It’ s a cold Friday evening. The October winds drift gently as the snow dances onto my sneakers. The change rustles in my pocket as I lean forward to look down the road. Along comes a blue bastion, with“ 70 MILL WOODS” emblazoned in digital letters along the top of the bus. The driver opens the door,“ Hey bud, how are ya?”“ Pretty good mate.” I pay my fare, and head to the back and take a seat. I look out the window, as downtown Edmonton continues on, people shopping, running, talking and heading to wherever they need to go. The bus takes a breath, and begins its circuit, snaking through stations, suburbia and shopping malls. I throw my earbuds in and listen to a couple songs, and bring the bus to a screeching halt as I ring for my stop last second, like any good commuter. I walk across the road, and head to the venue. People with TVs and boxes of cords are heading into the venue, being quick as to get out of the now chillier winds. I help setup some tables and chairs, while Wiis and Gamecubes get hooked up. I run upstairs and grab a spare GameCube controller, and head to an open table for some friendlies.
I test out the triggers and knock the analog sticks back and forth. Feels good. I sit down at an open table, and the announcer echoes out my selection:“ MARTH!” We dropped on opposite sides of Final Destination, and as the clock counted down, the venue around me blurred out of focus. I didn’ t hear the players all around me. I didn’ t feel the sweater on my shoulders. All I saw was a purple stage, my Marth, and Sheik.
The announcer counted down, And the clicking and clacking of our controllers began.
We dropped, and I instantly started to dash back and forth to force an approach from Sheik, and setup for a grab. I was met with careful spacing, and Sheik trying to find an opening to poke me out. I poised my fingers, waiting to strike like a snake in the grass. With one step too close, I leap and wavedash into Sheik for a clean grab into an up throw, into another up throw, into some aerials leaving me at an untouched 0 %, and Sheik sitting at 50 +%. I was in a good position, to say the least. But Sheik wasn’ t willing to go down that easy. Or as they say in the Melee community,“ And now, he tries..”
The neutral wars began, needles were shot, kicks were flying, grabs were landed and tippers were clutched. I may have had the opening salvo and took the first stock, but I didn’ t have the game just yet. As the map’ s visual effects shifted, so did our play, with changing from offense to defense, from opportunistic to reserved and from risky to passive. Stocks were exchanged, and as if scripted from start to finish, we faced off with each of our last stocks, with a slight percentage lead from me. And as if we had nothing left to lose, we both charged. The dance of the warriors began again, but it was as if the stakes were higher. I could feel my blood pumping as I went for any grab I could, tried to abuse any opening, and try to cover every mistake. Our percentages grew, but after a couple well-spaced aerials, I smelled blood in the water. One tipper from me could end it all. But I wasn’ t the only one who caught the