My first hit of Tetris was many years ago, with its famous falling blocks sent by the gods of young love. An original DMG-01 Game Boy appeared on the arm of the lounge room sofa at my home. I was as puzzled as a caveman discovering fire. After a flick of its switch, my world changed. It was my first taste of Nintendo, of a handheld, and of the game in its back - Tetris. I played it and immediately decided it really sucked, not the Game Boy, but this slow-moving, basic game. An amazing item had entered my young life, and all it could do was some crummy puzzle game. I abandoned it.

It turned out that the mysterious Game Boy belonged to my older sister’s boyfriend, Dan, who’d left it behind. I’d never know if that was accidental, but even as a kid, I did know that anyone who takes a Game Boy to their girlfriend's house deserves neither Game Boy nor girlfriend. My sister must have thought the same, and her and Dan broke up shortly after. The Game Boy remained as a symbol of a failed teen love. My sister was uninterested; perhaps it was a painful reminder of Dan and his attention-divided affections. I returned to the Game Boy and its game. I quickly learned that Tetris shouldn’t be written off on face value. Soon, that grey brick on the sofa had me hypnotised, I was smashing high scores, humming the Tetris song everywhere I went, and liberating AA batteries from anywhere just to keep the block party going.

As one relationship failed, another blossomed, Tetris and the Game Boy became my precious, and I was ready to go full Gollum if Dan attempted to reclaim. He never did. That fact blew my mind for many years until I had failed connections of my own and needed to write off personal items as collateral damage. We’ve all had to cut loose a favourite hoodie, a phone charger, leftover Chinese food, half a bottle of Absinthe, our dignity, whatever. Sometimes you just don’t go back.

For me, Tetris proved more intense fling than lasting relationship. I’d put in the hours and told myself that I was surely one of the world’s great players. Only possible in this more innocent time, where ideas of gaming grandeur flowed freely, and you couldn’t play online to realise you’re actually ranked 48,672 in the world. The love between boy and Tetris faded, the falling blocks jumbled to the top, and I moved on to other pursuits. Of course, I kept Dan’s Game Boy.

As the years passed, I successfully ignored the dozens of newer Tetris versions released. I also dodged the flogging of the Tetris story in books, documentaries and film, with the exception of the 2023 thriller Tetris, which was rapid-paced and cool. However, I always admired Tetris, not just from the organic introduction to it in my youth, but because in the gaming world, with its focus on the latest tech, Tetris stands as a reminder that the best gaming experiences can be the simplest.

That was my first hit of Tetris; my last hit came through Tetris Effect. A game I arrived at not through a love of descending bricks but through the enjoyment of a different game - Rez on the PS2. Sega’s beautifully-styled cult classic rail-shooter from 2001. The mastermind behind Rez, Tetsuya Mizuguchi, also produced Tetris Effect, fulfilling his long-standing ambition to make Tetris a music-based game.

First released in 2018 for the PS4 and available across platforms, I played the Switch port of Tetris Effect, which felt right for me. Everyone’s had a crack at Tetris over the years, but for most gamers, Nintendo remains its spiritual champion. The joining of Mizuguchi and Tetris makes total sense, his focus on synaesthesia and sensory experiences has been lengthy and pioneering. He also has experience with his own successful block-based puzzle game series, Lumines. I’m not sure why it took me this long to get around to Tetris Effect, perhaps because Dan hadn’t left a copy on the arm of the sofa.

Once I hit the game pads and began the journey mode of Tetris Effect, it all clicked back into place. There was nostalgia, fresh delights, and I found myself whistling the original Tetris theme again, which I thought I’d long forgotten. But something dormant was awoken, synapses reconnected, and I began to see falling blocks in my dreams again. Tetris Effect isn’t just the name of the game, it’s both a promise and a warning.

Tetris Effect retains the puzzle game essence of Tetris but injects a heavy dose of rhythm game DNA. Does it work? Absolutely. The music and visuals are elegant and subtle at the beginning of a level when you’re claiming those first lines, but as the speed of the falling blocks increases, so does the overall intensity. That synaesthetic intensity can be experienced to varying degrees depending on your setup. I often played just with the TV speakers, but surround sound or good headphones assist with greater immersion.

