The Demo Site

A few days ago, I discovered that a Street Fighter IV machine had been spotted in Australia. It just so happened that this machine was only a 10 minute walk away from my work. So I trudged down to Melbourne's Crown Casino last night to get my hands on the most hyped fighting game ever. This is what happened:

As I descended into the dark, cavernous cave that is the Casino’s arcade, I immediately spotted the glow of the Street Fighter IV machine. It wasn't hard - the game had attracted a large crowd of typical nerdy types. Most of them were male, most had bad haircuts, and a horrific smell of B.O. permeated the air like a high school gym.

At first I watched the game from the edge of the crowd, just to familiarise myself with the new style. It was certainly an impressive sight to behold: the graphics are an amazing blend of 2D cartoon with 3D fighter. The gameplay is blindingly fast. And the moves are brutal, creative and familiar.

As I continued to watch from the side, I noticed that one player was clearly better than the rest. He was playing as Chun Li, and was dominating challenger after pathetic challenger. Each round would see him knock off his opponent in record time, and then he'd beam with pride as Chun Li performed her victory pose (which, incidentally, is the same "ya ta!" pose as in Street Fighter 2, which means "yay!" in Japanese).

After I had heard my twelfth "ya ta", I decided it was time I stepped up to the plate. I put in my $2 and selected Ryu. The fight began.

I lost the first round in an instant. My left hand struggled to cope with the disgusting build-up of sweat that had formed around the joystick. I had forgotten what playing in arcades is like – it's not pretty, but rather an exercise in avoiding sweat, coke spills and broken buttons. I wiped my hands on my pants and started again. Round two.

This round went better. I was suddenly consumed with memories of playing Street Fighter 2. Memories of how to land that perfect hadouken. Memories of how to jump effectively. Memories of the absolute fear that Ryu can put into minds of other players when he gets even the slightest hint of momentum.

And so I won round two. And then I won round three. There was an audible “woah” from the crowd around me. The champion had been beaten... by a newbie.


Now I was the King. And so I started to accept new challengers. My first opponent was a kid who couldn't have been more than 10 years old. He smiled and said "hi" and reached up with his tiny hands to put $2 into the machine. I smiled back.

There were murmurs among the crowd about how cute this kid was. There was probably an expectation I'd go easy on him.

But I didn't buy into the jovial mood. I'd just smashed the 12-wins-in-a-row Chun Li champion on my first go. I wasn't going to ruin my inner-Ryu now. No, I'm afraid this kid was going down. I smashed the kid in record time, and landed a perfect victory in the second round. He moved away from the machine, clearly devastated. He'd just wasted what was probably a week’s worth of pocket money on 15 seconds of embarrassing failure.

After slaughtering the 10 year old, the crowd knew I meant business. There was no laughter now. They knew I was here to stay. I wasn't going anywhere without a serious fight.

After this, challenger after challenger came forward. All failed. After six straight victories, I was on top of the world.

But then a young man approached from the back of the crowd. Just like a boxer, he was wearing a hoodie. He put his coins into the machine, and then pulled down his hoodie to reveal a face of no more than 20 years of age. He didn't say a word.

Next to him stood a friend who spoke Mandarin really loudly. Clearly his friend – his coach – was giving this silent man tips on how to tackle me, but I couldn't understand a word.

Then, the coach made an erratic motion with his hands. It was almost as if he was firing a hadouken at the screen. Then it hit me: these guys were going to attack me at my own game. He was telling the silent man to pick my character – to pick Ryu.

What followed was a truly epic battle. Each round was drawn out and went to the wire. There were special attacks, counters, and amazing feats of joystick acrobatics.

But, in the end, I was beaten. The "you lose" message flashed across my screen in humiliating colours. I trudged off to the back of the crowd, short-of-breath.


As I watched the silent man rack up victories and bask in his own glory, I realised what had just happened. This was 1991 all over again. This was just like when Street Fighter 2 was released.

Back then, the crowds were just as big. The sweaty odour was just as intense. There were heroes, there were losers. In fact, I remember being that exact same 10-year-old kid, and stepping up to play against people I shouldn't, and then still going back for more.

A guy next to me, obviously doped-up on fizzy drink, interrupted my thoughts: "Man, this game is fucking awesome hey. I've just spent $20 and I went back to get more coins! It’s so sweet! The arcade is back!".

And I guess he's right: it’s 2008 and thanks to Street Fighter IV, the arcade is back. Time to roll on that deodorant.