I’m cheating by writing this post. Me writing implies that I’m anywhere near competent in my field, and that I can take out anybody that comes my way. Untrue. So very, very untrue.

I’ve played a lot of fighting games over the last few years -- every new game this console generation except for Battle Fantasia. I know what BnBs are, and how to do a fair number of them. I use normals to my advantage. I’ve been known to land a cross-up here and there. But when it comes down to it -- if you pitted me against someone who’s REALLY put a lot of hours into a fighting game -- then I’d get eaten up like a bucket of chum during Shark Week. I speak from experience; ignoring the fact that I’ve faced my fair share of online warriors, my older brother is someone who takes his fighters seriously. As in, he’ll be watching a tournament stream of Marvel vs. Capcom 3 while he’s got an arcade stick in his lap, training in Marvel vs. Capcom 3, while he’s got a tab in his browser open looking for strategies in guides and forums for Marvel vs. Capcom 3. He and I usually keep our game consoles in the music room of our house; yet, I’d argue that that’s a misnomer. Since Street Fighter 4’s release, that room is now the Fightin’ Room.

I’ve been on the receiving end of enough beatdowns to know that there’s a gap between us that I can’t cross. Combos that go on for days. Mix-ups that leave me dazed and confused, wondering “Which way do I block?” while he’s already started wailing on me. Comebacks made with a sliver of health left, able to take me down to zero before I can even chip him with a fireball. To say nothing of the fact that he can tear through scrubs in seconds (provided no lag, comeback mechanics, or Weskers weigh him down). Put an arcade stick in his hands, and he’s a damn tiger.

And even though I’m not nearly as good as he is, he still begs me regularly to play a few rounds (read: two hours at a time) with him.



Why? Who knows? Maybe it just feeds his already-massive ego. Maybe it gives him a break from playing people online with bad connections. Maybe he wants to test his skills against mine -- because he’s so hungry for battle, he’ll take on challengers good or bad. Or maybe he just really freaking loves to win. If the latter’s the case, then I can’t blame him. Because every time he and I go at it, I know that deep down -- in spite of my lack of my skill -- that I want to win, too. If he wants an opponent, then fine; even if I’m to lose, I’ll at least try to hold my own, and give him a taste of K.O. pie.

I guess you could say that going up against my bro -- winning or losing -- inspires me. I want to be able to show him that I’m more than just a free win. The same applies to the characters I choose; at times it feels like I’m their spokesperson or ambassador, proving that there’s something really special about them. I’d show him why he should respect Haggar, or honor Guile, or even swallow his pride as he loses to Princess Peach. Whatever the case, there’s a certain draw of fighting games -- as if you’re looking into a rabbit hole, and curiosity gets the better of you. Just how far can your characters go? How deep can the game get, and how can you use that depth to your advantage? And most of all, how far can you go?

The answer, in my case, is “Kinda sorta far.” I’m just good enough to go a step or two beyond the basics, but not good enough to, say, take on anyone at even the lowest rungs of a tournament bracket. I’m not particularly fast or have cat-like reflexes, so anything that involves split-second timing or one-sixtieth-of-a-second inputs is lost on me. So essentially, I can’t do any super-fancy combos. That’s kind of…not good for a fighting game, isn’t it?

Very true. But fighting games aren’t always about ZOMG 180-hit combos. Getting pummeled by my brother again and again has taught me something just as valuable as any sequence of button presses: sometimes, a solid defense is more vital than any combo.



It’s not always the big combo that saves your life; one of the most important tools in your arsenal is the ability to just hold the stick in the opposite direction. It’s enough to stop about ninety percent of all attacks (throws notwithstanding). It puts you in a position to punish your enemy if they use an attack that leaves them open, or does something particularly stupid (o hai flowchart Kens). And if you’re playing a charge character, it lets you prepare for a counterattack.

And there are other defensive options as well. Zoning has you using your moves, normal or special, to keep the enemy at a safe distance while you peck away at them and make them slip up. Since there’s only one or two characters in a fighting game with the luxury of punches that reach across the screen (Street Fighter’s Dhalsim or Guilty Gear’s Axl Low, for example), the ability to control space removes your enemy’s options and gives you plenty in return. Predicting your foes’ movements while simultaneously limiting them; surviving any onslaught that comes your way by standing your ground; a calculated offense that counters your opponent’s blunders and missteps; learning these things and more will turn you from a punching bag into a stone wall.

Remember when I said my brother was like a tiger? Funny thing about that: supposedly, he was born in the Year of the Tiger. In contrast, I was born in the Year of the Dragon. Consequently, that means we’re two opposing forces -- the tiger symbolizes a crushing, relentless offense, while the dragon stands for patience and measured strikes. It’s eerily fitting, seeing him epitomize an unstoppable force while I stand against him as an immovable object. He’ll chide me for it all the time -- and it’s true, I can get a bit too reliant on turtling sometimes -- but I’ve found a strategy that gives me more success than a reckless offense. Besides, that’s his department. I suspect that he’d lose a little less (against me, or online foes) if he’d calm down and stop attacking so much. But I haven’t told him that; I can’t let him know something that could put me at a disadvantage, now can I?



At any rate, I don’t mind being slow as much as I used to. Maybe the concussions that my brother beat into my characters have made me a little sharper; the fundamentals, starting with a strong defense, are what make me a contender against him. I can train and learn combos and strategies that might work, and help me when it’s time for me to strike back, but the training he’s given me -- hard as it might be to stomach -- is more valuable than any strategy guide.

Or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment. That seems like a viable conclusion.