Visually, it looks great just on the TV, but there are VR options depending on your platform. I haven’t indulged in this area as I don’t have the gear and also possess an irrational fear of being sack-tapped while wearing a headset.

I thought before playing Tetris Effect that the focus on intense moving imagery might be distracting if I just wanted to play a little Tetris, but it’s not like that. Any distraction is more challenging than outright annoying. The combination of music, sound effects, vibrations, and visuals joins old with new in a unified sensory experience. After just one gaming session, I couldn’t get enough of its block droppin’ beats.

In journey mode, the game mechanics haven’t been messed with. Tetrominoes (yes, they’re meant to be called that) can be rotated both ways, quick dropped, and one can be held to the side. There’s also a temporary time-stop mechanic, which doesn’t feel cheaty and becomes strategic as the levels become more difficult. Overall, there’s a respect for the classic gameplay with a notable resistance to any major new gimmicks.

The music can feel generic and cliché on occasion, but also soaring and motivating. This is a journey to enjoy in its entirety. The difficulty of each individually-named level varies significantly, some you’ll sweep through the first time, and wish they’d lasted longer, while others take a serious beating. Each level requires the player to complete 36 lines, which sounds easy, but the game has complete control over the speed level of the blocks. It’s like being on a treadmill and instead of setting your own speed and incline, you choose some funky virtual trail and let the machine terrorise you.

Tetris Effect has different game modes and online play options, but for me, it was all about journey mode and progressing as the developers intended. I hit on some levels that needed a few turns to pass and a couple that needed a repeat session to move on, I’m looking at you, Ritual Passion. Frustrating in parts, but rage-quitting never threatened, as it’s just too zen. The normal difficulty setting was just right for a returning player who didn’t want to rush through. There are various ways to use combos and maximise your scoring, but for time-constrained gamers, it’ll be about just steadily moving through.

As a single-player gaming experience, Tetris Effect is an epic way to reconnect with an old friend. The history is there for most retro gamers, and that’s been respected and celebrated. It also has something to offer fans of rhythm games, rhythm shooters and just those who spent too long staring at the Windows Media Player Visualizer. You freaks are out there.

There’s always a degree of risk in remixing a much-loved classic with newer tech capability, and there are a few examples of it going wrong with Tetris, like Tetris Worlds in 2002. Deep down, Tetris Effect doesn’t offer anything completely new, even an EDM Tetris soundtrack has been done before with The New Tetris on N64. What’s exceptional isn’t the concept but the detail and creativity achieved within it. It’s also about the connection between game and gamer, and its smart awareness that some players will be discovering Tetris for the first time, while others laboured away on an OG Game Boy 30 years ago. This is a very strong entry, but just one entry, in the legacy of Tetris, a lifelong game series that can be abandoned for decades by gamers and then returned to engage with once again.

My own Tetris journey began with an abandoned Game Boy, and so many of us will have a Tetris origin story of how we came to this puzzle game icon. For this gaming legacy, Tetris Effect isn’t the last hit. Now, I’m tempted to keep the block party going again, not with AA batteries this time, but by investing in a PSVR2 setup and a protective cup. Tetris Effect - it’s worth the risk.

There are many ways to die in Squid Game. I died in the dumbest way possible. I died because I told the truth. In this instance, honesty was not the best policy. It was a death sentence.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Squid Game is the brutal South Korean thriller series that follows a group of financially desperate contestants competing in deadly versions of children’s games in the hopes of winning a massive, life-changing cash prize. That’s what happens, but what it’s about is late-stage capitalism, the power structures that keep people trapped at the bottom and how human traits like greed, trust and moral character can be exploited by those with power and money.

But you don’t need to think too hard about that hard stuff to enjoy the show. It’s there if you want to tuck into it like it was a bowl of deep-fried calamari, but you can also just enjoy it as an unbearably intense slice of entertainment.

