"On my business card, I am a corporate president. In my mind, I am a game developer. But in my heart, I am a gamer."
-Satoru Iwata (1959-2015)
It feels like an eternity has passed since I heard the news.
I don't know how long I've been in my room, crying my eyes out. Just a few spoken words was all it took for the promise of new beginnings to suddenly vanish. At first, I was numb with shock. Mr. Iwata seemed fine when we last spoke—it was only a few days ago, too! How could I have known that a tumor was running rampant in his bile duct? How could I have known that it was sapping his life away like a flower fired from a Lip's Stick? I thought it was a sick joke, since I used to be the butt of many of them. But when I turned on the news, the confirmation was as clear as day on the TV.
Satoru Iwata was—gone.
He was the one who helped Mr. Sakurai and Master Hand get these tournaments up and running. He was the captain of the ship that was Nintendo. He was almost—a god.
And now he'd been torn from us.
But to me, Satoru Iwata was more than Nintendo's president, more than a game developer and more than a gamer. He was more than a captain of a corporate ship.
He—he was my best friend!
In order to explain, I'll have to open a chapter in my life which I have recently closed.
Mr. Iwata understood all of the problems which came from being Player Two. He obviously never wished anything like that upon me when he helped bring me into the arcade world in 1983. And for that, I've never held him responsible. You want to know why? I could always confide in him, no matter what.
The teasing was sporadic at first. But with the introduction of Super Smash Bros. in 1999, it became a three-alarm fire. It was no longer teasing—it was now an effort to shame, degrade and destroy me. The attacks were verbal, physical and psychological. Master Hand, supposedly responsible for the well-being of the Smashers, was obviously aware, but he didn't lift a finger on my behalf. That task fell to Mr. Iwata.
I always loved it when Mr. Iwata visited us. We were all dressed to the nines and on our best behavior whenever he was around. He answered any questions we had and even posed questions of his own for us to answer. Best of all—we could speak to him one-on-one.
It was there in the office Master Hand set aside for him that Mr. Iwata realized that something was troubling me. There was no point in keeping it from him. So I risked agonizing consequences to describe how certain Smashers (I didn't name names) were focused on making my life a living nightmare. I spoke, and he listened. When I was finished, I persuaded him not to tell anyone else, for the sake of both our safety. Tears were rolling down my face, but as I quickly discovered, Mr. Iwata was a positive man. He took my hand in his and told me to hang in there. Things would get better.
Knowing that Mr. Iwata was on my side buoyed me throughout the first tournament. I held my own against characters from different games and quickly mastered Break the Targets. When I repeated his words, the harassment became less painful.
But not a lot less. Luckily, Mr. Iwata was always nearby, always ready to talk to me.
In 2001, things indeed got better, if only a little bit. I finally starred in a game of my own! Unfortunately, it was about ghosts, which I hated. But—the end was worth the frights and chills. I'm sure you'd feel the same after you saved your big bro's life. Afterward, I was taken more seriously as a hero and considered more reliable than ever before.
Mr. Iwata was behind all of that.
He also saved the second Smash tournament from being a no-show, working out the last-minute kinks and all. Master Hand thanked him by holding an Appreciation Day for him—a big party with him as the guest of honor. Aside from all of that, he was still available to talk to, and boy did I need it. The three-alarm fire was now a massive conflagration from which I thought there was no way out. Mr. Iwata proved me wrong. I'd spend countless hours of my downtime talking to him, and what he had to say in return girded me with just enough to carry on. The heads of the tournament were too busy to give me the time of day—yet this man helmed a company and still found opportunities to discuss my problems with me! He was far from the stereotypical powerful-but-cold business executive.
We kept in touch outside of the tournaments. Letters would fly between us. He'd show up at the many kart races and sporting events. He cheered me on in the Power Tennis tournament, sitting in the front row with my friends. I took first place in the singles round, and he presented me with the trophy. He was my sounding board after Mario, my opponent in the finals, stepped on my foot while congratulating me, helping me realize that it was an accident. And when Mario and I paired up for the doubles round, Mr. Iwata girded us to victory.
