I had seen the Smash Brothers series before, but I'd never played it. I thought the percentage thing was too weird for me. However, when my library hosted Smash Brothers gatherings and tournaments once a week for a few hours per time, I finally got the chance to play the new Smash Brothers Brawl. I immediately came to love it, but I was pretty bad at it. Luckily, an experienced played showed me the ropes and I slowly got better at the game. After around three months I had gotten pretty good at the game and I started beating my mentor with ease. He stopped coming, and I was generally the best player there. There were no real rules, sometime we would play with items, sometimes not, etc.
My skills got more and more refined, until it was generally accepted that I was unbeatable. I had bought the game myself and practiced for hours a day, constantly trying to improve. When ever I'd lose, I'd spend hours figuring out why, and how to prevent it from ever happening again. I could play and win as any character. Match types here were almost always a stock battle of five lives. Three more months passed, and I hadn't lost once. I'd reached a new peak of skill, or so I'd thought.
One day, an incredibly tall, polite guy came in for the first time. He brought his own Gamecube controller, like I did. Most serious Smash players use Gamecube controllers, so I put myself on guard, even though I was sure I'd beat him in seconds. However, the opposite happened. I lost, brutally, and quickly. And again. And again. Every match we were in, the last two players standing would be him and I.
I began to practice eight hours a day, though every week that passed, I would lose time and time again. This continued for months.... until I felt as though I reached a new peak. I slowly proved I was a greater challenge to him, and even though I still lost, I was making things harder for him. I continued down this road, until...
He stopped coming. With him gone, I rose to power again, however, the level of skill I had achieved to combat him equally was enough to devastate the rest of the crowd. None could as much as touch me, and a full year passed, and I hadn't lost a single match.
Just a bit past that year, it was that time of the week again. About ten minutes into the smashing, I saw a familiar figure standing in the doorway. He had returned, apparently finally having his Wednesday open again. The majority of the other Smashers quickly recognized him again and knew shit was about to go down. After the familiar sound of controller ports snapping into the Wii, the battle was on. After about 5 minutes of intensity, after five minutes of tense faces and a work-like full focus, and no one saying a word, the ending of the fight was at hand. I had, for the first time, won against him. After such a feat, we wanted a rematch, again and again. I won repeatedly, my skills reaching the very stars. After the seventh or so fight, I heard a voice behind me.
"Are you even having fun anymore?"
The voice had come from a girl named Kristin, someone who was a frequent of the gatherings. I paused for a moment and actually thought about the question. In my self righteous journey to be the very best, and my seriousness towards that journey, was I actually having fun? I didn't say anything for a moment than said, "That's a good question..." A bit later on, I saw that she really had a point. At this point I was almost treating this like a job. This mountain I had spent so long climbing turned out to not to be worth the effort and time. From there onwards, I took a much more light hearted approach to competitive video games. I've fallen off my great height, and if you were to play against me now, you would never guess I was once at the very highest of the pantheon of greats.
And now, everyone talks about professional gaming. Do I like it, you ask?
No, I don't. People, in their seriousness and desire to be the best, have forgotten that video games were meant to be fun, not a job that you stress over. I'm not a fan of this MLG, because I just like to play video games to have fun. And that's just the way I like it.
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