Home
It never fails. Every two weeks, some fighting-game franchise makes a miniscule, possibly vague announcement about an upcoming sequel, and everybody goes full-bore fanboy. Hell, all Capcom (or anyone else) has to do to whip up a ton of buzz is dole out character announcements like gold-plated candy, and the rampant speculation on the full roster will dominate message boards for the next week, minimum.
Seriously. Nobody's out there guessing what guns will land in Modern Warfare 3.
It would've been more impressive if something had connected.
Let's spell it out. If gamers represent a level of fandom equal to Star Wars film followers, then fighting-game aficionados are the George Lucas-worshiping (or hating) fanatics who internalize characters and canon from the movies, books, comic books, games, and TV shows. It's an entirely different level of obsession, and it follows into every aspect of the genre.
So yeah. You hardcore, animation-breaking, 500-hit combo, got-my-mains, know-all-the-special-moves-of-all-the-characters-and-the-counters-too fighting-game players are a bunch of fucking freaks. All of you. And that's what makes you so glorious.
If you need reasons, start with Street Fighter 2. That's the first game to demarcate players into two groups -- casual and hardcore. How? Simple: offensive combos...which were actually bugs, not features. Sure, it was physically possible to break animations, chain attacks, and deliver an astonishing amount of whoopass in mere moments, but project lead Yoshiki Okamoto didn't think anybody could do it on purpose. Consistently. As a standard game mechanic. Which they did. In droves.
Players created those combo systems. Eventually, if you didn't know how to execute three or five seamless hits in rapid succession, you got trashed in seconds because your opponent did. The development fell in step behind that emergent gameplay, and now the level of complexity built into your standard combat mechanics cater exclusively to the obsessive-compulsives in the audience (read: you fucking freaks). In fact, where people often judge other genres on paltry things like graphics, level design, features, or physics engines, a fighting game lives or dies on the details and depth of its move set.
Death by muppet.
Why, just this last weekend, I bore witness to gamers arguing which constituted the more button-mashy experience, Tekken or SoulCalibur. Neither of these games is a button-masher. The combos and special-move sequences necessary for success in either title requires a speed, precision, and knowledge -- all performed at an instinctive level -- that rivals piloting the space shuttle.
Then you get into games that let you pick out multiple characters to switch between, demanding an encyclopedic knowledge of every fighter on the list. You've got to have everybody's strengths, weaknesses, and moves at your fingertips. You've got to form a strategy, selecting a good mix of characters that complement each other while countering your opponent's choices. We're getting into Pokemon territory here. Only with more violence, which makes it OK.
I'll put five bucks on the sexed-up Jane Eyre chick.
That level of granularity elevates fighters...and the people who play them. You can make a professional tournament out of just about any genre, but I'd argue fighting games bring an element of pure competition you don't find in, say, shooters. It's one-on-one, primal, based on skill more than luck. You can't sneak up on your opponent or snipe them from across the map. You can't hide or hope for the best. It's a fair, stand-up, face-to-face brawl. Choose your weapons, square off, and the best player wins.
Want an example? Check out world-famous player Daigo Umehara's come-from-behind win against Justin Wong at the 2004 Evolution Championship Series. Wong had Umehara dead-to-rights, down to zero health, and then launched a 15-hit super combo. Any one of those attacks would've destroyed Umehara if it connected. Instead, Umehara parried each blow, nailing miniscule windows of opportunity 15 times in a row before countering with a combo of his own, winning the match. I didn't even know that was humanly possible. See for yourself:
Tell me that's not the kind of exhilaration people get watching sports.
While few are that good, even median players dive deep into their title of choice until they know intricacies I'd never even guess at. Hey, I did my time in the genre, trading fast and strong attacks back when Street Fighter 2, Mortal Kombat, and Killer Instinct were the end-all, be-all. I knew a few combos, and I exploited them. But after a while I just checked out because my level of commitment didn't compare. People out there breathe this stuff. They've etched the proper timing and movements for all their favorite tactics into their souls. They do amazing things, epic things. And so long as I'm not on the receiving end, I absolutely must commend their dedication to their game.
But yeah. Fighting-game players are fucking freaks. Don't ever change.
