A basic principle of the Pokémon games is to be superior to your opponents in battles through a tactical approach and choosing the right Pokémon types. Sounds logical, but I take this principle to absurdity. The reason for this led to a stunned shake of the head, but I didn’t care.
In 1999 we were all addicted to one hype: Pokémon. The cute pocket monsters took the hearts of enthusiastic children by storm and everyone wanted to be the very best.
I could call myself the happy owner of a Blue Edition. During my Pokémon trainer career, I developed an unusual and ultimately stubborn passion, which should rob me of my last nerve later in the game.
The starter Pokémon: Of course, there was only one right choice for me
This stubborn passion began with the choice of the starter Pokémon. There I stood in front of Professor Eich, while he presented me and my arch-rivals with a really essential choice: which Pokémon do you choose? This also says a lot about what kind of person you are! (No, probably not, but I’ve had heated discussions about the only correct choice of starter Pokémon.)
My choice fell on the cutest thing my young eyes have seen to date. A being that always carried its own heartwarming flame with it: Charmander.
Maybe my affection for Charmander also came from the anime series. It was introduced there in a very emotional situation, which probably made me very enthusiastic about it.
A pattern emerged and I hit the first hurdles
Collecting Pokémon and thus completing the Pokédex in order to be considered the very best trainer is the declared aim of the game. But I was not interested in having them all, I only wanted those who were most important to me.
As the game progressed, I decided almost exclusively for Fire Pokémon. Not because it would have been tactically smart or because I deliberately imposed a challenge on myself, but simply because I found it pretty or cute. I just had a strong emotional bond with my beloved pocket monsters. From the point of view of the game principle, this may be anything but target-oriented, but my naive and childish self wanted it that way.
The first time I felt the difficulty of this preference was when I met Gym Manager Misty in Azuria City. As is well known, their pool of Pokémon consisted only of those of the Water-type, the greatest weakness of a Fire Pokémon.
So I had significant problems asserting myself against this gym leader and had to pull out all the stops to triumph over her. But I succeeded.
The top four pushed me to the limits of my resilience
So over the time of my coaching career, I developed a rather one-sided pool of Fire Pokémon and other monsters, which I selected based on their cuteness. They were joined by a Vulpix, a Bonita, a Sandan, and other cute Pokémon that were not chosen based on logic or efficiency.
After having had some problems with this selection in the Pokémon world, but was never really stopped, this pattern continued until I was finally at the gates of the top four.
These were among the strongest trainers in the Pokémon world and were a real challenge even with efficiently selected Pokémon. Then I came with my Pokémon, selected according to their cuteness, and wanted to defeat the first trainer, Lorelei.
How did this venture work out? Yes, exactly: catastrophic.
No matter how many times I tried, no matter how hard I tried, and how hard I concentrated to get everything right, I failed every damn time.
I was devastated and no longer understood the world. While everyone else in my circle of friends or classmates had already mastered it, I had not yet managed to be the very best.
Of course, I got advice and tips, of course, I should change my Pokémon, of course, my cute Pokémon were at a disadvantage. But of course, I didn’t want to be put off and kept the same line-up.
Why? Because I didn’t want to give up just because something was difficult or the starting situation wasn’t the best.
After countless attempts, after a lengthy period of time that passed, after stunning shaking of the head of those involved, I achieved the impossible: I defeated Lorelei. With my cute Pokémon. With my team. With my stubborn head.
And in the end, it was worth it. For the unbelievable feeling when you achieved something that everyone thought was impossible or hopeless. Maybe it was artificially self-imposed, but it was just a game and in this one, I decided my own rules of the game. And at best, a game like this was much more than a game and I could learn a life lesson and write a column about it.
Why I am a fly
There is a suitable comparison for my stubborn path: If you lock a bee and a fly in a bottle, where the missing closure leaves the only way to escape, the bee escapes by always flying systematically upwards towards the light. The fly has no concept and flies around aimlessly, and it will escape at some point, but probably much later than the bee.
If you hold the bottle upside down, the bee will probably never escape, but the fly will find its way at some point. The solution can therefore also lie in chaos.