But, while watching the show, if you ever thought, ‘these kids’ games look like child’s play’, well, now you can put your virtual life on the line and see if you’re squiddy enough to survive these games.

Squid Game Boy is an unofficial, fan-made, indie demake for Nintendo’s humble Game Boy. It puts you in the green tracksuit of series protagonist Seong Gi-hun, aka number 456, and tasks you with surviving the events and games of the show’s breakthrough — and best — first season. A ‘demake’ simply means it’s a new game made for old systems.

Which brings us to my death.

I started Squid Game strong. Like the show, the first game is Red Light, Green Light. Racing to the finish line isn’t too tricky, as screeching to a halt when the giant girl statue turns is fairly forgiving. But it is unnervingly brutal to witness your fellow contestants get shot dead around you, and a bit sickening to negotiate all the fallen bodies littered on the ground as you near the finish line.

The second game is Sugar Honeycombs, a South Korean game where you have to dig an umbrella shape out of a biscuit with a needle while keeping the cookie from crumbling. The controls are wonky, I assume to simulate nerves, but it’s pretty easy to take the biscuit and progress.

Next, you have to survive the night as your fellow contestants attack you in an attempt to “cull the herd”. This is a simple platformer where you go from left to right and bounce on enemies’ heads to dispatch them before facing an end-of-level boss. The gameplay is short, sweet and very faithful to the classic Game Boy era gameplay.

You then move to the Tug of War. Fill a meter by mashing B, then when it’s maxxed out, press B in rhythm, and you’ll pull your rivals to their doom before moving on. Simple stuff.

After that is Odds and Evens. A game of chance, where you wager marbles guessing whether your opponent is hiding an odd or even number of marbles in his hand. Lose all your marbles and you lose the game. And your life.

Like in the show, you face the cheery old timer Oh Il-nam. He’s old and confused, and if you lose all your marbles, he’ll forget how many he was hiding, look you in the eyes and ask you a life-or-death question: “Was I odd or even?”

Remember those themes of greed, trust and moral character I talked about earlier? Well, here they are, jumping out at you like a cartoon mugger hiding behind a bush.

I pondered what to do for much longer than I should have. Before playing Odds and Evens, Squid Game Boy shows you the friendship between Gi-hin and Il-nam in gloriously succinct words and beautifully chunky digitised photos.

Il-nam and I were buddies, we were teammates, we were, in his words, gganbu — which is South Korean playground slang for ‘best friends’. And now, this happy old man was asking me the ultimate question.

It turns out I am an untrustworthy man of great greed who displays all the moral character of a secondhand car salesman insisting that the odd clunking noise coming from the rear tyre is a completely normal sound for a late 2000s Nissan Murano to be making.

You bet your life I lied about losing my bet. Il-nam didn’t blink. He handed me my ill-got winnings, and we continued playing the game. Again, I bet large. Again, I lost it all. Again, he forgot what he was hiding.

“Was I odd or even?”

I lied again.

“Was I odd or even?”

And again.

“Was I odd or even?”

And again.

It turns out I am absolutely crap at guessing how many marbles someone may be hiding in their closed fist. By this stage, I was agitated, frustrated and feeling surprisingly guilty for the waterfall of lies gushing out of my mouth.

If Odds and Evens is a mind game, then after about 15 minutes of this repetitive, endless loop, I had descended into madness. No matter what I did or how strategic I got, I simply couldn’t win the game. I bet large. I bet little. I bet in between. And I lost and lost and lost.

“Was I odd or even?”

Truly, the game got inside my head. I was losing it. But then I realised that 64 Bits had done something utterly genius. They’d made this ridiculously simple game of chance into an actual, real test of the player’s greed, trust and moral character.

Odds and Even, I now understood with perfect clarity, was purposefully unwinnable. No matter what, you would always lose. And then you’d always be asked the same question. The only path to victory was to pass the test of character. Otherwise, you’d be damned for eternity in this crazed, endless loop.

