The Shirt Off His Back
Nothing to gain and everything to lose.
A Street Fighter memoir
The Fight
Is All
A kid from a broken home finds refuge in the most unlikely place of all, a video game. Fifteen years later he's on a stage in Las Vegas as the Street Fighter II world champion, about to face the greatest player alive.
In the arcade, the winner stays on and the loser walks away. You didn't have a screen to hide behind. You were sitting next to someone, shoulder to shoulder, and if they were bigger than you, that could be a problem. It was like the UFC for video games. If you lose, you lose your money.
The Fight Is All goes inside the arcade fighting-game scene of the '90s: Milpitas Golfland, where a hundred players ran the same broken character and thirty guys once waited in the parking lot. Sunnyvale, the mecca, where five players could have been number one anywhere else. Liquor-store machines at a quarter a play. Crews, cheap wins, real fights, and the unwritten rules that held it all together.
It's a memoir first and a game book second: two brothers, the code of the arcade, and what it takes to be the best in the world for one day. Written for the players who were there, and for readers who have never touched a joystick.
It doesn't matter how old you are, how much money you have, who your parents are. The only thing that matters is how good you are.
Sample chapters from the book.
Nothing to gain and everything to lose.
Not even God can save you when you get on that machine with me.
There'd be a row of tokens sitting on top of the machine. You'd throw yours up there. They go in order.
Well, you may have won your quarter. But you may have also won a fight. A real one. One that you didn't want.
On many occasions, I punched the Street Fighter machine. In fact, I'm surprised it didn't break.
In their town or city or local arcade, there was always one guy who thought he was the best. And in his town, usually he was.
Evo West 2006
The Hyper Street Fighter II finals: Alex's Dhalsim against Graham's Balrog. The brother who taught him the game while they waited for the bus.
Photos from the tournament floor.






All that for a fucking quarter.