The summer of ’91 was pretty much defined by two disasters: my first attempt at growing facial hair (which looked like someone had glued dryer lint to my chin), and discovering the Final Fight cabinet tucked in the corner of Chuck E. Cheese where my mom dragged me to babysit my little sister. I’d already spent two years getting my butt kicked in Double Dragon at various pizza joints around Phoenix, but Final Fight was different. This wasn’t just button mashing – this was art.
Look, I know beat ’em ups aren’t exactly Shakespeare, but there’s something pure about the formula that just works. Walk right. Punch bad guys. Grab whatever weapons you can find. Punch bigger bad guys. Save whoever needs saving. It’s gaming stripped down to its absolute core, and honestly? Sometimes that’s exactly what you need after spending all day trying to convince teenagers that the War of 1812 actually matters.
Double Dragon gets credit for really nailing down what these games should be, even though Kung-Fu Master came first. But Double Dragon had everything – two players beating the crap out of street gangs together, weapons you could pick up and swing around, and those special moves that would clear out a whole crowd if you were willing to sacrifice some health. Me and my buddy Marcus would bike down to the 7-Eleven every day after school, pockets heavy with quarters we’d “borrowed” from our moms’ purse change, ready to battle through those grimy city streets again.
The co-op thing was huge, man. I mean, most games back then were either single-player or competitive. But beat ’em ups let you actually work together, watch each other’s backs, share the glory. There was this instant bond that formed when someone else dropped a quarter next to yours. Suddenly you’re not just playing a game – you’re partners in digital vigilantism. Of course, you’d also accidentally punch each other constantly when things got chaotic, but that was half the fun.
My little brother and I had this weird truce whenever we played beat ’em ups together. Normally we’d be trying to kill each other over who got the last Pop-Tart, but put us in front of Streets of Rage and suddenly we’re this coordinated fighting unit. “Watch the guy with the knife!” “I’ll take the fat dude!” “Don’t use your special yet!” For maybe thirty minutes, we actually liked each other. Then we’d turn off the Genesis and immediately go back to normal sibling warfare, but those brief moments of cooperation were… actually pretty great.
When Final Fight hit arcades in ’89, it was like someone had taken everything good about beat ’em ups and cranked it up to eleven. The sprites were huge, the animation was smooth, and Capcom’s attention to detail was just incredible. Plus they gave you three completely different characters – Haggar the wrestler, Cody the street fighter, and Guy the ninja. Each one played totally differently, which meant you could replay the game three times and have completely different experiences.
Of course, when Final Fight came to the SNES, Capcom butchered it. Missing character, missing stages, no two-player mode, and they replaced the female enemies with dudes because Nintendo was apparently terrified of players beating up women, even digital ones. My friend’s older brother explained this to us with the kind of authority only sixteen-year-olds possess, and we nodded like we understood the complicated cultural implications instead of just being bummed we couldn’t play as Guy.
Thank God for Sega and Streets of Rage, because that series absolutely perfected the formula. The combat system had actual depth – you could chain attacks together, use the environment, time your specials for maximum effect. I spent hours mastering Blaze’s movesets (she was clearly the best balanced character, don’t @ me), figuring out exactly when to use each attack, when to grab enemies, when to jump kick multiple targets at once.
The special move system created these incredible risk-reward moments that still give me anxiety thinking about them. You’re surrounded by enemies, health running low, and you’ve got this nuclear option that’ll clear the screen but cost you precious life points. Do you risk it? Do you try to fight your way out manually? I can still feel that moment of hesitation, finger hovering over the button combination, weighing the odds. Usually I’d chicken out and try to punch my way through, which inevitably got me killed anyway.
Golden Axe proved the formula worked outside modern urban settings too. Same basic gameplay – walk right, hit things – but now you’re in some fantasy world fighting skeletons and riding weird dragon creatures. The magic system was brilliant, collecting those little blue guys (I still don’t know what they were supposed to be) to power increasingly ridiculous spells. My friend Jerry always insisted on playing the dwarf because his spin attack was obviously overpowered, which led to endless arguments about character balance that probably prepared me for modern fighting game discussions.
Every beat ’em up veteran develops their own survival strategies. Mine involved hoarding special attacks for emergencies, never eating health items until absolutely necessary, and – this is crucial – never trusting that a boss is actually dead until the game explicitly moves you to the next area. Learned that last one the hard way when the final boss in Streets of Rage got back up and ended what would’ve been my first one-credit clear. The language that came out of my mouth would’ve gotten me detention if my mom had heard it.
The food placement in these games was always hilariously absurd. Why is there a perfectly preserved turkey dinner sitting in a trash can? How did that apple survive being inside a wooden crate I just smashed with a pipe? Why am I eating random food I found on the street in the first place? None of these questions mattered when you were one hit from death and spotted a hamburger just sitting there in the middle of a warehouse. My brother and I created this elaborate backstory about a mysterious chef who followed behind the action, strategically placing meals where fighters would need them most.
The difference between beat ’em ups and fighting games is fascinating when you think about it. Fighting games became all about frame data and precise inputs and one-on-one mind games. Beat ’em ups stayed focused on crowd control, positioning, endurance. Both genres came from similar roots but went totally different directions. I loved both, but beat ’em ups were always more immediately satisfying – there’s something magical about clearing an entire screen of enemies with one well-timed special move.
When 3D gaming started taking over in the mid-90s, beat ’em ups struggled to translate. Games like Fighting Force tried to bring the formula into three dimensions, but something got lost. The simple left-to-right progression, the clear stage structure, the immediate visual feedback – it didn’t always work in 3D space. I remember renting Fighting Force for PlayStation and feeling disappointed. Not because it was terrible, but because it lacked that immediate punch-to-the-face satisfaction of the 2D classics.
For years, the genre seemed dead, existing only in retro compilations and nostalgic retrospectives. But man, the recent revival has been incredible to watch. Streets of Rage 4 proved that the formula still works when developers actually understand what made the originals great. First time I played it with my brother – we’re both in our forties now, dealing with mortgages and kids and all that adult garbage – and within minutes we were yelling the same callouts we used twenty-five years ago.
Modern games like Castle Crashers, Scott Pilgrim, River City Girls have shown there’s still life in the genre. They’ve kept the core experience intact while adding contemporary touches – RPG progression, online multiplayer, more complex combo systems. But the heart remains the same: walk right, punch dudes, feel awesome.
I’ve got a Final Fight cabinet in my basement now, rescued from a closing arcade back in 2003. Cost more than my first car, nearly ended my relationship at the time, and required three grown men and a dolly to get down the stairs without killing anyone. Ex-girlfriend is long gone, but Final Fight’s still there, still eating quarters that now go into a jar marked “Future Arcade Purchases.” Some obsessions never fade, and honestly? I’m okay with that.
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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