Picture this: you’re watching your favorite video game in the whole world. Actually, you’re waiting to watch your favorite video game in the whole world. The stream has been delayed for about 30 minutes or 45 minutes or 90 minutes – you lost track of time – but the words “Melee Top 8 is next!” are on the screen. No matter how long it has taken, you have been given the promise of a beautiful future in which you, the viewer, get to watch high-level, high-stakes matches of Super Smash Bros. Melee. Then, you see this.
What you are looking at, right now, is THE TRICAST: the worst fear of several of your favorite Melee commentators. For that matter, it’s a format I’ve come to dread as a viewer. Nobody wants it, nobody likes it, and yet the heads of our biggest tournaments have seemingly decided that this three-horned polyamorous commentator relationship is the way to go.
But is it possible that I’m just wrong? Are tricasts secretly the future?
What’s the problem?
Melee is very fast. If you talk about something you notice on screen, you have roughly about two seconds to explain it before something else happens. As a result, Melee commentary is inherently more conversational than focused. In general, the game does not lend itself easily to traditional play-by-play, though it can occasionally work when done well. However, one of the most important skills you can have, as a commentator, is not interrupting your partner.
In a duo, this is much easier to maintain, because it’s only two people. According to one commentator I spoke to, it’s way easier to learn your co-caster’s natural cadences, timings, word choices, and areas of insight when you don’t have to worry about another person. You can adapt to any situation way easier, and the same can be said for the other person too. However, the same can’t be said for a tricast. By the words of the same commentator, “there is almost always going to be an odd person out in a tricast.”
To prepare for this piece, I put on my wannabe Pro Football Focus analyst hat, watched major top eight videos, and tracked one commentary-specific stat in particular: “awkward exchanges.” I considered these times when a commentator interrupted someone else, spoke at the same time in a manner that felt significantly distracting, or, broadly speaking, when a commentator interjected or forced a statement that threw their co-caster off-rhythm.
Disclaimer: this is obviously subjective. In fact, I may actually sound like a psychopath for doing this. If a commentary union were to form after this, in fear that I will now apply these to every major top eight and expose them, I accept the consequences of my actions. However, I thought it was too funny to pass up.
In the first game of Melee Top 8 from Wavelength 2024 – Aklo vs. moky – I counted eight awkward exchanges in three minutes and 32 seconds. Meanwhile, for a different tricast in the first game of grand finals – Zain vs. Aklo – I counted five awkward exchanges in one minute and 52 seconds. Keep in mind: all the people involved in these tricasts are people whom I enjoy listening to talk about Melee. However, it’s hard to rewatch these sets and not feel like they were put in a strictly inferior format.
As a point of comparison, I checked out the first game of Hungrybox vs. Wally at Riptide 2024, which featured a duo-cast. I counted barely two instances of them technically speaking over each other or at the same time in four minutes and 35 seconds, and that was me deliberately being strict about the “speaking at the same time” clause. I then did the same thing for game one of Zain vs. Cody Schwab in grand finals. At most, I counted four times when they technically talked at the same time, but only one of them was honestly anywhere close to as awkward as what happened in the tricasts. Let’s split the difference and call it two, for argument’s sake, in a clean two minutes and 30 seconds.
Obviously, I only looked at four games here. I didn’t account for the quality of a match, prior commentated sets, nor did I even account for the commentators involved, the events themselves, and several other factors I’m sure I’m missing. It’s also only one facet of commentary. But however limited my methods on commentary analysis may be, here’s what I have: 13 awkward interjections in 342 seconds of tricast commentary vs. four awkward interjections in 425 seconds of commentary. One awkward moment every 32.69 seconds versus one awkward moment every 106.25 seconds.
It is quite possible that you will want to punch me in the face for scrutinizing commentary to this extent. This is a field where the vibes honestly matter way more than any semblance of data. I’m not exactly dodging the “nerds are ruining Melee” allegations here, and I don’t think that my data gathering process is particularly bulletproof. Let’s assume, however, that my numbers are correct, and that every Melee top eight is about 3 hours long. By what I’ve measured, a duo will have 101.64 awkward exchanges for an entire top eight, while a tricast will have 330.37 awkward exchanges. Not all of them will be noticeable – and I was admittedly trying to be strict on my criteria – but to this viewer (myself), it seemed to confirm my belief that tricasts were messier, and not in a particularly enjoyable way.
