The Sasquatch Journal

Street Fighter II: A Retrospective.



Note: I'm writing a article for www.popmatters.com on Street Fighter II. Here's the rough draft. And yes, I'm a nerd.

In high school, I repeatedly swore to my friends, with a straight face, that I would fall down on my knees and marry the girl that defeated me in Street Fighter II, no questions asked. In retrospect, it probably was a sad commentary about my priorities that the sole value I looked for in a potential mate was her skill in an arcade fighting game, (and a reason why I’m still single), but the truth is, I never truly believed that statement anyway.
I was saving myself for Chun-Li.

---
If Street Fighter II hit the arcades relatively quietly in 1991, it was because arcades themselves were slumping towards the point of irrelevancy. The Golden Age of the sweaty, dark, punk-rockishly cool arcade with snaking lines of teens waiting to play Missile Command and Galaga had gone the way of disco; supplanted by shiny happy “Family Fun Centers” via Showbiz Pizza or Chuck E. Cheeses or old arcades revamped as “safe places.” I distinctly remember the depression I felt after discovering my own favorite mall-rat arcade dungeon had transformed into a Day-Glo bright Skee-Ball and ticket game Hell. The target market evidently became 7-year olds boys and soccer moms.


The Old School Arcade at the height of its glory. Love the hats.

To make matters worse, powerful new systems like the Sega Genesis and the Super Nintendo closed the technology gap between arcades and home systems, making it less attractive to head to the mall to pay 25 cents for three minutes of the mediocre dreck filling Aladdin’s Castles and struggling mom-and-pop arcades.
The only thing resembling innovation in arcade games were found in the crude 3D graphics of driving games like Hard Drivin’ and S.T.U.N.Runner.

Sure, there fighting games o’ plenty at the arcades in the late 80’s and early 90’s, but cooperative beat-em’-ups like Bad Dudes, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Final Fight, were hardly what people think of today as fighting games. Most of these repetitive, button-mashing Double Dragon clones were admittedly mindless fun, but advancing through them had less to do with skill than feeding the machine with a steady diet of quarters to mow through endless waves of drone-like enemies.

Ryu was always putting his fingers in electric sockets and so forth.

----
I can count on one hand the number of times video games have sparked a sensation of sublime transcendence I can only label The Moment, when one is struck suddenly by the blinding genius and flawlessness of something never experienced before. (If that sounds slightly crazy, ask a rock musician about the first time they heard the guitar riff from “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, or a baseball player after hitting his first home run.)
One of those rare Moments came to me shortly after I slid a quarter into a Street Fighter II machine for the first time. It was my first Dragon Punch.

The Dragon Punch gave Ken mad ups, yo!

“Shoruyken!” shouted Ken, the blonde shaggy-haired fighter I had selected, as he rose up suddenly from the ground and threw a savage uppercut, flying seemingly halfway across the screen.
What the hell was that? And more importantly, how could I do that again? It took some experimentation and a little luck to figure it out, but once I mastered the Dragon Punch, I was more than hooked, I was entranced.

Soon, I found that not only were there more moves of Ken’s to be discovered, but seven other characters from around the world, each with their own back story and own set of specialized moves: Ryu, Ken’s stoic Japanese counterpart; the spikey-headed U.S. military man Guile; a pot-bellied, but nimble Japanese sumo wrestler E. Honda; Blanka, a hairy green…thing, raised by wolfs in the jungles of Brazil, a fire-breathing Indian mystic called Dhalsim; a burly bear of a Soviet wrestler named Zangief; and a sexy Chinese woman with a schoolgirl laugh named Chun Li.

There were also four bosses, including my favorite, Vega, a flamboyantly effete (he wore a mask to protect his pretty face) metrosexual Spanish matador with Wolverine-like claws who’d jump from the walls with a high-pitched shriek.



On a side note, while Street Fighter II’s cast of characters could be accused of being one-dimensional stereotypes, the fact that 6 out of the 8 characters were either non-white, male, or American was a revolutionary idea in video games. In those pre-Lara Croft days, female protagonists besides the skirt-wearing Princess Peach in the Mario games were rare, and you’d come up empty trying to think of any other game, past or present, featuring a playable hero from India or South America. (You could also argue about the philosophical diversity of some of the characters, but that might be a stretch for a game in which differences were solved with one another by throwing fireballs.)

But never mind its political correctness, as a slightly jaded 14-year old arcade connoisseur; fun was the best thing I could think of to say about Street Fighter II. During that aforementioned first session of gaming, I practically refused to take my hand off the eight-way joystick. After a half-an-hour, I kept telling my poor waiting grandmother “Just one more game!” as well as the dozen or so people who were crowded around watching or waiting their turn.
“Hey man, some other people want to play,” growled one teen as I dropped in yet another quarter.
Of course, as we would soon learn, Capcom had already equipped Street Fighter II with the capability to allow others to ‘boot’ others from the machine. And soon a new arcade culture was born.


