Ryu and I

There are certain types of game challenges that have always been beyond me, like jumping puzzles, for example, or racing games where hitting things is a negative. There’s something about the need to restrain my naturally violent impulses that causes my fingers to lock up, my brain to shut down, and my mouth to start growling like a pack of wolves at a caribou cookout. I always figured there was just some inherent flaw in my gaming ability … until Ninja Gaiden® came along.

Ninja versus tank? No Problem.

Like most people, I was a bit overwhelmed by Ninja Gaiden’s speed and complexity at first. In a sense, the first boss, Murai, was the toughest to beat because I had no idea how to fight him. I threw shuriken. He blocked them and sent them back at me. I charged up my ultimate technique. He swatted me down before I was ready to strike. I tried to block. He wrapped his nunchaku around my throat and pounded me like a cheap steak. I was relying on brute strength and speedy button-mashing, and it became obvious that would never get the job done. Ninja Gaiden simply won’t let you go any farther until you accept the game’s basic lesson: Ryu can’t just roll over opponents with his superior strength because he doesn’t have it. A ninja with a bow and arrow cannot hope to win against a pair of tanks or a modern attack helicopter, right?

Wrong. Once I realized you have to fight like a ninja, something clicked, and I started having a lot more success. Sure, I had trouble with the Horse Master in Level 2, but he still seemed easier than Murai. Likewise, I had less trouble with Dynamo on the blimp than I had with the Horse Master. And, it was all down to re-thinking my style of play, easing up on the offense, and using all the combat tools I had: mobility, defense, and striking only when the enemy is vulnerable. I’m not saying I breezed through the rest of the game (Alma, anyone?), but I am saying I started playing a whole lot smarter.

Jumping puzzle? No problem.

Using all the tools I had became my mantra while playing through this game. I managed to collect the Windmill Shuriken in a matter of minutes by chaining wall-runs together. I mastered the art of running around blind corners on the wall and attacking my foes before they knew I was there. After beating Doku, I cruised through the moving platforms of Level 12 with only a few trials and errors. Maybe I wasn’t so crappy at jumping puzzles after all. When I reached the last level of the game, I literally spent no time wondering how to proceed. By that point, I knew how Ryu could jump, climb, shimmy, and swing, and I made it up the walls and across the cavern to Rachel in no time at all. It was a shining moment of triumph when I realized I had just conquered a complex platforming challenge in one of the hardest games of the year.

Face to face with destiny.

When I took a break from Ninja Gaiden and went back to some of my other favorite games, I had another happy surprise. I was suddenly better—and not just at third-person adventure games. I had improved at fighting games, too. Perfecting the timing of Ryu’s Izuna drop taught me the right way to do long combos (timing the button presses to what you see on the screen instead of rushing through them as quickly as possible). I started taking less damage in shooters, as I had learned to jump, bob, and weave effectively when the enemy started firing. I finally saw how great games not only teach you how to play themselves, but how they also improve your gaming chops across the board. It’s one thing to understand that you should use cover and block, to explore every inch of a level in order to find all the goodies, but it’s quite another to know it, to have it as second nature whenever you play.

Don’t get me wrong: I still prefer to lead the charge, go toe-to-toe with my foes, and shoot everything that moves. But, I’ve also experienced first-hand how a more diverse style of play leads to a more rewarding victory. And, after those cursed tanks have blown you up for the fiftieth time in a row, it’s almost criminally sweet to take them down with just your wits and a quiver full of explosive arrows.

By Scott McGough