10.16.07
Hyrule: A Market Hungry for Franchises
So, lately, in between rounds of Team Fortress 2, I’ve been piecing my way through The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass. It’s a decent game overall, but on no less than two occasions now, I’ve come across areas of the game that lead me to believe that Hyrule is in serious need of some experienced entrepreneurs. Below are my thoughts on this grave crisis.
The ‘minigame shop’ in which Link gets the opportunity to fling bombs or shoot arrows at targets or race across a course for fabulous prizes is a staple of the Zelda series. However, in past games, it could be assumed that the proprietors of such shops were purely philanthropists. After all, no shop could be expected to turn a decent profit by giving customers the chance to win a priceless artifact which increases your lifespan in exchange for a mere 20 Rupees.
However, in Phantom Hourglass, we get concrete evidence that this is not the case. After speaking to the owners of both the ‘minigame shops’ I encountered, they expressed that they were only in the minigame business to help make ends meet. Make ends meet? If the Goron racetrack I encountered is any indication as to how most Gorons try to make their living, there must be many a Goron child out there right now going without their RDA of rocks.
This particular minigame had a 50 Rupee entrance fee. Fifty Rupees! I can’t begin to express how many Octoroks I had to force Link to obsessively slay before coming up with that kind of scratch. However, since it was for the Goron children, I ponied up the fee. The minigame itself I will not describe here, suffice to say that on my first try I achieved a time five seconds below the one they were looking for. Huzzah! The Goron owner congratulated me heartily and offered me the choice of several boxes, ostensibly containing the aforementioned fabulous prizes that tend to permeate these types of places.
My choice ended up being a functional item with a value of 1,000 Rupees.
1,000. Three zeroes.
Any thoughts of charity immediately flew from my mind. I now had only one goal: to take this stupid granite-backed bastard for everything he had. My greedy hands immediately forked over a second entry fee, and soon I had bested the record time by nine seconds.
My prize this time was a valuable treasure worth 1,500 Rupees.
I immediately felt guilty. Several Goron children frolicked nearby, blissfully unaware of the fact that their father had just signed away their right to solid food for the next six months. I looked away, taking the first opportunity to politely scamper back to my ship. In an effort to redeem myself, I tried to think of ways that this was a viable business plan. Maybe the prizes were stolen? This seemed unlikely, as you would think the Hero of Time would be well aware of any organized crime going on in His sphere of influence, and I hadn’t heard of any. Maybe there were a lot of rather slow customers with deep pockets in the area? This was unlikely, given that the track was situated in the middle of nowhere.
Come to think of it, the track was situated on an island that had previously been uncharted. Who the hell starts a business on an uncharted island?! This was the last straw. As I sailed away from that God forsaken place, I knew I had to do something. The world must know of this nation’s plight. And so, I beseech you, dear reader… If you have an MBA, millions of dollars of venture capital to spend or a good business plan with the time and drive to get it off the ground, please, come to Hyrule. They need you more than you know.
And please, please, bring a fucking Starbucks or something.