The wait for Street Fighter 4 has been unbearable.
I’ve been nagging my local Gamestop for the past week about it. Reports of retailers getting their shipments in this Tuesday gave me glimmering hope that I may be able to shave off twenty-four hours of agony.
Earlier today hit Gamestop up on speed-dial (go ahead, laugh) to see if this was true.
“Yes, we should have it in tomorrow for pre-orders only, around noon. You have it pre-ordered right?”
Click.
Now back to the wait. I pray this is the final stretch.
The feeling I’m experiencing can only be described with outlandish hyperboles, but for the sake of pacing, I’ll settle on the good ol’ “It’s like when you were a kid on Christmas Eve, and you couldn’t sleep because you were so excited!”
I seriously can’t sleep, so I thought I’d take a little time before tomorrow’s festivities to recollect on some of my fondest Street Fighter memories….
It was on a Sunday during, I’m guessing, the summer of 92’. Cousin Johnny was staying with us for the weekend, which was great because he would always bring over the hottest SNES games that our evil parents wouldn’t buy for us (Mom, if you learned how to use the internet and are reading this, I’m just kidding).
At the time our family was going to church consistently every Sunday, but this week we had managed to get off the hook so we could stay home and play more of Johnny’s minty-new Street Fighter 2.
I never really understood why are parents made us go to church in the first place. Mom and Dad aren’t really that religious. Maybe it had something to do with us living in the same neighborhood that Pit Fighter was digitally captured in (I could see the warehouse from my bedroom window!). It was important that we kept our “good boy” status, but they figured that if they let us stay home to play this game they wouldn’t have to buy it for us. Win/win right? Hehe…If only…
My older brother James, to this day, is the most selfish gamer on the planet. Some of his greatest hits are “dude you get to play all the time!”, “just one more I promise!” and my favorite, “I’ll let you play next time I die”. Wash...Rinse...Repeat.
On that fateful, early Sunday afternoon, James (the brother formerly known as Jamie) had finally figured out how to do all of Ryu’s moves and was convinced that he could finally beat the game on one-star difficulty. For a bunch of kids who never played much Street Fighter in arcades before the phenomenon of the SNES release, this was an epic struggle; one that Jamie truly believed in his heart that he could someday overcome.
Me, Baby Shane and Johnny couldn’t bear to watch. Jamie had a reputation for punching through stuff that shattered when things didn’t go his way—with both parents away at church, there was no telling what he was capable of.
Once Jamie fired up the cart, we all evacuated to our upstairs bedroom to draw Ewoks and Ninja Turtles. The battle cries began shortly after we settled in with our colored pencils and dot-matrix printer paper. The shouting swelled. We couldn’t take it any longer, so we scurried down the stair to check in on our champion. “I’m kicking ass guys! Haven’t lost a round yet!” He had just made short work of Vega and was determined to put an end to Shadaloo, once and for all. The pressure was on, and we didn’t want to come between Jamie and Bison. We headed back upstairs with hopes that he would finally beat the damn game so we could sneak some versus matches in before Johnny had to go home.
It was about around noon. Church had let out about 3O minutes ago and Mom and Dad would be home any minute.
SMASH!
“Oh god! What have I done? NOOOOOOOOO!”
The three of us went downstairs to see what in the hell was going on. The scene was horrific. James had smashed his fist through the top of the Dad’s beloved Magnavox stereo, shattering the record player flip-top. Bison stared out from the screen with that signature smug look on his face. He had won.
“They are going to kill me! Quick! Help me come up with a story!”
Johnny couldn’t hold it in any longer. He belted out in laughter, which, in turn, made me crack up as well.
“Shut the fuck up guys! They are going to kill me and you think it’s funny?”
The clock was ticking, and the blue Crown Vic would be pulling into that gravel driveway soon.
Jamie confided in us for a plan.
“We’ll say that the cat did it!”
Our cat Summer was pretty fat, but not enough for that fib to fly, and he knew it.
“How about this? We’ll say that the cat jumped up on the stereo, and I swatted her off, breaking it in the process.”
This suggestion only made us laugh harder. He knew he was screwed. He then moved on to damage control.
“I got it! I’ll cut my hand, so that they’ll feel sorry for me!”
This was a sick, sick child. He soon realized that this would probably dig his hole even deeper.
The spring in the screen-door squealed, as it pulled taught.
“We’re back! We brought chicken!”
Me and the other two musketeers ran back upstairs. By then I was genuinely scared for James. I hopped in my bed and buried my head under my pillow.
Commence verbal massacre.
It may surprise you that James (brother formally known as Jamie) is super pumped to play Street Fighter 4. Even though he can’t remember a single move other than the occasional hadouken, he insists that he is going to kick my ass, with the 360 d-pad no less. I can’t wait to play my first match against him. I think I’ll play as Bison.
