Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3

released on Oct 28, 2001

You may not be able to live like the legend, but now you can skate like him. Skate as the legendary Tony Hawk or choose from a dream team of 12 top pro skaters, including old favorites like Lasek, Thomas, Muska, and Steamer, as well as new talent like Gilfberg, Caballero, Koston, and Mullen. Or enjoy full customization abilities with the enhanced Create-a-Skater (now including female skaters) and the Skatepark Editor. Travel from L.A. to Tokyo, Suburbia to Skater's Island performing challenges and meeting goals. New moves include the Revert, which allows you to link vert tricks, and flatland tricks such as Caspers, the Primo, and Handstand Manual. If you're good, you can even unlock hidden pro footage.


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When your wheels touched concrete in the summer of 1999, you were sure nothing would ever compare to this. Propelled downhill, less by gravity but more by the venerated asphalt spirit, skaters far and wide convened here, a jam to end all jams. While you were happy doing everything you could, holding on to what you were, you couldn’t help but stare skyward at the street zephyrs soaring suspended; They careened through the air, making waxed wood and molded metal both their playthings. As you crashed down to the soul-shattering gravel, face bloodied and back broken, you could only wonder how they ascended from simple skaterdom, piercing the heavens of the board.
It took a year of shattered bones and busted lines to reclaim those halcyon days. A year of spilt blood and scattered teeth, splintered wood and worn polyurethane. It all felt like a dream then, placing bronze out in Roswell, but the age of simple skating had come and gone. You perfected flatland balance, dual-wheel worship at the altar of Mullen, but even perfection wasn’t enough for elusive gold; the Bullring by the Sea didn’t just cost you your metal, it cost you years of knowing you weren't good enough.
So now we’re here. Somehow, another year felt like two decade’s separation; Gone was the California sun, the first to die in the American Wasteland. A nation of Sparrows and Jackasses, failed projects and unproven theories, crept under wheel, biting at the ankles of the past. The spirit of yesterday was buried underground, leaving today to mourn in remembrance.
Well, maybe for some. The only angels you prayed to struck gold, immortalized in sharp vertexes and warped textures. They would be memorialized not in the world’s destruction, but in a final tour, eight stops; a send-off of olden days.
You forged your craft, refining your spark-casting perfection on the rails of automation, before skating to the north. Calgary’s frost-bitten hospitality was the first real test, but as if guided by Hawk’s holy hand, the snowy providence of Alberta bowed down, hailing 900s and McTwists like the second coming. For the first time in decades, a smile spreads across your face, your cheeks still rosy-red from the icy air…
You blink, and awaken to a crowd cheering your name. Looking down on the masses, faces revered and reviled stare back; Muska, Campbell, Reynolds and Margera. You glance around for Burnquist, hoping to celebrate with the hometown hero, but the master is missing in action. Somehow, you were sure you’d be able to show off this gold to him somewhere down the line.
It repeats, on and on: Suburbia becomes New Jersey, the Airport becomes a Mall. Twenty years made it all blend together. Even now, your second gold medal in hand, it barely feels like you’re awake. When those wheels roll, maple boards of a bygone age, time disappears, rendered in heelflips and darkslides. The pomp and circumstance of it all becomes an excuse, more than anything. In your immortalized element, the past is as real as you remember it.
The final jam beckons; neo-chrome Tokyo glistens, welcoming only the best of the best. The competition rages on, dreams dashed in fractured bones and dislocations. No matter what you do, face-to-face with your idols, no, your contemporaries, there's no break, no chance to cover lost ground. Rivals dwindle as career-ending injuries take one after another, but the legendary Birdman flies past.
Seconds are left in the last heat; only a miracle will change the course of destiny. You think to the future, to the final 900 and the first 1260. As if coming free from its wheels, the board possesses you one last time, as you pivot hard on impact, momentum propelling you into the cosmos.
180. 360. 540.
Tony looks skyward, the same shine that was in your eyes twenty years prior.
Two rotations. The 900. 1080.
Nothing else matters. An amoeba with a mind of its own, an ace of spades, whatever you were and where you come from don't matter. This lone moment, spinning on a golden axis, is what it all comes down to.
Zero seconds. You don't bother looking at the scoreboard; you knew better than to think that's what this is about.
All you were looking for was this lone moment of perfection, a revision of the summer of '99. You wrap your hand tight around your medal - does it even matter what it is? - as you board the plane back to California. Staring out the window, you see the past and future together, a first-hand account of what it's like when worlds collide. You never forget the past, and tomorrow closes in fast, but this single moment is eternal.
All the grand gestures can't ease your wonder. You finally unwrap the medal and take it in.
100% Pure Gold.

Played it to death, so I'd rather play other entries.

Think of all the things I do
And I still hold the thought of you
With someone else I know it's true
So far away
And I can only hold my breath
And start to die a lonely death
With you and me and all the rest
So far away, yeah...
Don't say I told you so
One thing you'll never know
You're not the same
You've changed
I don't need you anyway
You're not the person that I believed in yesterday
You're not the same
You've changed
I don't need you anyway
You're not the person that I believed in yesterday
I can't hold it back, you see
I know it all comes back to me
You must have practiced hard to be
So far away
Never wanted me to show
Just write me off I let you go
And now there's more for you to know
So far away
Don't say I told you so
One thing you'll never know
You're not the same
You've changed
I don't need you anyway
You're not the person that I believed in yesterday
You're not the same
You've changed
Something's missing anyway
You're not the person that I believed in yesterday
That I believed in yesterday
Don't say I told you so
One thing you'll never know
You're not the same
You've changed
I don't need you anyway
You're not the person that I believed in yesterday
You're not the same
You've changed
I don't need you anyway
You're not the person that I believed in yesterday
That I believed in yesterday

The THPS series is easily in my Top 10 series for hours logged and very possibly Top 5. THPS 3 and 4 blend together for me and I wouldn't be able to tell you which levels were in which, but that's exactly the reason they need to do a 3+4 Remaster with the 1+2 Remaster engine.

my favorite pro skater game by a nautical mile

Es una nueva versión del juego favorito de los skaters, que, en su tercera entrega, aparte de la favorable mejoría en las gráficas, añade nuevas características al gameplay, nuevos escenarios con misiones y objetos a encontrar, personajes ocultos a desbloquear, y una excelente experiencia multijugador que entretiene lo suficiente. La posibilidad de crear a tu personaje favorito e inclusive modificar a alguno de los preexistentes es una buena característica, eso sin contar que los personajes no son nada más ni nada menos que algunos de los skaters más habilidosos del momento. Es así como podremos controlar a Eric Koston, Bucky Lasek, Bam Margera, Rodney Mullen y por supuesto a nuestro querido Tony Hawk. Un buen título, que entretiene y sale adelante, más aún en la caja cuadrada de Nintendo, ya que jugar Pro Skater 3 con su majestuoso control, es algo que sus contrapartes no pueden igualar.