A gamer my age really shouldn’t have any shame left by now. Years of horrible plots, heroins with physically impossible physiques, male leads with swoopy emo hair, and grinding to unlock every last costume really should’ve ground any bit of manliness or pride I may have been born with into just another handful of dust. Luckily, I happen to be an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks he’s an Internet celebrity just waiting to be discovered. The following list details the events that occasionally make me briefly second-guess that assessment.
5. Getting obliterated in a Super Mario Bros. 3 contest.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I was ten, I think. One of the local high schools, or maybe it was a youth center or something, hosted a video game contest. There was a cash prize for the player who got the highest score in Super Mario Bros. 3 at the end of ten minutes. No problem, I thought, reflecting on the multiple occasions I destroyed Bowser and his little bastards with nary a toot on a warp whistle. I was going to The Wizard the shit out of that contest.
There was just one problem: I was a goody little two-shoes. I took pride in my gaming, and I refused to take a shortcut. Repeatedly bouncing on goombas coming out of a pipe in World 1-2 was beneath me. That was for cheaters and lowlifes and losers with no skill. The honorable strategy, I decided, was a speed run: blow through each level as quickly as possible to earn extra bonus points.
Needless to say, said contest was full of cheaters, lowlifes, and losers with no skill. I finished dead last. As if to foreshadow the imminent arrival of Red Foreman on our television screens, my father told me point blank that I was a dumbass. I did not and do not disagree.
4. That week I spent creating myself in Smackdown vs. Raw 2010.
Every detail had to be just right. The manly beard. The perfectly coiffed hair. The winged pentagram tattoo on my back. The bad-ass hooded vest. The baggy pants lined with brown and tan flames. The fiery entrance, which I only just realized once belonged to Booker T. I ripped Yellowcard’s “Lights and Sounds” onto my 360 so I’d have proper entrance music. I Create-a-Finisher’ed the baddest ass moonsault on the planet. And then I let the magic happen. Universe Mode (the most awesome thing ever) quickly put me into a tag team with the Fighting Irishman, Finlay, which I promptly renamed Car Bomb. “Archangel” Scott Colby is going to take the ‘E by motherfucking storm – although I am royally pissed that the announcers pronounce it “Arch”angel and not “Ark”angel, because the latter is infinitely cooler and if I have to explain why you’re obviously a moron. And stop trying to interfere in my matches, MVP. I know you’re half-man and half-amazing, but that is no excuse to start shit.
After I win my first title and turn on my good friend Finlay, it’s time for a swank-ass business suit, a black feathered boa, and a pair of shades darker than my cold, cold soul. And a switch to the “All About the Benjamins” rock remix as my entrance music.
3. Never finishing Ninja Gaiden.
The NES version, folks. My grandmother could beat the 360 Ninja Gaidens. But those damn birds that would wait to make a move until I was halfway across a pit…and the utter helplessness of being trapped clinging to the side of a ledge with a machine gunner just above me…and those two times I managed to reach the final boss on my last life and my last continue…sometimes they still make me wake up in a cold sweat. I could beat the original Mega Man with my eyes closed. Metroid II was my bitch. Ninja Gaiden is my white whale.
2. That time my girlfriend walked in on me playing the strip club level in Persona 4.
My explanation: “It’s ok, the developers are Japanese. They’re weird.” That seemed to work. Luckily she went away and I didn’t have to explain what the fuck Teddy is or why that girl pretends she’s a boy or why that other dude doesn’t want to go into the bathhouse level.
1. Getting teary-eyed at the end of Final Fantasy X.
Shut up! That was a beautiful, touching story of doomed, unrequited love! I don’t care that the male lead was a whiny bitch in girly suspender pants! I don’t care that his daddy issues would’ve driven him to porn had he been a woman! I don’t care that the laughing scene is probably the absolute worst cut scene in the history of ever! I don’t care that the overall plot made about as much sense as blaming a strip club level on another culture’s idiosyncrasies! That was BEAUTIFUL, DAMN IT!
STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! GO AWAY!