Smiling, Il-nam asked me, “Was I odd or even?”

Smiling, I answered him truthfully.

Smiling, I was instantly shot dead.

Thus, my first attempt to win Squid Game came to a frustrating, bloody and very final end. As in the show, there are no second chances.

Yes, I rage quit. I rage quit hard. But I’ve since gone back and won. Surprisingly, I beat Il-nam in just two turns, going all in and guessing correctly both times. He got shot, and I breezed through the next two mini games to secure the victory, the money and my still alive status. I barely gave a second thought to my fallen gganbu.

If you’re a fan of Squid Game and a retro gamer, then Squid Game Boy is a must-play. No, its six mini-games aren’t all that challenging, and they aren’t particularly replayable, but it’s a cool little game that perfectly encapsulates the show and successfully imagines what a licensed game would have looked like back in the day.

The game is short; if all goes your way, you’ll beat it quicker than it took to read this article, but extra replayability is squeezed out by collecting all three endings and hunting down all the Retro Achievements.

And while the actual Squid Game may carry the ultimate price, Squid Game Boy is completely free. Making it even more of a no-brainer to have a bash on. The ROM is playable on Game Boy emulators, in your browser or even on original Nintendo hardware if you have a flash cart. Pretty damn cool.

From what I can tell, 64 Bits is primarily a games-focused animation channel. So, considering they’re not game devs, what they’ve achieved here is remarkable. The expressive brevity of Squid Game Boy’s storytelling, coupled with those digitised photos, not only captures the essence of the show perfectly but also fires up all those nostalgia neurons collecting dust in your brain.

The graphics are perfect, and the gameplay, while simple, does feel exactly like a licensed game of the Game Boy era. I can think of no higher praise than that.

Squid Game Boy is deadly fun, even if it is unlikely to keep your interest alive after you’ve beaten it.

• Download Squid Game Boy here: https://64bitsanimation.itch.io/squid-game-boy

My cautionary emulation tale encompasses desire, addiction, loss and ultimately, redemption. It all began with some innocent sim racing, which had brought me back to gaming after a lengthy hiatus. I’d researched and bought the sim gear, hit virtual international racetracks, smashed, crashed and got chat abused by the jocks of the gaming world. It was brilliant. But eventually I pitted to find something more in the form of something less.

Like many, I longed to re-engage with the games of my youth, and when I began staring down that rabbit hole, I saw the Retropie.

I was intrigued by cheap, single-board computing; it sounded fun, and I was ready to experiment. The problem was that this happened during the great Covid Raspberry Pi shortage, and I couldn’t find a dealer. The high demand for Pis and the lack of supply only increased my desire to build a RetroPie. Eventually, a shipment of Raspberry Pi 4s found its way to the southern seas, and I was there waiting to pay a silly amount for a starter kit.

Slap my veins cause I was ready for a hit of RetroPie.

So, WTF is a RetroPie anyway?

Technically, a RetroPie isn’t hardware but a curated group of software that manages and launches emulators. These emulator programs allow the hardware to behave like another system and play various retro arcade and console games. This can also be achieved with a crappy old PC, but more commonly, a Raspberry Pi is used. So much so that if you claim to have a RetroPie, it’s assumed you’re using a Raspberry Pi, the Swiss Army Knife of the nerd world. The Raspberry Pi is relatively cheap and can emulate games from Galaxian to the Sega Dreamcast.

Now, I’d danced with the emulation devil once before, when running MAME on a Compaq desktop around the end of the last century. I’d gobbled up those arcade highs, Galaga, Frogger, Spy Hunter, it was wild times at the computer desk, bashing away on a word-processing keyboard.

But I cleaned up, clicked close on LimeWire and MAME, and moved on. A quarter century later, I was back with my Raspberry Pi to get a fresh taste of emulation goodness. Little did I know the dangers ahead.

I set up the Raspberry Pi with the RetroPie software, and I was ready to download my first ROM file. Naturally, like everyone else who creates content about emulation, I can assure you that I also have legitimately purchased physical copies of every game ROM I downloaded. I mean, of course I did. I do. I did. Your judgment is making me nervous.