No one knew his name, but everyone who played Street Fighter II seriously in my neck of the woods knew of his exploits. He was simply, “The Kenney Shoes Guy.” And on his seemingly countless lunch and smoke breaks, he would walk from his store to the mall arcade everyday in the same starched white dress shirt and brown Kenney branded loafers to quietly destroy all the would-be competition in Street Fighter II. Every time we saw him, we’d collectively groan; he was like Clint Eastwood in all those old Westerns, he didn’t say much, but we knew we were dead.

Because of the competitive nature of Street Fighter II, a new unwritten code of conduct had emerged. At any time, a second player could put in a quarter and press the start button. Doing so automatically interrupted a one player game with the message: “Here Comes A New Challenger!” Then the two players fights one-on-one, mano-y-mano, in a best of three round match. If pride wasn’t enough of an incentive to win, the game allowed the winner of the match to stay and the loser was done; the arcade equivalent of pick-up games of basketball in the YMCA.

The code usually worked like this: When you approached a SFII machine with two or more people already battling it out, you placed a quarter somewhere in a crease in the cabinet, as your placeholder in line. When your turn was up, you’d grab your quarter and fight your opponent. If you lost, you’d have to go to the back of the line. Win and you could potentially play on one quarter for the rest of the day.
(Interestingly enough, a version of Street Fighter II being released next month on Xbox Live for the 360 features Quarter Matches, a self-described “homage to the arcade tradition” that allows players to display virtual quarters online to “buy” into matches.)

Many players also insisted on an unspoken code of conduct in gameplay itself. Those who used throws often were labeled “cheap,” and even some who played defensively or conservatively (like me) were accused of foul play.
That’s what made “Kenney Shoes Guy” so dangerous (and reviled). His Street Fighter II philosophy was Machiavellian, and he didn’t care if had to use all throws, if it meant winning the game.
While I waited in line, I became my own Phil Jackson, drawing up a gameplan and strategies in my head I could use to beat him. Do I bring Guile, and slow him down with constant jab-strength Sonic Booms while charging up my scissor kicks, or do I play aggressive and use Blanka?
This sort of depth and competition in arcade games was unheard of.


It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that my friends and I were obsessed with Street Fighter II. We endlessly dissected each characters’ strengths and weaknesses and special moves (The Blanka Ball, we agreed, was cool, but left you too vulnerable to attack), read about Street Fighter II strategy in magazines, drew sketches in our notebooks (since we were 14 year old boys, they mostly involved Chun-Li,), nonsense phrases like “Yoga Fire!” and “Sonic Boom!” became part of our everyday vernacular and of course, we played the game until our fingers bled.
I hovered around the Street Fighter II machine in a Pizza Hut three blocks from my house at least three or four days a week, leaving the controls greasy from the breadsticks I’d wolf down in between matches.
When word arrived that a brand new edition Street Fighter II: Champion Edition had arrived at a Fuddrucker’s Restaurant across town, a friend and I trekked the five miles there on foot.

Two years and four further editions later, the Street Fighter II magic was beginning to run out. It didn’t help things that Capcom bled the series dry with constant updates and quasi sequels and tired prequels that reeked of cash-ins. After the series arguably peaked with Super Street Fighter II Turbo, imitators like Mortal Kombat, and Fatal Fury, and later, Tekken and Virtual Fighter, knocked SFII off its considerable throne.

As of today, Capcom has released over 10 Street Fighter arcade games, none substantially improving from the original. The utterly retched 1994 Jean Claude Van Damme movie adaptation doesn’t exactly enhance Street Fighter’s legacy either (or even worse, the Street Fighter: The Movie game for Playstation 1).
Nonetheless, many still remember the original as the Best Arcade Game Ever, and for me personally, well… I’m still waiting for a female challenger. This ring in my pocket is getting a bit musty.

The Saga Continues...

http://www.boston.com/business/articles/2006/06/07/sec_says_adviser_ran_ponzi_scheme/

Notes from Right Field

My life is now complete. For I have witnessed something tonight unheard of in the history of mankind. And that something is...the first French-Canadian pitcher-catcher battery! That's right, when Dodgers closer Eric Gagne threw a pitch to fellow Canadian (and former high school classmate!) Russell Martin in the 9th inning in tonights Dodgers-Mets game, history was made.

Can we not honestly say this is the probably the biggest French-Canadian moment ever!

