A few years ago, I watched the movie King of Kong, a dramatic documentary following competitive Donkey Kong players. Since seeing now-former DK world champion Steve Wiebe upset reigning king Billy Mitchell at the game, I’ve been obsessed.
Steve spent his life shooting for the moon and landing among the stars, as they say, but stars just weren’t enough for him. He had a desperate need to be better than he was supposed to be. And he fought like an enraged weasel to get to that place.
I understand Steve Wiebe. He was a loser for so long. He wasn’t a good pitcher, wasn’t social, wasn’t a good performer, wasn’t brave, wasn’t a good engineer. He grew up and he grew used to being shunted to the side. He knew it, and everyone around him knew it. His parents, his friends, his wife; they all recognized the competitive spark burning deep within Steve, but they also recognized how hung up he got when that spark couldn’t light a lasting flame.
What’s so special about Donkey Kong is how stupid hard it is. Steve was drawn to the game for that very reason. It’s what draws me, too. For the few years since I watched King of Kong, I’ve been completely intent on playing the game all the way through. I’ve sunk countless hours into it, and I haven’t yet made it past the third screen.
I’ve played late into the night, played until my eyes burn and my hands shake. I’ve watched interviews and tutorials, analyzing strategy and begging for relief from a barrage of seemingly random obstacles. It doesn’t come. That would be beside the point.
When I play Donkey Kong, I imagine Steve doing the same, all those years ago. I see him in his basement, hunched over his machine, trying to focus on nothing but rescuing the damsel in distress.
I’ve tried to do the same. I ignore the smell of coffee. He ignores his wife calling him. I ignore my annoying laptop keys. He ignores his need to find a new job. I ignore the insect bite on my right ankle. He ignores his lonely son. We ignore the doubt nagging at us, the paralyzing fear that any moment now a stray barrel will send us back to square one.
I understand Steve Wiebe. I understand why he’s dedicated himself to something so specific and seemingly pointless. Because it’s not pointless. Donkey Kong marks the distinction between winners and losers.
And Steve has had his fair share of losses and none of them have done anything to shake his spirit. The man’s leapt over every spring and barrel life’s hurled his way, seized the hammer of opportunity.
I think we should all aspire to make it to the kill screen. Just like Steve.
Eva Buckner is a senior and the ECHO’s opinions editor and columnist. Outside of writing, she babysits and plays volleyball. She is also the vice president of East’s March For Our Lives chapter, and president of LitCon. Eva can be contacted at evahelenbuckner@gmail.com.