So, WTF is a ROM anyway?

It sure as hell isn’t Read Only Memory. A ROM is a digital copy of a video game’s data and can be downloaded in different file types to be organised and played on the RetroPie emulators.

Where do you download these ROMS? How dare you! In the same way, it’s uncool to ask where someone scored their gear; you can’t ask anyone where to score ROMS due to a legal grey area, copyright issues, blah, blah, blah.

In fact, one of my favourite parts of the emulation scene is the hypocrisy of the dudes in forums who quickly scorn any newbie for asking where to source ROMs, while likely having a full 5TB storage drive sitting beside them.

Returning to the story. I began downloading ROMs, and at first, it was just a few previously enjoyed old PlayStation games. Then the floodgates opened, the ROM download websites had so many treats, I opened my fibre connection and let it all flow through. SNES, Mega Drive, arcade vertical shooters, handheld games, N64, stuff I’d never even heard of - I was a downloading maniac. All previous limitations to play any game I desired were now gone. I paused only to add cover art so my RetroPie game collection looked slick as well. I’d developed a problem and just couldn’t stop.

Before long, I realised I needed more grunt to get the same high, I needed my RetroPie to emulate better, to slash away the shackles of its physical limitations. Now, I’m not proud of it, but I began overclocking. I just had to improve the frame rate on Crazy Taxi. I also installed a fan hat that would hit about a billion rpm and a special cooling case. The Retropie and I had reached a natural ceiling, but I decided to push through.

So, WTF is overclocking anyway?

Overclocking is where you turn mad scientist and increase the Raspberry Pi’s processor clock speed beyond its default settings. This can lead to smoother gameplay and the ability to run more demanding games. Side effects include raised heat, potential instability and a danger of cooking your RetroPie. Overclocking represents a risky revelation for those wielding moderate power and a thirst for greater gaming emulation.

Now, manic in my pursuit for a greater rush, I decided to throw my RetroPie into the most pressured of situations — having it as the main gaming option for a boys’ weekend away. Me, and my jacked little Retropie were going to bring the party.

I invested in four 8bitdo Bluetooth controllers and was set to blow some minds with nostalgic games, custom shaders and everything playing just as we remembered. But I’d overestimated my RetroPie’s ability and my own technical competence. I was high on my own supply and didn’t see the Tony Montana downfall ahead.

Mates seated on the couch, beers in hand, and I pulled out my RetroPie with a “say hello to my little friend”. Everything went bad from there.

Controller connection issues, the gameplay timing on Micro Machines V3 was inaccurate, Tekken 2 wouldn’t recognise a second player, Mario Kart 64 crashed, and my RetroPie thermal throttled itself in a suicide attempt while on the verge of going full Chernobyl. Disaster ensued.

Luckily, when all seemed lost, there was a trusty Xbox 360 present, willing to step in and deflect attention from my overdosed RetroPie lying defeated on the TV cabinet. I didn’t even want to move it, worried its heat may have damaged the wood laminate surface underneath. As the lads enjoyed the simple delights of Rockstar’s Table Tennis, I wished I’d also kept things simple.

I realise now that the boys’ weekend debacle was the intervention I didn’t want, but I did need. The processing power limitations of a RetroPie should be respected, and raw lust for emulation must be controlled.

Nine months later, there was another boys’ weekend away, and I sought redemption through a modded PlayStation 2 Fat, multitaps, Dual Shock 2 controllers and also some classic PS1 games on disk, including Micro Machines V3 and Tekken 2. It all felt right, it all worked right, but the trauma of the RetroPie failure remained.

Now, if there’s a moral to the story, it’s that with emulation you need to go slow, focus on the games you love, and not get power hungry, because if you fly too close to the sun, you’ll burn like an overclocked, undercooled Retropie.

And did I learn my lesson? Nah, not really, I’ve relapsed and am back chasing the emulation dragon with a Mini PC and Batocera set-up.