There was also that time when a power-mad, scorned count and a maniacal jester sought to take control of all worlds using the Chaos Heart. While trying to help Mario put a stop to this, I wound up going through an ordeal which made a certain haunted mansion look like a 9-to-5 workday. Trapped, turned into a vehicle for their demented purposes and then subjected to searing agony when my usefulness to them ran its course. Ultimately, the count reunited with his true love and saw the error of his ways—but then the jester put me back in his control. Mix in the Chaos Heart, and his rampaging last stand was born, pitting my own brother against me. We both made it out alive and made short work of the jester, but not necessarily unscathed.
In the months following this, Mr. Iwata would call me and even show up in person to check up on me, asking if I was okay. I told him that I was getting along the best I could, but I'd wind up in tears, moved at this selfless gesture, traveling at his own expense just to see how I was holding up. He'd even set aside an hour or so to have lunch with me, where we'd talk—not as heroes or corporate presidents, but as people making lemonade with the lemons life dealt them.
Did the heads of the Smash tournament even consider doing that?
No.
Flash forward to 2008, and the Brawl tournament is underway. I'll remember this tournament for two reasons. First, it was there that I felt something stir inside me—hidden confidence I never knew existed. I talked about this with Mr. Iwata whenever I could, growing more convinced that he had something to do with it. When turmoil surrounded me on all sides, he was my guiding light. And it showed. I began to "rebel", so to speak, against my tormentors. I even fought a match against one of them! Though I lost, I came out of that bout feeling wonderful. I had held my own against him, risked punishment, even—and nearly won. Afterward, I ran to Mr. Iwata's office and gushed to him about it. I'll never forget the way he beamed at me. In 1999, he told me that things would get better. Now, they were starting to.
The second reason I'll remember the 2008 tournament is the Subspace adventure and its aftermath. During the final battle with Tabuu, questions and worries about how Mr. Iwata was holding out against this force whirled in my head, giving me enough power to cancel out any fear creeping on me. I plowed my way through that Great Maze, and soon, I was fully engaged with Tabuu, all of my fellow Smashers at my elbow. As soon as he was defeated, I immediately placed a call to Mr. Iwata, asking if he was hurt. His voice was calm as he explained that he and his employees were peachy, that Tabuu hadn't come after them. I was so relieved that I could've broken down, but I restrained myself. Two days later, he visited us, commending us all on our bravery.
Five years later, it was my 30th anniversary, and Mr. Iwata donned my green cap to address gamers far and wide. That was the day he announced my very own year. It was what he'd promised long ago. At last, I was number one! I was the one getting fan letters, photo ops and cakes and kisses from Peach. I was a "dreamboat", taking naps to help Mario enter the dream world, saving Pi'ilo Island from the nightmarish Antasma. I was a doctor, combating sneaky viruses with my megavitamins. I saved Evershade Valley, along with my brother for the second time, befriended some nice ghosts and adopted a Polterpup. I was everywhere—on shirts, boxes, in stores, and all types of merchandise. Mr. Iwata had advised me to be patient, and I was, to the best of my ability. Here was the end result, unfolding before my very eyes.
Of course, all good things must come to an end, and my year was certainly no exception. I'll admit that Mr. Iwata tried to prepare me for it, but it was still pretty abrupt in my opinion. It took a week and a half for me to speak to him again, and he told me that another kart race, as well as the fourth Smash tournament, was in the works. Speaking of which, I was now a starter, rather than a secret character. Surely, I couldn't count that out.
My year was over, but I was still going to be acknowledged. The kart race was the perfect opportunity to remind everyone that all actions had consequences. I had green shells, red shells, and spiny blue shells at my disposal. Bob-ombs, Fire Flowers and air horns. As soon as I started my engine, I ruled that racetrack. I spared nobody my racing and shell-throwing skills. Adding to the dish was my brand-new Death Stare, bound to give those daring to cross me nightmares for the rest of their lives. Initially, I thought I overdid it. But it quickly gained popularity and secured its placed among the best of Internet memes. Even Mr. Iwata liked it, though it visibly rattled him. He asked me not to blame him for the end of my year. True, I felt that he was responsible, and it was the only rough spot in our friendship. But as I returned to Subspace for the fourth Smash tournament, I assured him that I was willing to let bygones be bygones—at least, in his case…
Others, however, wouldn't be so lucky.
