Shigeru Miyamoto is God. Well, at least he was to my young eyes. It’s really not so absurd when you think about it: he was around long before I was born and created countless virtual worlds teeming with life (the biblical God only managed one!). I have nearly spent more time immersed in his worlds than the one I was born into. And like many young worshipers, every night I would say a prayer with the good book at my side.

 

Now you have to understand that I’m not normally the type to become star-struck, unless grabbing the power-up in Mario counts. In my 26 years on this planet, I’ve had run-ins with celebrities such as Diana Ross and Rupert Murdoch, who shuffled past my cubicle once when I worked at IGN. And I paid neither more than a passing glance (I’m sure they were both very concerned by my apathy).

Okay, so maybe a fading 60s pop-star and a dying business tycoon aren’t the best examples on which to base my apparent resistance to slack-jawed celebrity sightings. Regardless, there are virtually no celebrities I care about on a level any deeper than the entertainment they provide. But Miyamoto is different: I grew up with his creations. While he may not be a god, it’s not at all an exaggeration to say he played a very important role in my life, even if indirectly. Nearly every job I’ve had since starting my career has been related to the gaming industry and it’s almost entirely because of my love for his games.

Without Mario and Zelda in my life, I probably wouldn’t have worked at Nintendo as a phone monkey.

 

...nor would I have been hired at IGN as a guide monkey...

 

 

...and I definitely wouldn’t have been hired by GameSpot as an editor monkey...

 

 

(yes, I really was too lazy to change anything but the logo.)

In short, Miyamoto helped shape my life and, if not a god, is definitely my inspiration.

As such, I knew I had to meet him. Luckily, I would soon have a chance to. I was “hired” (begged mercilessly) as a writer for Nintendojo at the tender age of 14. Dozens of articles and two years later, I would find myself at 2001’s E3 (for those doing the math at home, yes, I was only 16--a good two years below the 18 age-limit for E3. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem for either E3 officials, nor the awesome bartender in Pelican’s E3 booth).

Of course, arguably the most exciting moments of E3 are the press conferences, where the biggest game creators show off their latest creations, live. And being as this was 2001, Nintendo’s was set to unveil everything about their then-upcoming system, the GameCube. Needless to say, this was going to be huge. And to cover such a huge event, Nintendojo sent nearly 20 editors to the event. Like I said, HUGE. Like American Idol huge.

 

Now it may be easy to forget, but in the days before GoNintendo, Nintendojo used to be the go-to place for everything Nintendo (it was founded by IGN’s Peer Schneider, after all). As such, we all equipped ourselves with the latest in fashion: $70 hockey jerseys emblazed with the Nintendojo logo, to help spread the word.

Provided this was the first E3 for most of us, many of the editors were eager to meet the man himself, Miyamoto (though none as much as me, I assure you). So we brought with us a gift: his very own Nintendojo jersey! Complete with Miyamoto’s name etched on the back! Who wouldn’t love such a thing? (In retrospect: everyone). The plan was to deliver it to him personally at Nintendo’s press conference.

The morning of the conference, the entire ‘dojo crew woke up early (Nintendo likes to hold their conferences at the crack of dawn for some inexplicable reason) and piled into a pair of taxis like they were clown cars (protip: if you ever need to travel with 20 other people, splurge on a third taxi. It’s worth it.) We arrived and were herded like animals into an area just outside the auditorium’s doors.

I was nervous. Here I was, 16 years old, at the premier gaming show in the world, about to see my idol up on stage, in person! I felt the beads of sweat forming on my face...though that was probably just due to the hockey jersey.

When the auditorium's doors flung open, chaos ensued in the effort to find a seat. It was like Walmart on Black Friday. I claimed a chair no more than three rows from the stage. “Perfect!” I thought, “I’ll be able see everything from here!” Except for the one thing that mattered to me most.

You see, In the mad rush for my chair, I had become separated from the rest of the Nintendojo crew. I had no idea where they were! It was then that I saw something flash out of the corner of my eye, which I promptly ignored.

I shouldn’t have.

As fate would have it, that flash was a camera bulb. The very bulb that was used to snap the picture that would haunt me to this day.

 

That’s right, the Nintendojo crew had tracked down Miyamoto, presented him with his jersey, and had the picture as proof. And I missed the entire thing! I was devastated.

After returning home, I finally built up the courage to look at the picture again. Something seemed odd though, so I looked a little closer. Everyone in the audience behind Miyamoto was lost in the shadows...except for one person.

 

Me. There I was, behind Miyamoto, forever etched in time as a reminder of my failure. I was so close, and yet so far. Like jumping a chasm in Mario, but falling just pixels short.

 

Although I’ve been to E3 more times than I count since (I can’t count very high), never again have I had such an opportunity. Besides, what would I even say to him? What could I even say?! I don’t speak Japanese! And going by this video taken later that fateful day, neither could my Nintendojo colleague who actually got to speak with--or attempted to, at least--Miyamoto at the end of the conference.

 

 

Okay, so maybe my failure could have been worse after all.

Stay tuned to GameXplain for this year's E3 coverage, and to find out if I will ever meet Miyamoto! (forecast: no).