Other observations from tonight's game:

-I also got to see Gagne's first save tonight in more than a year, and it was absolutely electric in Dodgers Stadium when he came out to "Welcome to the Jungle" (almost literally, considering all the electricity coming out of the giant scoreboard and the garish neon stripe circling the stadium).
I can't hide my man-crush for Gagne. He's burly, he's got a crazy unkempt goatee, and huge goggles, he's the toughest French-Canadian ever, what's not to love?
Now, he may not be rocking it 96 or 97 on the gun right now, but his changeup looked oh-so-sweet and he struck out Carlos Delgado and made Mets stud David Wright look silly.

-The reuniting of the old Red Sox guard. It was odd seeing Derek Lowe against Pedro Martinez, and Pedro pitching to Nomar (who hit a dinger near us in the first inning). These guys played on the same team together from (I'm guessing here) 1998-2004.
After giving up the homer to Nomar in the first, Pedro settled down and pitched well until the 6th when he gave up a HR to rookie sensation Matt Kemp who has 4 HR in his last 6 games. He then got screwed by Jose Valentin who was for reasons unknown was playing 2nd base and committed two errors. (Seriously, Jose Valentin at second? Was Bobby Valentine somehow behind this?)
Derek Lowe also did well after giving up a couple runs in the second. But lets face it, you don't pay to watch D-Lowe pitch. Sinker, Sinker, 87 MPH fastball, sinker. Snore.

-I almost called Tim Alexander in the fifth inning as Carlos Beltran made a stupendous diving catch in right center field (about 20 yards from where I was sitting) and he came up holding his back. But after a short witch-doctor treatment from a team chiropractor, he finished the game.

-The cheap seats in Dodger Stadium can be awfully frightening. In a Comiskey Park way. Fights in the stands and general boorishness. Good thing I was carrying a piece.

-And yep, this is my second post in a day. That's a Top 10 Sign You're Unemployed.

Human beings are supposedly rational creatures. We have orderly daily routines, look a little strange at people who chase Sasquatches or UFO’s, and walk out of movies knowing that they are no more than fiction. Modern man and science and rationality have triumphed, right? Superstitions, and religious myths have no weight, right?

And what about those of us who are Christians. We know and understand the Bible, right?

Well, ell that to all the people freaking out that today is 6-6-06. According to some media sources, some women are having C-sections so they’re babies are not born on 6-6-06. Others are afraid to go outside and do anything today.

This is despite these facts, according to a Catholic Resources website:
• First, this date should more properly be written 6/6/06 or 06/06/06 or even 06/06/2006, since 6/6/6 is ambiguous as to the decade or century.
• Second, this date depends on the Gregorian calendar commonly used today, but is different on the calendars in use at the time the Book of Revelation was written (Julian, Roman, Hebrew), and also different on other calendars in use today (Islamic, Chinese, etc.)
• Third, Revelation 13:18 clearly says that 666 is "the number of a person," not an indication of any date.
In fact, the word “Antichrist” isn’t even in the book of Revelation in the Bible. The Book of Revelation is a tricky book to read in the first place, and it’s not a traditional narrative or straight prophecy. Many scholars believe that the book isn't prophesying a specific end of times but is about the overall cosmic struggle of God versus evil.

But the general public, and probably the vast amount of people who fear 6-6-06 haven’t investigated these things. Their lack of knowledge, and lack of desire to investigate the truth has led them to fear things they don’t understand, or have seen in movies or read in novels.

Many evangelical Christians are obsessed with the “End Times.” Just look at the success of the corny “Left Behind” series. Or more comically, check out this “Rapture Ready” website: http://www.raptureready.com/rap2.html

This site is a self-proclaimed “speedometer” of world events that indicate the likeliness of The Rapture occurring. They calculate a rating based on these factors that akin to the “Yellow/Orange/Red” terrorism alert the U.S. Government curiously releases. According to the Rapture Ready website, things like a rise in Satanism in Russia and the price of Oil, have made it more likely the Rapture will happen soon. In fact, the current Rapture rating is 157, classified as “Hold on to your seatbelt.”

While sites like The Rapture Ready are just plain silly, clearly the most evil thing about today is that it’s been exploited for commercialism. “The Omen” remake is being released today to prey on people’s fear of the number, and others are jumping on the bandwagon.

Oh, and baseball fans in Floriday might want to watch out. The Los Angeles Angels are playing the Tampa Bay Devil Rays on 6-6-06, and there are 6+6+6 players on each team.

According to ancient prophecy, there will be a huge bench clearing brawl between the two teams…Angels vs. Devils. And then in the end Vladimir Guerrero will smite the entire Devil Rays team with his Holy Louisville Slugger....all except for a cowering Lou Pinella. Or something like that.

Fame is Fleeting, Friends are Forever: The Dream Job Becomes a Nightmare Part II

Sure, in often abstract ways, we are continuously making choices in our lives that reflect our values. A life of crime or an honest day’s work. Hoarding everything for ourselves or giving things away to the poor. These are usually moral processes that occur over time.
But these choices are rarely as concrete and obvious as the decision I had to make on Saturday.

