You never know what to expect in an event like this, so after I paid my $5 to enter the championship bracket, I slapped on my name tag and walked into a scene more beautiful than I could have imagined. The university of Oregon's Mills International Center is decked out with luxurious couches, which were now filled with eight separate stations of Smash players, all warming up on flatscreen TVs hooked up to N64s. I scanned the room, overwhelmed as I observed eight battles happening at a time...eight splendid screens filled with the magical intensity of old school video game graphics and vibrant color pixels.
It didn't take long for some guys to notice one of the only girls in the room, and they invited me into their battle. "Wow, a girl who plays Smash Brothers?" one of them commented and I became instantly giddy at the thought of annihilating them with my skills, which I had already begun to downplay. But it became obvious to me why these were the only guys with free controllers. They came here expecting to win. They even made an announcement saying that if someone could beat them in a team battle, they would donate an extra $50 to the cause.
They were brothers. Andrew was stocky and cocky. His character of choice was Ness, and his precision with the yoyo was enough to strike fear in the heart of even the most hardcore gamers. His brother, Jonathan wore a black wife beater with a tooth necklace, and his dark, emotionless eyes said he was all business. This was not just a game for him. This was war. He dominated with Pikachu, using the thunderbolt to finish off his opponents as they careened though the air. They had all these inside jokes they kept repeating, like "Meet me at the dock, no weapons!" and "Who's the dead guy who hit me with the salt shaker?" One of them said I was the best girl they ever played, and the other told him to shut up.
After a couple games, someone announced that the tournament would begin after a brief video, and bagel bites were on the way. The video showed the damage in Chile and had a slide at the end that said "Falconnnn thank you!"--a play off Captain Falcon's catchphrase, "Falconnn Punch!" I was one of the only people who laughed. Their tasteless wordplay was not lost on me. Jonathan started massaging his calf muscles--to limber up for battle, I assume.
The rules were one-on-one, five lives, items optional. My first match up was with a cute guy named Adam. We both played Pikachu, and our skill levels were so close that we went life for life until I took him out with an electric grapple. My hands were shaking and I felt bad for him, but I moved up on the bracket. I was hoping the next person would be easier to beat, but I got paired with none other than Andrew, the cocky brother. I could see in his eyes he knew he would beat me. He bashed me mercilessly with Ness's yoyo and used his power boost to knock me off the platform on multiple occasions. He still had four lives when he took the last of mine, but offered me a few conciliatory words: "You actually had me on my toes!" Thanks, Andrew. Thanks a lot. Why couldn't I have gone up against you after I beat a couple more of these guys? We shared a sweaty handshake and I headed for the bagel bites.
The semi-finalists played on a huge projector. It was awesome. Every glorious attack and kill were matched with the shouts of everybody watching. The brothers played each other, and I imagined this rivalry had been going on since the birth of N64. Jonathan's cheeks were totally flushed and at one point he paused the game to scoot his chair farther away from his brother, as if his eventual failure could be attributed to limited breathing room. Andrew took second place to a guy named Josh. He immediately demanded a rematch, which he also lost. You go, Josh.
A guy named Tony who looked and dressed like Michael Cera's character from Arrested Development asked me if I wanted to play with him and a guy who looked like Hagrid. This was much more fun. It was difficult, but I eventually beat them both before Andrew joined our game and proceeded to "teach me" how to be a good team player. Sub sandwiches and Monster energy drinks arrived and before I knew it my blood was surging with artificial adrenaline and Michael Cera started to compliment my skills.
Despite some sexist comments and my unlucky draw in the bracket, I have to admit, this was also my paradise. I met some truly worthy opponents, witnessed mind blowing KOs and indulged in the best free food any 13-year-old boy could ask for.
