Braddy vs. Tekken. Fight!

Some of my close friends describe me as a cauldron of boiling hate – probably because I toss the word “hate” around like the name of a famous friend. The list of things I hate is nearly as long as Santa’s naughty/nice list: snow, fishing, The Fray, etc. Women tend to hop from the “hate” list to the “tolerate” list and back again. You’re on my good side right now, ladies, so watch yourselves!

(In case you’re wondering, “boiling hate” is bright pink and has the consistency of tar)

But as much as I use the word “hate,” there are very few things that make me angry. I mean REALLY angry – not angry where we hear about genocide in Darfur, shake our heads, and then go back to watching House. No, I mean beat-the-walls angry, scream-obscenities angry, rip-off-your-clothes-down-to-your-purple-stretchy-pants angry (hereafter referred to as “THAT angry”). I don’t get THAT angry often. Not because I’m cool and level-headed, mind you. It’s probably just because I don’t care. The only thing I can think of that makes me THAT angry is – of all things – a video game.

Specifically, it’s a genre of video games – fighting games, epitomized for my generation by titles like Street Fighter 2. This single video game was (and I think still is) so popular that it’s been repackaged, shipped out, and re-sold multiple times over the past two decades. The most recent version, I think, is known as Hyper Street Fighter 2 Plus Turbo Grand Ultimate World Championship Fighter Xtreme [sic] Edition, or SF2PTGUWCFXE, for short.

I remember walking down to the grocery store on Saturday afternoons as a kid with my parents and brothers to buy ice cream cones. While waiting for the ice cream, I’d stop and stare at the arcade cabinets by the entrance. I loved to watch Street Fighter 2, mainly because I thought the big, furry monster that electrocuted his opponents was wicked awesome. So imagine the embarrassment my 8-year-old self faced when he actually got to play the game and found out that the character he seemed to best with was not, in fact, Blanka, the extra from Ninja Turtles 2. It was Chun-Li, the GIRL. The ONLY girl in the entire line-up. I guess Chun-Li is supposed to be an agent for Interpol, which could be cool, but… yeah, I can’t get over the fact that she looks like a high-school girl with a closet Hello Kitty obsession. Of course, if anyone made fun of me for liking Chun-Li then, I’d lightning-kick them into oblivion.

Since that time, though, things have changed for me. The fighting games I remember so fondly have become button-mashing, hand-cramping torture. My uncle recently gave me a few of his old Playstation games, so I picked up Tekken 2. I remember playing a version of Tekken and really liking it – I played as a little dinosaur that spat fire. Sadly, there are no dinos in Tekken 2 – just a bunch of generic kung-fu teenagers.

Turns out the absence of Yoshi-knockoffs only heralded an evening of disappointment and frustration unseen since… well, the time I played Soul Caliber 3 a few weeks ago. I chose to play as Heihachi (Hey, Chachi!), an old man with hair like the boss from Dilbert. For the first couple of rounds, I did pretty well for myself. I even figured out one of Heihachi’s special moves – some type of electrocuting noogie. By round 4, though, the balance definitely shifted in favor of my computerized opponents, and that can only mean one thing – the computer cheats.

Sure, mastery of fighting games involves intense memorization of button combos and flawless execution, but even a novice should be able to push one button and watch his character throw a punch or ball up his fist or flex or SOMETHING! This isn’t that hard to figure out – push button, get response. Unfortunately for me, that response was most often “get kicked in the face.” Oh, and when I (inevitably) got knocked down, I couldn’t do anything about it. All the buttons I pushed seem to be part of an intricate combo called Impotent Fish Flopping About.

I’ve got theories as to why these fighting games are so imbalanced: playground bullies, now tired of using physical violence to extort quarters from their victims and now armed with college educations and a basic knowledge of computer programming, decided to use their talents for evil and create brutal video games which require the victim to spend his hard-earned allowance just to make it to the next round. And video games, in general, appeal to the demographic that likely got/gets picked on frequently: those with terminally low self-esteem, few friends, and unbearable body odor (or maybe those who play lots of video games turn into the crumbs swept under society’s rug; who knows?). Many video games offer players the opportunity to accomplish something amazing in a fantasy world: save the planet from destruction, rescue the princess, or play act as a muscle-bound monstrosity and beat the pink tar out of your enemies. If an extra quarter means the difference between victory and utter annihilation, then holding back would just be selfish, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?

Video game makers are a bunch of greedy hooligans. The whole thing just steams me up. I need to take out my aggression on something. Can’t wait until I get home tonight! I’ll stick in some Tekken and beat the crap out of… WAIT A MINUTE! It’s a trap! THAT’S how they get you! Those devious little buggers…

Well, I’ll show them. Instead I’ll go to the club, hit on a bunch of women. That way, instead of watching some on-screen avatar get kicked repeatedly in the crotch, I’ll…

Umm… on second though, I don’t like where that thought’s heading. I think I’ll go watch some Marx brothers or something instead.