Baptism of Fire(balls)

As I’ve mentioned plenty of times on this site, I am a big fan of competitive video games. I happily watch anything, but only compete in a few games and genres. One of my main focuses in this realm is fighting games, specifically Super Street Fighter 4: Arcade Edition.

Recently, whilst playing some online games with Walter, a fellow Scotsman who was just picking up the game joined the lobby to play some games with us. Walter and I are admins at a community site for Scottish fighting game players, so we tend to get in contact with players of all skill levels and experience wanting a game and a chat, and we’re always more than happy to oblige. On this occasion, the player in question was, for lack of a more endearing term, a bit of a scrub. He was fairly unfamiliar with how the game should be played, and was doing things that, to our conditioned brains, seemed very odd indeed. Now, anyone who has ever been in a lobby in any game with Walter will know he’s often a passionate fellow on the mic. Not passionate as in COMpassionate, passionate as in I’MGOINGTOBURNYOURHOUSEDOWNpassionate. This session was no exception. As this new player was informed of his shortcomings, he began to send messages that said “You’ve really knocked my confidence” and I thought “Good!”.

Let me take you back in time briefly. My love for all things fighting games is a new obsession. One day, whilst browsing a game retailer I saw Street Fighter 4 (or “Vanilla” as it’s so deliciously nicknamed) for £20. “SOLD!” thought the brain that knew that Super Street Fighter 2 was a lot of fun to play when I was a kid. Training up and learning some stuff, I found a local fighting game night at a game center and thought I’d try some offline competition. I walked in with an unwarranted sense of confidence, ready to take on all comers. I then got battered for 2 straight hours by Walter, who at this point I’d never met. There are two conclusions here that the mind will undoubtedly reach. Either you will take this beating and admit defeat, decide that it’s not for you and never return, or you’ll take this humiliation as a base to grow on. It can make you want to learn, make you want to get better, give you the drive to go and learn what to do. It’s like hazing for the 21st century. This is what I took from it, and that’s why I love the community so much. They will mercilessly beat you, but they’ll offer advice and tips to help you get better.

I feel anyone who wants to get into any kind of game or genre competitively should have this experience. It’s the most valuable lesson any better-skilled player can teach you; You’ve got a lot to learn, we all do. It sounds cruel and unwelcoming, but if you can’t handle losing 40 straight games in a row, then it’s not for you.