
back time and again
If you can dream, but not
forget that dreams are just that without work
If you can think, and know
that more than thought is needed
If you can see both Triumph and Disaster
And know that only your volunteers make
the difference
If you can bear to hear the advice of
others
Who’ve never stood where you are, but think
to comment anyway
Or watch the things you give your life
to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em again with
worn-out feet:
If you can make one heap of programmes
And hope that everyone takes one, so you
don’t have to take them home,
And finish each day, and start again the
next
And never breathe a word about the sleep
you never got;
If you can force your heart and nerve
and sinew
To serve your attendees before and after
they are gone,
And hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the drive that says to you: 'Next
Year…'
If you can talk with Traders and keep
your patience,
Or walk with Directors - one step back
and to the right,
if neither Umpires nor Cosplayers can faze
you,
If all Volunteers count with you, but
none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of crowd
control,
Yours is the Convention and everything
that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be an
organiser, of gamers…