The Hadoken I Never Landed
There’s a version of gamescom that exists on paper—the press conferences, publisher booths, PR people yelling specs into microphones—and then there’s the actual event, which is mostly just a very large building full of people who genuinely give a shit about the same things you do.
I went only on the Wednesday. Business day, press access, manageable crowds. Large gatherings have a way of narrowing on me—visitor-day density can spiral into something unpleasant fast—so Wednesday was the right call. And honestly, the handful of games I cared about didn’t require a full week of my life.
Fallout 4 wrecked me in the best way. The people complaining about the graphics were missing the point entirely, as they always do with this series. Fallout was never about photorealism—it’s about the world, its people, its secrets, the specific pleasure of stumbling into something no one told you existed. The demo confirmed that everything I loved about the previous games was still there.
On one of the stages, a cluster of players was running through Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, and I stood there longer than I should have. I’ve been playing for weeks. I chose tank. I give it everything I have. I still wipe groups with embarrassing regularity. I’m not entirely sure the spec suits me. I can’t stop anyway.
The Nintendo booth did what Nintendo always does to me—cracks open something I’d been keeping politely closed. Super Mario Maker, Star Fox Zero, The Legend of Zelda: Tri Force Heroes. All of it unabashedly retro, all of it warm in a way that big-budget releases rarely manage. I stood there seriously reconsidering a Wii U for the third year running, then remembered I should probably just wait for whatever they’re building next. Same conversation, same conclusion, same delay.
I missed the Horizon: Zero Dawn presentation, which I regret—the trailer had stuck with me since E3. Anno 2205 is on the list. Life is Strange gave me a decent first episode. And Street Fighter V put me in front of one of those enormous promotional controllers and demolished me entirely. I could not execute a single Hadoken as Ryu. On the Super Nintendo, this was the first thing I ever learned.
After the floor closed, Maik from LangweileDich.Net and I ended up at the EA party, which was exactly what you’d expect, and then somehow at the YouTube event, which was stranger. Tim from Pixelburg and I talked about the future of podcasting—a conversation I have at every games event and never resolve. The Rocket Beans crew were doing their thing: gaming content delivered by people who are genuinely rather than professionally enthusiastic. I played Guns, Gore & Cannoli, a Belgian game nobody was talking about that weekend, and it was great. Then I drove to the Holiday Inn Express in Troisdorf, which had free WiFi, a solid breakfast, and Beyoncé playing in the lobby. I appreciated all three things roughly equally.
Would I go back? Without question. Not for the keynotes, not for the free keyrings, not for the two-hour queues to watch someone else play for eight minutes. For the room itself. Because in that building, across those days, the usual sorting mechanisms—gender, background, income—stop applying. People are just there because they love games. That turns out to be enough to make strangers feel like company.