I’ve been nagging my local Gamestop for the past week about it. Reports of retailers getting their shipments in this Tuesday gave me glimmering hope that I may be able to shave off twenty-four hours of agony.
Earlier today hit Gamestop up on speed-dial (go ahead, laugh) to see if this was true.
“Yes, we should have it in tomorrow for pre-orders only, around noon. You have it pre-ordered right?”
Click.
Now back to the wait. I pray this is the final stretch.
The feeling I’m experiencing can only be described with outlandish hyperboles, but for the sake of pacing, I’ll settle on the good ol’ “It’s like when you were a kid on Christmas Eve, and you couldn’t sleep because you were so excited!”
I seriously can’t sleep, so I thought I’d take a little time before tomorrow’s festivities to recollect on some of my fondest Street Fighter memories….
It was on a Sunday during, I’m guessing, the summer of 92’. Cousin Johnny was staying with us for the weekend, which was great because he would always bring over the hottest SNES games that our evil parents wouldn’t buy for us (Mom, if you learned how to use the internet and are reading this, I’m just kidding).
At the time our family was going to church consistently every Sunday, but this week we had managed to get off the hook so we could stay home and play more of Johnny’s minty-new Street Fighter 2.
I never really understood why are parents made us go to church in the first place. Mom and Dad aren’t really that religious. Maybe it had something to do with us living in the same neighborhood that Pit Fighter was digitally captured in (I could see the warehouse from my bedroom window!). It was important that we kept our “good boy” status, but they figured that if they let us stay home to play this game they wouldn’t have to buy it for us. Win/win right? Hehe…If only…
My older brother James, to this day, is the most selfish gamer on the planet. Some of his greatest hits are “dude you get to play all the time!”, “just one more I promise!” and my favorite, “I’ll let you play next time I die”. Wash...Rinse...Repeat.
On that fateful, early Sunday afternoon, James (the brother formerly known as Jamie) had finally figured out how to do all of Ryu’s moves and was convinced that he could finally beat the game on one-star difficulty. For a bunch of kids who never played much Street Fighter in arcades before the phenomenon of the SNES release, this was an epic struggle; one that Jamie truly believed in his heart that he could someday overcome.
Me, Baby Shane and Johnny couldn’t bear to watch. Jamie had a reputation for punching through stuff that shattered when things didn’t go his way—with both parents away at church, there was no telling what he was capable of.
Once Jamie fired up the cart, we all evacuated to our upstairs bedroom to draw Ewoks and Ninja Turtles. The battle cries began shortly after we settled in with our colored pencils and dot-matrix printer paper. The shouting swelled. We couldn’t take it any longer, so we scurried down the stair to check in on our champion. “I’m kicking ass guys! Haven’t lost a round yet!” He had just made short work of Vega and was determined to put an end to Shadaloo, once and for all. The pressure was on, and we didn’t want to come between Jamie and Bison. We headed back upstairs with hopes that he would finally beat the damn game so we could sneak some versus matches in before Johnny had to go home.
It was about around noon. Church had let out about 3O minutes ago and Mom and Dad would be home any minute.
SMASH!
“Oh god! What have I done? NOOOOOOOOO!”
The three of us went downstairs to see what in the hell was going on. The scene was horrific. James had smashed his fist through the top of the Dad’s beloved Magnavox stereo, shattering the record player flip-top. Bison stared out from the screen with that signature smug look on his face. He had won.
“They are going to kill me! Quick! Help me come up with a story!”
Johnny couldn’t hold it in any longer. He belted out in laughter, which, in turn, made me crack up as well.
“Shut the fuck up guys! They are going to kill me and you think it’s funny?”
The clock was ticking, and the blue Crown Vic would be pulling into that gravel driveway soon.
Jamie confided in us for a plan.
“We’ll say that the cat did it!”
Our cat Summer was pretty fat, but not enough for that fib to fly, and he knew it.
“How about this? We’ll say that the cat jumped up on the stereo, and I swatted her off, breaking it in the process.”
This suggestion only made us laugh harder. He knew he was screwed. He then moved on to damage control.
“I got it! I’ll cut my hand, so that they’ll feel sorry for me!”
This was a sick, sick child. He soon realized that this would probably dig his hole even deeper.
The spring in the screen-door squealed, as it pulled taught.
“We’re back! We brought chicken!”
Me and the other two musketeers ran back upstairs. By then I was genuinely scared for James. I hopped in my bed and buried my head under my pillow.
Commence verbal massacre.
It may surprise you that James (brother formally known as Jamie) is super pumped to play Street Fighter 4. Even though he can’t remember a single move other than the occasional hadouken, he insists that he is going to kick my ass, with the 360 d-pad no less. I can’t wait to play my first match against him. I think I’ll play as Bison.
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