At 4 p.m. on Saturday, I was scheduled for a taping at MTV Studios in Santa Monica to be interviewed for their video game special (as noted earlier in this blog). I had directions, emails about what room I had to go to, etc., it just came down to going two miles to the other side of Santa Monica.
Also on 4 p.m. on Saturday, was RussoGate Barbeque 2K6, a last hurrah in Hollywood for recently made ex-employees of the Media Data Corporation.

Since I am car-less, I could make one of two choices:
1. Take a bus to MTV and appear on a television near you in the near future.
2. Hitch a ride with Tim and John at 2 p.m. to go to the barbeque.

Well, friends, I’d like to think I made the right choice. Ultimately, as Andy Bleyer put it, Fame is Fleeting, but Friends are Forever. Also I have stage fright.

So, anyway, the barbeque was definitely worth going to on its own merits because of the poignancy of it all. Let’s face it, most of us have attended work-related social functions and while they can be entertaining, a lot of it is idle chitchat about each others boring lives possibly tinged with gossip/rumors about others at work.

This was different. Not only was it likely that this was the last time some of us would ever see each other, but some of us had outstanding relevant stories to tell either about work or about our life situations since being laid off.
“Jigger might get deported!”
“I might get evicted tomorrow!”
“I’m gonna sue everyone!”
“Jasna has breast implants!”

Many of us were at least casual friends before, but now we felt almost like a brotherhood united by the commonality of being screwed over by Frank Russo and not having any money. It was great.

With that said, here’s a little update about what went down at the good ol’ Media Data Corp. on Thursday:

Claire, Adam, Rob and I walked on to a scene in the board room Thursday that was rapidly heating up…
A collection of about 20 employees sat around incensed about new information such as:
-Apparently our pre-paid legal and health care hadn’t been paid by the company for months, and it’s possible that our taxes also hadn’t been paid either. So, not only does that potentially hurt anyone who had gone to the doctor/hospital in the past couple of months, (including my supervisor John, who broke his arm two weeks ago) it may severely screw up our taxes next year.
-Some of the paychecks issued on May 15th bounced (the people who waited to deposit or cash them were suddenly out 5 weeks pay + vacation. )

With that in mind, the people spouting comments like:
“This community was duped.” And “This is outright theft!” And “When the wool has been pulled this far over our eyes, how can they expect us to help them?”
During the employees only-meeting, we discussed our options… walking out ASAP, going to the press with the story, going to the labor board, filing a class-action lawsuit or simply going straight to the cops. For the short term, we decided to come up with a list of written questions to ask them and go from there.

Mr. Matt Karam, our long-haired, motorcycle riding superstar, was our mouthpiece during the meeting at it quickly became The Executives VS. The Laid-Offs.

“How are we going to be able to trust you?” Karam began, with D.K. staring at the ceiling with a glum look on his face. Karam listed all of our problems and misgivings, including our incredulous disbelief that D.K. and crew knew nothing of these things.
The consummate company man, D.K. tried to play things off again.
“These are all legitimate questions, and they do point to things that are wrong, but this is all because of one guy.”
A second Matt, Scheiber, who’d worked his way up to a high position in the company after 2 years, spoke up.
“You’ve given a lot of speeches here, but at what point do you take responsibility as the CEO and President? Aren’t you supposed to know these things?”
D.K. began up with excuses about how a CEO can’t do everything, and how he has to worry about the “macro” issues or running a company, not the “micro” concerns. HA!
After more questions, and an impassioned plea from D.K.’s brother, a quasi MDC employee: “Don’t accuse my brother of nothin’! He wasn’t the only one, I gave Russo $75,000 of my own money, so I didn’t know either!”, D.K. once again tried to throw out his favorite buzzwords:
“I’m focused on going forward with this company. Mistakes have been made, but if we don’t focus on what we need to focus on, we’re not going to get any money.”
While M.F. was able to keep his corporate cool this whole time, Vice President Jasna was combatative the entire time. After Karam suggested the employees take computers and hold them as “collateral”, Jasna shouted “You say you don’t trust us, well I don’t trust you. Whose to say you won’t steal everything? There’s been some stuff stolen off my desk!”

D.K., meanwhile, was beginning to get flustered after being caught in a lie about his knowledge about the health care payments…. He told us that he lost more “than all of us combined” and called our line of question a “witchhunt.”
“This witchhunt is ridiculous! Everyone needs to make a choice and decide whether they want to help us focus on going forward with this company, or get out of our way!”
At that point, an angry D.K. stands up and walks out of the room.

It then came down to a piece of paper. If you signed it, you offered to stay on and volunteer in the hopes that the company could pull of a deal, something M.F. even acknowledged was a “longshot.”
The rest of us walked out and never looked back…ready for a weekend barbeque.