Look, I need to get something off my chest right up front – I was a Sega kid through and through, okay? Master System, Genesis, Saturn, the whole nine yards. Had the Sega logo burned into my retinas from years of defending blast processing and trying to convince people that Nights into Dreams was better than Mario 64. So when my buddy Mike got an N64 for Christmas 1998 and invited me over to check out this Zelda game everyone was losing their minds about, I went purely to mock Nintendo’s latest attempt at being relevant.
That lasted about thirty seconds.
The moment that opening cutscene started rolling – you know, the one where the camera sweeps through Kokiri Forest like some kind of nature documentary directed by Spielberg – I knew I was in trouble. The orchestral music hit different than anything I’d heard coming out of a game console. Even my beloved Saturn, with all its arcade-perfect ports and beautiful 2D sprites, had never produced anything that sounded this cinematic. And I’m sitting there holding this weird three-pronged controller that looked like Nintendo’s engineers had been drinking heavily during the design phase, trying not to admit that what I was seeing looked pretty incredible.
Then Mike showed me the Z-targeting system, and honestly? Game over for my Sega loyalty, at least temporarily.
I’d been struggling with 3D combat since, well, forever. Even games I loved on Saturn like Burning Rangers felt clunky when things got hectic. Cameras would go mental, you’d lose track of enemies, combat became this frustrating dance of trying to orient yourself while something was beating the crap out of you. But Ocarina’s lock-on system… man, it was like someone had finally figured out how 3D action games were supposed to work. Press Z, Link focuses on the nearest enemy, camera behaves itself, combat actually becomes fun instead of an exercise in frustration management.
The music system though – that’s where Nintendo really showed off. I mean, I’d played games with incredible soundtracks before. Streets of Rage 2 is still one of the best electronic albums ever recorded, fight me. But making music part of the actual gameplay? Having Link pull out this ocarina and play melodies that affected the world around him? That was next-level stuff that even Sega, for all their innovation, hadn’t attempted.
I spent probably two hours in Kokiri Forest that first session, just exploring every corner, talking to every NPC, climbing trees like an idiot. The world felt lived-in in a way that most 3D games of the era didn’t manage. Each character had actual personality – even the shopkeepers felt like real people instead of dialogue boxes with legs attached. And don’t get me started on those cuccos. Nintendo programmed actual attitude into cartoon chickens, and somehow made it work perfectly.
Getting the Master Sword was when this game really grabbed me by the throat. Seven-year time jump, adult Link, Hyrule Castle in ruins, everything dark and apocalyptic. Nintendo took their bright, colorful adventure game and turned it into something genuinely epic. The stakes felt real in a way that most games never achieved. I actually cared about fixing this broken world, which was weird because I was supposed to be Team Sega, remember?
But those dungeons… Christ, those dungeons were something else entirely. Each one was like a massive 3D puzzle box that you had to figure out room by room. The Forest Temple with its twisted layout and those creepy Poe sisters. The Fire Temple – and yeah, the chanting music was controversial, but the dungeon itself was brilliant. Multiple levels, that massive hammer that felt like it weighed a ton when you swung it, enemies that actually required strategy to defeat.
The Water Temple nearly broke me, though. I’ll admit it freely – spent probably six hours in there across two different sessions, constantly putting on and taking off those iron boots, raising and lowering water levels, getting completely lost in corridors that all looked identical. My wife still makes jokes about the weekend I disappeared into “that stupid water level” and emerged looking like I’d been through an actual ordeal. Because honestly? I had been.
Combat in Ocarina felt weighty in ways that even my beloved 2D games couldn’t match. When you swung the Master Sword, you felt the impact through the controller – especially if you had that chunky Rumble Pak plugged in. Every sword clash, every enemy hit, every footstep had physical feedback. Gaming had gained a new sense, and it was absolutely revolutionary. Made me realize what 3D gaming could actually accomplish when developers really understood the hardware.
The side content was completely mental in the best possible way. Trading sequences that sent you all over Hyrule. Heart pieces hidden in the most ridiculous locations – seriously, who thought to check behind that random tree in the middle of nowhere? The mask quest turned Link into the world’s most well-armed door-to-door salesman. And Epona… being able to summon a horse with a song and actually ride across that massive overworld? Pure genius. Finally, a Zelda game where you weren’t stuck walking everywhere like some kind of medieval pedestrian.
Playing it again years later – yeah, I eventually bought my own N64, don’t judge me – you notice storytelling details that flew right past teenage me. The way Sheik’s appearances are perfectly timed to advance the plot without feeling forced. How each temple reflects its sage’s personality and backstory. The way the same musical themes get rearranged between the child and adult sections, creating completely different emotional responses to familiar melodies.
The voice work was minimal but absolutely perfect. Link’s various grunts and battle cries gave him personality without actual dialogue. Navi’s “Hey! Listen!” became iconic before we even knew what memes were. Ganondorf’s evil laugh was genuinely sinister in a way that text-based villains never managed. Nintendo understood that sometimes less is more, especially when your voice samples are competing for cartridge space with everything else.
What really gets me, playing this game on my old CRT setup today, is how well the art direction holds up. Yeah, the polygon counts look rough by modern standards, but the character animations still have life to them. The environments tell stories through pure visual design. Riding Epona across Hyrule Field at sunset while that orchestral score swells in the background… it’s still breathtaking, honestly. Still gives me chills every single time.
That weird three-pronged controller, once you adapted to it, was perfectly designed for this specific game. The analog stick gave you precise 3D movement that the Saturn’s digital pad couldn’t match. The C buttons worked brilliantly for ocarina sections and camera control. That Z button sat exactly where your finger naturally wanted to rest. We all complained about having three handles when humans only have two hands, but in practice, you held the center grip and right side, and it felt natural within minutes.
Ocarina of Time wasn’t just a great game – it was a blueprint that influenced adventure gaming for the next twenty-five years. Lock-on targeting, context-sensitive controls, seamless transitions between exploration and combat… you can trace direct lines from this game to everything from Dark Souls to Breath of the Wild. Nintendo didn’t just make a good Zelda game; they figured out how 3D action-adventure games should work, period.
Sometimes I fire up that dusty N64 – yeah, I still blow the cartridge for good luck, shut up – and remember being completely blown away that games could be this ambitious. This cinematic. This emotionally engaging. It made me temporarily forget my Sega allegiance, and you know what? Twenty-five years later, I’m still not sorry about that betrayal. Some games are just worth switching sides for.
Joe’s a history teacher who treats the console wars like actual history. A lifelong Sega devotee from Phoenix, he writes with passion, humor, and lingering heartbreak over the Dreamcast. Expect strong opinions, bad puns, and plenty of “blast processing.”
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