Tiers and Hopes, Book 2

Top Middle Bottom

Top (n): the highest point, level or part of something; the highest position (as in rank or achievement)

-Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 11th ed. (2014)

Dear Diary,

Life in Smash Bros sure has been kind to me. I used to be a decent high-tier, but now—I'm the leader of the pack! The top dog, the best of the best! That should give these casual players something to chew on.

Using my skills as a leader and a fighter, I easily take down anyone who challenges me. I frustrate them with my short hop single and double lasers. I laugh off attacks with my "Shine" and my "waveshine". I'm also among the fastest characters in Melee, and it shows. I'm basically a blur, clobbering my opponents to kingdom come and sending them running off to God-knows-where, crying. Well—not all of them cry, but I think you catch my drift.

My advantageous matchups make me popular among the tournament crowd. Every night, I'm a VIP guest at swanky parties, or I'm hosting parties alongside my wingman, Falco. He may be my clone, but in my eyes, he's right next to me in the God-tier slot. Together, we saw the rise of "20XX", where we're the go-to Smashers to win an intense competition. The "blip" sounds of our Reflectors and our grunts of exertion soon reach memetic status, along with my taunt of "Come on!" and our cries of "Mission Complete!" when we win.

And nowadays, Falco and I live like freaking kings! We ride around in limos, and we've got our own personal Wireframes attending on us. Not to mention our new rooms, which look more like hotel suites! I've got a hot tub that can fit me and my buddies, a large widescreen TV, a GameCube, a comfortable king-sized bed, a small bar, and a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Smash World. And it's all mine.

As for the rest of the roster (except Falco), who freaking cares about them? They're all beneath me! As far as tournament players are concerned, I'm their god! I certainly don't need some red cap or some green cap telling me what to do and how to live my life! They can all just bend over and kiss my—tail. Especially Kirby, the pink runt. He's a low-tier loser, so why should I waste my time dealing with him? Life isn't unicorns and rainbows and cake anymore, and if he can't deal with that, then that's his problem.

Smash is like natural selection. The better you fight, the higher on the rung you are. Falco and I are the best fighters, so we're at the top of the rung. Kirby is childish and weak, and that's why he's at the bottom this time around. It really is as simple as that.

But man, it feels good here at the top. Falco and I are really enjoying the view!

I'll get back to you later; I have matches to fight!

Your confidante,

Fox McCloud

...

Middle (adj): equally distant from the extremes; (n): a middle part, point or position

-Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 11th ed. (2014)

Dear Diary,

They used to laugh at me. Throw things at me. Heckle me. Humiliate me. I was considered the worst fighter, even a joke fighter. Well, I don't see them joking nowadays when I gloriously Misfire into an opponent and take their stock. I don't see them mocking me as my wavedashing skills help me evade projectiles and escape attempts to pressure me. Through the crap I was subjected to, I didn't break down, didn't back down—I got back up and dusted myself off. I hogged the Training Area, practicing and honing my fighting style, even as my muscles started to protest. Here in Melee, my practice has paid off, and now I'm a viable mid-tier fighter. The jeerers have fallen silent, watching me juggle and combo my foes, and sweat and bruise and bleed down to the last stock. I drink in the looks on their faces. That's right, the laughing stock of the first tournament is kicking [bleep] and taking names. Who's laughing now?