So, WTF is a Mini PC with Batocera anyway?

Well, that’s a story for another time.

Now that I have a shiny, new monitor, I find it mindboggling that I’ve spent the last few years living my entire computing life on the small screen of a 14” MacBook Pro laptop. Until last week, this didn’t boggle my mind. In fact, my unboggled mind didn’t even realise how simpleton this situation actually was.

What’s more perplexing is that to improve my daily work life experience, I’d upgraded every other part of my rig. I just never thought to upgrade what is arguably the most important part.

First, I got a clacky mechanical keyboard with little gothic cartoons of bats, ghosts and Dracula printed on the keys because I’m a cool dude. Next, a laptop stand to elevate the laptop screen above my new keyboard and then a wireless mouse because reaching for the trackpad over my new keyboard quickly became an arm-weary chore.

But there was never any monitor epiphany. Instead, the decision was dictated by boring practicality. I took on a mammoth new work project and quickly realised that my trusty-but-clunky method of alt-tabbing between my work-in-progress document and my transcription and research documents was no longer gonna cut it. I needed screen space. I needed a monitor.

I wish I were the sort of person who could just walk into a store without a monitor and then walk out a few minutes later with one. This is not how I roll.

Instead, I must first become an expert in the monitor field, analysing every pro and obsessing over each con of the available monitors currently for sale in New Zealand. I can not risk spending my hard-earned cash buying the not-best monitor I can afford. Which is not much. Once the monitor has been identified, I must then find a good deal.

It’s worth noting here that all of this is a gigantic, time extensive, exhausting pain in the ass. It’s indecisiveness disguised as due diligence. It’s a curse, is what it is. But it’s my curse to bear and one that plays out whether I’m shopping for a new monitor or deciding what to eat at McDonald’s.

And so I swung headfirst into the jungle of nerd-ass monitor jargon. There’s HZ’s and ms’s, and one is good high and one is good low. We all know to pick the OLED, and then you see the price of OLED, and start looking at VA and IPS screens. Then you have to learn what VA and IPS are and the strengths and weaknesses between the two.

How about USB? C or B or both? And how many ports of each? Is 15kw PWD enough, or will you need more PWD? Do you even need PWD? HDMI is a given, but 2.0 or 2.1? How many HDMI ports? Do you have a DP? You want FHD, QHD, WQHD, UWQHD, 4K or 5K? 8K for the big spender, perhaps? And what size? Curved, flat or ultrawide? How many R’s: 1800, 1500 or 1000?

After decoding the geek speak, I was ready to start researching the reputations of popular brands like AOC, ASUS, Samsung, Dell and LG, specifically in the monitor space. This is harder than you think because monitor names are awful and confusing.

Take the imaginary PF27XP4. This might rule, but the PF27XC3 might suck. You’ll search the former on YouTube or online, watch/read a review, and then click the next suggested review, not noticing it’s for the latter model because the names are so similar. It’s easy to wander away from the path, get excited and then discover that a) the PF27XP4 is not even for sale in NZ or b) the PF27XP4 is for sale but is waaaaay more expensive than the PF27XC3.

With my noggin burstin’ with info, I finally began the selection process. I first looked at business/home office monitors, but my mouse always drifted over to gaming monitors. Gaming was my secondary purpose, but the value for money just seemed greater in that space.

Essentially, I wanted to be able to work on text comfortably, with awesome picture quality for entertainment/procrastination breaks and have enough ports to plug in my laptop, PS5 Pro and the hypothetical Steam Deck I remain convinced I will one day buy. This didn’t feel like too much to ask.

After getting a decent idea of what I was after, I went shopping. This is when I learnt that stores in Aotearoa, New Zealand, are shithouse at displaying monitors. It’s obvious why, these things take up a huge amount of floor and shelf space, but it makes it incredibly difficult to make an informed decision.

Three out of every four shops wouldn’t even have their monitors turned on, and if they were then the connection was usually so lousy and lo-res that they looked like dogshit. Forget about optimum viewing angles. They’d be sitting on shelves of varying heights and often placed in angular lines to save space. They were only really helpful for getting a general understanding of size.