I won't talk anymore about that. It's in the past. Yesterday's news.
Instead, I'll tell you about the last time Mr. Iwata and I saw each other.
As I said before, he looked great. He gave no indication that he was ill. We'd gotten together, as we now frequently did, for lunch. I was less stressed than usual when I came to see him, and he must've noticed that.
"You seem very happy lately," he said.
I paused, a forkful of food to my lips. "I am," I said. "I feel very happy, and it's the first time in ages I've felt like that. I just feel weightless and free."
"So, you're not—being bullied anymore?"
"No," I told him. "I honestly thought they'd never stop. But they did. I made them leave me alone. I showed them that they had to take me as seriously as Mario. Because of that, I'm higher on the tier list now."
"How are you adjusting to the recent changes in Smash?" he asked.
"With Lucas, Roy and Mewtwo, it's just like old times," I replied.
"And Ryu?"
I shrugged. "We got off to a tough start, to be honest," I told him, "but he saw the light, and I forgave him. Now, we're inseparable."
Then, I looked intensely at him. "You know, all these years, I hated who I was. The second player and the underling who gets little or no credit. I envied Mario, and I wanted to walk in his shoes, at least for a day. But then, you arrived, and all of that changed."
He said nothing.
"When there was a storm in my heart, and I needed a beacon to guide me home, there was you. You were the only one who cared enough to listen to what I had to say. When I was teased and hassled, you comforted me when there was no one else. Whenever I was in a scary situation, I said to myself, 'I hope I make it through this, so I can see Satoru Iwata again.' It took two haunted mansions, four Smash tournaments, one big year and an Internet meme, but I've finally accepted myself as a unique Mario Bro., awkwardness and everything. And it's all thanks to you."
Mr. Iwata smiled. "You should never be ashamed of who you are," he smiled. "Look at what's happened to you in your first 30 years—some of that was extraordinary, which nobody else could brag about. You finally stood up to everyone picking on you. For that, I'm proud of you, and I always will be."
Tears clouded my vision, and I gripped his hand in mind. "Thank you, Mr. Iwata," I whispered. "For everything. You've made me the happiest of second players."
When it was time to part ways, I gave him a great big hug, and then cried in earnest as I watched him get into his private limo and drive away.
That was a few days ago. Now, I'm in my room, the news of his sudden passing stabbing into me, breathless with sobs. Today's matches have been cancelled on account of the tragic news. Good thing, too—I probably wouldn't have been able to concentrate. The other Smashers must feel the same way.
But I'm the most crushed of all.
With him gone, who will listen to me when the mess hits the fan? Who can I confide in without the fear of being overheard? Who will take the time from their busy schedule to support me?
I still have my other friends, my big bro, and—the Hands are finally paying attention. I still have Professor Gadd, Starlow and Daisy. I still have Mr. Iwata's words, echoing in my spirit till it leaves my body.
He'll always understand, even after his game is over.
My cry is over. I pick myself up, wash my face, and pick out a small basket. I fill it with 1UP Mushrooms, Fire Flowers, Mega Mushrooms, Gold Mushrooms, Power Stars, Maxim Tomatoes and Heart Containers. Then, I add mementoes of Mr. Iwata—photos, letters, magazine and newspaper articles. I make a "sail" and glue it to the center of the basket.
I exit my room and slowly head outside. I sense my bro falling into step behind me. He's followed by Kirby, Zelda, Lucina, Roy, Marth, Ryu, Ness, Lucas, Sonic, an assortment of Pokémon and finally everyone else—until it's a solemn march. Everything else is still, as if Mother Nature is also in mourning. At a riverbank, I finally stop.
Kneeling down, I gently place my makeshift "sailboat" in the river and remove my cap as I watch the current carry it away. I remain on my knees, head bowed, cap over my heart. The others are also on their knees, I can tell. Right now, they are far from my mind.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; though anointeth my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Amen.
Thank you, Mr. Iwata; I will never forget you…