I’m just going to come right out and say it: these new ‘pro rules’ in Super Mario Party Jamboree are an abomination. This profane attempt to make the game more “fair” is an affront to everything Mario Party stands for. Your forefathers didn’t fight and suffer and (roll the) die so that you can press a button and toggle off everything that feels bad. It’s supposed to feel bad! It’s Mario Party!
Look, the first Mario Party came out on the Nintendo 64 in 1998 and I was there, so trust me when I tell you that you don’t want any part of this pro rules nonsense. Mario Party is not a strategy game, and trying to turn it into one ruins the whole thing. This isn’t about competition, it’s about humiliation.
The point of Mario Party is to try as hard as you can and then fail for no good reason. It’s a series that spits in the face of meritocracy and says, “Everything is made up and the rules don’t matter, but we can still have some fun amidst the chaos.” You can’t make Mario Party fair just like you can’t make life fair.
What matters in both is that you keep trying anyway. I have permanent scars on the palm of my hand from playing Paddle Battle in the original Mario Party. I got gamer stigmata at eight years old from spinning the control stick on the N64 controller so furiously that my palm eventually split open, and then I kept doing it. Why? So I could paddle so fast that my friends’ side of the boat would smash into the wall, then Shy Guys would pop out of the jungle and stab them with spears. I did it so I could have the most coins and buy the most stars and win.
Was it worth it? No, of course not. The game decided to give my dumb friend Greg an extra star for having to repeat the fourth grade (that’s how I remember it at least), which means he won, and I bled all over my atomic purple controller for nothing. But it wasn’t for nothing, not really, and somewhere deep down inside, we all understood that.
That’s Mario Party’s legacy. It gives you nothing but fractured friendships, hand injuries, and a cold, nihilistic feeling that nothing we do matters, but we’re still not giving up. 25 years and 18 games later, I think it’s pretty clear at this point that people like Mario Party the way it is. Well, maybe they don’tlikeit, but theyneedit.
But here comes Super Mario Party Jamboree with its misguided attempt to fix what ain’t broke. Pro rules, described as a ruleset “for players looking to test their skills”, changes everything that makes Mario Party what it is. It cuts out all the variance, takes away any kind of chance, and creates an environment where the best player will almost surely win. It makes me sick.
If you use pro rules, the bonus star is revealed to everyone right when the game starts. Do I even need to continue explaining what a disaster this is? Instead of being blindsided by a totally random and unearned bonus star that upends the entire game at the eleventh hour, everyone can now set their sights on it from the start like it’s the longest road in Catan.
Nothing unexpected can happen. Every space has a fixed outcome. Lucky Spaces give you ten coins, Unlucky Spaces give the player in last place seven coins. There are signs that show where the next star will spawn. There are no hidden blocks. Everyone votes for the minigames and, perhaps worst of all, minigames with prominent luck elements will not appear as choices.
The best mini-game in Jamboree is called Lost and Pound. One player chooses a spot to hide in, and the other three players choose where they think the first person is hiding. If they get it right, the first player gets bashed over the head with a hammer. There’s no strategy, no skill to it at all, and when you inevitably get your skull caved in by a cartoon hammer, it’s the most humbling experience of your entire life. Me, an innocent little Yoshi, getting bludgeoned because of pure random chance. My friends, cackling at my misfortune and celebrating as if they were geniuses, willfully ignorant to the fact that cataclysmic misfortune is right around the corner for them too.
This is what Mario Party is and what it always has been. Pro rules don’t just strip away randomness; they strip away humanity. Don’t be afraid to try and fail, embrace it. Don’t run from an opportunity to experience hopelessness and dismay and triumph and hubris back and forth, and all at once. You can play it safe and stick to pro rules, protect yourself from all those unfair things life might throw at you. Or you can not be a coward and play Mario Party the way it’s meant to be played.