Can a tricast ever work?
I talked to one commentator about the benefits of a tricast over a duo. One of the things they mentioned was the fact that tricasts inherently gave more opportunities for rising commentators to gain more valuable experience in casting high-stakes sets. At the moment, the top echelon of Melee commentary is actually fairly static: with people like Vish, Toph, Brandon, and Walt as near-locks to commentate any top eight at a big enough event. Without discrediting the work they put into their craft, they undeniably have a name-recognition advantage and far more experience over less experienced casters.
Conversely, a separate commentator told me, “the opportunity doesn’t mean shit, if it’s a difficult environment to give your best performance.” The same commentator also said, “justifying tricasts by giving new commentators more exposure actually hurts them, because [they’re] then forced to work in a fucking tricast.”
Some commentators were skeptical of tricasts being strictly worse. One in particular said they merely required and rewarded a slightly different set of skills. In particular, established rapport and clearly defined roles or dynamics made the difference in whether a tricast works or doesn’t. After talking to this person, I watched even more old major and regional top eights, instead focusing on the events that featured tricasts. Additionally, I decided to take a more vibes-based approach – rather than tracking awkward exchanges again, I enjoyed it at the moment.
Upon more consideration, I think there’s two types of tricasts that can work: the first of which I like to call the homie squad approach. These three people have to be friends, they have to share similar enough perspectives on the game, but they also have to be distinct enough communicators to stand out from each other. A particular trio that comes to mind here: the Fourside Fights lads in Chroma, The Cheat, and Jackzilla.
I am not especially impartial when it comes to these three. However, I think their commentary at Mainstage 2022 was fantastic. There’s a balance of manicness, cool, strange cultural analogies, deep knowledge of the players, and an understanding of the broader stakes to the event and 2022 Melee. If it was chaotic or awkward at times, it was part of the appeal. At best, it was the risk taken for the moments including all of them to bring more energy to a set than a typical duo.
NOTE: I said before that I would not track awkward exchanges. I lied. I couldn’t help myself. I counted three in 217 seconds of game one above, which is around one per 72.3 seconds. Upon consideration, and already taking into account the very stupid nature of this statistic, maybe a tricast doesn’t necessarily have to be more glaringly awkward than a duo.
The second type of tricast was more prominent in 2022, and it essentially is the “two and a half people” commentary setup. This typically features a play-by-play caster, a more analytical co-caster, and a specialist that talks in between games or sets to give stats or, generally speaking, any additional insight to an upcoming matchup. Panda Global, for my many qualms with them, brought this style of commentary to the forefront of big events that year, at CEO 2022 and Lost Tech City.
This format essentially retains the dynamic of a duo during live action Melee. Meanwhile the last person can contribute enough in value for out-of-game or contextual information to make a set worth watching. The most important trait of this third person: shutting the fuck up during the majority of the actual match.
NOTE: For the last time in this column – I swear – I examined the awkward exchange rate: only one in two minutes and 50 seconds for game one. If this is pointing to anything – which it may not be – it’s that this set-up is probably the more realistic way to go with people who haven’t commentated together often.
My main takeaway: if events are going to implement tricasts, it can’t be as simple as putting three random people on commentary together and telling them to figure it out. It has to involve an established trio of people with natural chemistry or a focused trio with set roles.
The difference between a quadcast and a tricast
Some of you reading this say that this exact same criticism could apply to a quadcast or couch-style commentary setting. I don’t quite agree. A quadcast works best in an intimate environment – like an invitational or special event – where it effectively simulates the live energy of a crowd. Even if there are interruptions or awkward interjections between casters, the end result is something that feels far more organic and lively. In other words, it’s worth the risk to create a significantly more exciting environment than a tricast.
However, I don’t like quadcasts in most major top eights. Genesis, Collision, and Shine did this in 2023, and while the commentary wasn’t bad, it was strictly worse than if the events had stuck with set duos. In general, they added more noise to the chaos of the crowd, but in a way that felt distracting from the end product. Conversely, I think they can work in a big regional. In such circumstances, the crowd mic is a bit more intense and condensed to a set group of people, rather than say the thousand-plus that might be there at a major. But this is only if the talent is present, and if they can adequately navigate the chaos of an intense crowd. Otherwise, I’d steer clear.