I was initially pulled towards the mighty ultrawides, lured by the hype of great immersion and thoughts of having half a dozen windows, documents and applications open and visible at the same time. I almost pulled the trigger on one (the AOC CU34G4 34" if you’re interested), but an unconquerable anxiety about how the curvature might distort the writing documents I spend my working life inside of stopped me. I discounted standard-size curved monitors for the same reason.

People swear the curve disappears, but I was afraid to risk it. Also, nothing I own supports ultrawide without stretching or ugly black bars, so I moved on.

With a decision made on a flat monitor next was size. Initially, a 32” screen seemed the go, but I landed on a 27” because I didn’t want the monitor to overwhelm my workspace.

Next, I had to wrestle with Mac’s resolution scaling problems. This is a whole thing that I dived deep into, but is entirely beyond the scope of this article. I’m also gonna breeze over VA and IPS and skip to the end where, for my text-clarity priorities, I landed on looking for a 2K IPS monitor and the free BetterDisplay app.

By now, I’d been heavily researching the perfect monitor for around three weeks and was thoroughly over it. Every free moment was spent online reading, researching and watching stuff about monitors. My initial enthusiasm had atrophied into boredom. But I had narrowed it down to three models: The LG UltraGear 27GS75Q-B, the MSI MAG 275QF and the Alienware 2527DM.

Now, I was sweating over their spec sheets, comparing one orange with two slightly different oranges. Tbh, they were all much of a muchness, but each lacked a feature the other had. There was no clear right choice. All were right. But a well-timed sale by a local tech retail chain forced me to finally make a decision.

And so, on a rainy Friday morning, I walked into a store without a monitor and then walked out a few minutes later with the Alienware. I was happy. Confident in my decision. And about to discover I’d made a terrible mistake.

Setting it up was super easy; the stand simply clicked into the monitor, and all the necessary cables were included. I connected the laptop via HDMI (I’ll be upgrading to DisplayPort as soon as I get the necessary adaptor) and boom! At long last, the job was done.

I then connected my PS5 Pro to the second HDMI port, fired it up and immediately recognised I had a problem. A big problem. There was no sound. I spun the monitor around, planning to connect my external soundcard via the Alienware’s headphone jack. Then I encountered big problem number two. It didn’t have a headphone port or any other way to get audio out.

I frantically consulted the online manual. I anxiously consulted the internet. I hopefully consulted the back of the panel again. No dice and no port. Despite my exhaustive research, I’d completely stuffed up. The post-purchase high dissipated into a morale-crushing low.

It was my fault. 99% of the monitors I looked at had a headphone port, so I’d assumed the Alienware did as well. I mean, it has USB port functionality, which most gaming monitors don’t, yet it doesn’t have a simple 35mm headphone port, which most gaming monitors do. This is bonkers. And it totally caught me out.

I thought about taking it back. I even packed it back up into its box. But then, an idea! I figured I could route the audio from the PS5 through the headphone port of my second controller. I unpacked the monitor, set it back up and tested the theory. Success! It worked perfectly.

Well, as perfectly as any janky solution can…

I was relieved. All my research had led me to the Alienware. It was the exact right monitor for my needs — bar that one crucial element — and I didn’t really want to return it. I’ve since learned about HDMI audio splitters, a little box that re-routes HDMI audio on the way to a monitor or TV, and now have one on the way from AliExpress. Problem solved.

So, has it been worth all of these headaches? Absolutely. I undoubtedly fell way too deep down into the rabbit hole during my research phase, and the sound problem was a huge cause of stress. But now, with everything sorted, I can say I love working and playing on the new monitor. It’s got a sleek style, a superb picture, and has been a game-changer in terms of my productivity and work-life enjoyment.

I’m baffled as to why I didn’t make this upgrade years ago. But now, after detailing my standard buying process, I’m even more baffled as to how I’ve ever managed to buy anything, ever.

