Graduation ain’t got nothing on this
We set the television on the kitchen table and arranged our chairs in a half-circle around it. We all could feel that something was going to happen. This was going to be an event. Someone pushed the power button, and we heard it, that tinkly-pinkly that is Nintendo’s trademark, which was soon followed by the dramatic opening theme signifying that the champions had arrived. This would be a true experience of Super Smash Bros. Melee.
We started off trying to celebrate the moment. We made plans for a tournament. This would not be the same old game, played the same old way. There would be something important behind every death, something glorious accompanying every kill. We would swing, kick, spin, dodge, destroy. All with gusto.
The tournament didn’t last very long. We didn’t have the numbers to sustain it. We needed too many computer players to fill up the brackets. Too many humans sitting for too long. Our species doesn’t have the patience to wait around before it kills again.
We reverted to our comfort zone. A Vs. game. Five total players. Four combatants at a time. One person in rotation. We would rotate not based on who was out first, but based on which player had the least number of kills between the first and second player to go out. It sounds like an arcane rule, but it makes the fighting more furious. Otherwise, someone could just sit around and wait the others out. We don’t truck with no-fighting turds around here.
Ganondorf ruled the first few rounds of fighting. He didn’t win every match, but his human player didn’t have to sit out a game. Pikachu held his own as well. Pink Luigi was N.P-ing left and right, thrusting with all his might into the backs of those who would try to take on his nice penis. The fourth human player selected a different character for every round. Sometimes he was Kirby, that pink puffball of death, while at other times, he was Chicana Peach, Donkey Kong, or Ness; not that any of it mattered, since he was always sitting out at least every other game. He wouldn’t start earning his keep until after the first smoking break, when Virgin Peach (Peach in a white dress) starting beating ass with her hymen-protecting skirt-spin. The fifth human player also rotated his characters, sticking to his favorites and doing his usual damage: Link, Roy, Sheik, and Samus.
Then it happened.
We fought our battle, clicked through the ending-stats screen, and then we saw it. A yellow message on a black screen. The sound of triumphant trumpets. Each of us threw our hands into the air, all of us champions.
“Congratulations. You just completed your 1000th Vs. match!”
1000 matches of Super Smash Bros. Melee. You might call it disgusting. It averages out to about 116 hours of videogame play, but that’s if we’re figuring seven-minute matches, which only stands good when we’re talking stock-5 matches (which means that a player can die 5 times before they’re out), and the truth of the matter is that we’ve probably played as many stock-7 and -9 matches as we have stock-5s, not to mention a not insignificant amount of stock-20s and even a few stock-99s.
Bottom line: we’ve played Super Smash Bros. Melee for a shitload of time.
We started playing about two years ago, when all five of us were living on the Creative Arts Living Floor. Alex had the GameCube, and Dawn, Will, and I were more than willing to sit around for hours at a time and kick each other’s ass. Jamie didn’t join the crew until earlier this year, when he finally stopped being a PIMA and realized just how heavenly Super Smash Bros. Melee can be.
The thing you have to realize, though, is that all five of us (four + one) graduated from college last week. And at the end of this week, the crew is breaking up. Alex is off to the Midwest. Will is heading back to New Hampshire. This is our last week living as a crew in Vermont. And together, before the crew is busted up, we busted out our 1000th match.
Good times. Good times.