To bring this back to tricasts, they don’t go as far as quadcasts go in terms of simulating the energy of an audience. Worst yet, it’s much tougher for casters to get into a good rhythm with each other the same way that it is in a duo. In most cases, somebody becomes the awkward third person – or they hold the other two hostage. With four people, however, this isn’t the case, since there always is someone to bounce off from.
TO perspective
Naturally, there’s a whole other side of the equation when it comes to commentary: the events that hire these people. Upon talking to a variety of different organizers, the reasons for why tricasts exist have to do with convenience and the nature of tournament organizing.
One tourney organizer said that it was genuinely difficult to deny people opportunities. Another said that it was a matter of priorities. Even if a specific block of commentary wasn’t guaranteed from the onset, they could put off scheduling commentary groups until later and focus on other elements of their event. Many times, having a tri-cast amid a large staff of available commentators is way easier than having fewer commentators. The decision-making calculus becomes more straightforward when considering risk – what happens if you hire a small pool of casters, and then the ones you have scheduled for top eight show up late? Having more commentators gives tournament organizers more flexibility in advance for their event.
The return on investment isn’t immediately noticeable either. Even if the end product is strictly worse – which it may not be – is there really a significant chunk of viewers who will tune out of a stream because there are three casters instead of two? There’s simply no incentive, outside of listening to a few commentators, or very passionate individual fans, for organizers to change anything about what they’re doing.
no more tricasts ever for the LOVE OF GOD
— webs (@webssmash) October 7, 2024
At the same time, none of these points have to do with the actual product being placed on screen. Tournament organizers have the right to do what they want with their events – nobody is entitled to having a streamed tournament run a specific commentary format – but if the decision is to have a top eight in the first place, having a tricast, in most cases, is strictly worsening the broadcast and making commentators’ jobs more miserable. If you regularly run an event, are reading this and are throwing your hands up, I get it. Maybe you’re thinking that it’s a lose-lose, with the alternative to hiring unhappy commentators being to disappoint and reject more commentators.
Here’s the thing: I, a viewer, would be thrilled if you did that. Nobody watches a broadcast of Toph and Vish and says, “wow, I wish this other person was there.” When a tricast is on, I’m not thinking, “Thank goodness that we have a tricast so that the TO can do something else.” Instead, I’m thinking, “this sucks” and “why do we have to deal with this?” Clearly, I’m not the only one.
Is there a middle ground?
If having an available, ready, and flexible staff is of utmost importance to TO, then I suggest using them in a capacity that isn’t strictly commentating a live set and making the live product worse. One idea in particular that I’ve always thought could work well is an analyst desk before the top eight.
This obviously requires a bit of coordination and work, but it could work well with the right group of people. I wouldn’t say that casting sets and talking about Melee in a pre-show are the same exact skill, but they are roughly similar. Obviously, there’s logistical issues involved here that may be a hassle for stream runners or tournament organizers. However, at a large enough event considering tricasts anyways, I find it difficult to believe that this couldn’t be done. What’s so important that this can’t be coordinated? Doubles?
Another alternative: bring back brief post-set breakdowns and analyses, much like the ones Golden Guardians did for their exhibitions. Granted, this format is hard to execute well, but with practice, I could see this style working better. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Ultimately, however, these are suggestions on how to use existing people left out of opportunities they’d otherwise get in a tricast. It’s possible that maybe they’re not logistically feasible for a major. If that’s the case, then I’d honestly go as far as to say that I would prefer that organizers learn how to say “no” and manage a smaller staff.
Conclusion
I always like talking about commentary. Although I am way too self conscious and intense of a figure to ever dedicate my time in Melee to speaking on camera, I spend a lot of time thinking about commentary. It’s not too different from typical content creation, in a sense. At the core it’s basically storytelling in a series of soundbites over top-level Melee.
Not to repeat everyone else here, but commentary is a large part of what makes Melee fun to watch. That’s not to say it necessarily makes or breaks my enjoyment of the game – but it is an important ‘thing’ with immeasurable value that I typically like to see done well, and that starts with the way events currently schedule commentary. I hope the perspectives I’ve shared have added something new or valuable to the discourse surrounding tricasts. If not, then I tried my best to kill this format (or get you, the reader, to think about them a little more critically).