You bet I was jazzed to not talk to the legendary game developer Hideo Kojima. If you’re not going to talk to someone, Kojima is a solid choice. He’s the world’s first rockstar developer for Gawd’s sake! A creative visionary. A dude.

Nope. I can’t think of anyone better to not talk to than him. So that’s exactly what I did a couple of weeks ago.

But just because we weren’t going to exchange words didn’t mean we weren’t going to exchange ideas. And that’s the reason why I was so excited to spend the guts of a work day sitting on two different planes and crossing international waters to get to Sydney, Australia, and then doing the same a few days later to return home to Papamoa Beach, New Zealand.

I mean, an opportunity to not talk to Hideo Kojima only comes along once in a lifetime. If you’re lucky. You’d be a damn fool not to take it.

In my capacity as a freelance arts and culture writer — and surprisingly not as a Pixel Fix co-founder — I’d been invited to join a Q&A panel being held by Kojima at PlayStation’s Sydney HQ. This was part of his World Tour that saw him travelling the globe to promote his highly anticipated new game, Death Stranding 2: On the Beach. And now, on this grey and drizzly Friday afternoon, he’d hit Sydney.

Kojima’s main event was a panel conversation with fellow auteur, Mad Max visionary and his good friend George Miller at the Sydney Film Festival the next day. Tickets for which had sold out the city’s grand Town Hall within an hour of going on sale.

But seeing as he’d come all this way, he’d also carved out 45 minutes to chat to a dozen game journalists about the game the afternoon before his appearance at the SFF. We’d also find out he’d carved out some time to visit the Zoo. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I arrived at PlayStationHQ with what I considered to be a reasonable safety buffer of five minutes before kick off, but the lovely PlayStation rep waiting down in the lobby to buzz me up let slip that I was the final journo to arrive. As the lift shot upward, I hastily chewed down three mints and again rehearsed aloud the Japanese greeting I’d cobbled together from various YouTube videos as the building’s bricks unsettingly whizzed past the glass windows of the lift.

“Konnichiwa, Kāru desu. Hajimemashite,” I muttered. “Konnichiwa, Kāru desu. Hajimemashite.”

At this point, I didn’t know if I would or would not be talking to Kojima. While group panel interviews, aka roundtable interviews, always have a moderator (someone to keep things moving and call each journo in turn), they can go either way. Sometimes you get called upon, sometimes the moderator asks your question for you. But, remembering my Cub Scout training, I’d come prepared in case I would be standing up to ask Kojima some Q’s to be A’d.

These questions had already been submitted. Days before the panel, we’d been asked to send in five questions in a priority order. I’d of course realised that with a dozen other game journos asking five questions each, there was no way he’d get through them all in the short time we had. So I spent a couple of the days before the deadline mulling over what I’d ask and shuffling around their order of priority. I knew the other journos would ask about the gameplay and cover technical stuff, leaving me free to ask bigger questions around the themes and obsessions of his work.

During the group interview, there were a lot of questions around the “connection” part of Death Stranding, a topic I felt he’d already covered fairly extensively. I was considerably more interested in the death part of Death Stranding. In particular, his views on the afterlife and the great meaning of it all, something I considered hugely relevant, seeing as the dead play such a prominent part in this game franchise.

But first, I had to find a seat. As the last one to arrive in I’d resigned myself to filling a space right at the back of the room in the cheap seats. But nope! It seems the Aussies had a case of stage fright, allowing me to waltz right to an empty front row seat, smack bang in front of where Kojima would be sitting when he arrived. It was the best seat in the house.

And then there he was, looking every bit the rockstar developer that he is. He wore his famous floppy hair and rectangular specs, sneakers and black jeans and an incredibly cool, pitch black t-shirt with the words Death Stranding 2: On the Beach World Tour in a silvery grey on it. The word SYDNEY was emblazoned underneath the title, and underneath that was the game’s now iconic winged baby. Greedily, I thought we might get handed one on our way out as a memento of the event. This caused my excitement to double, but the only thing I left with was a gourmet fried chicken roll, an oversized lamington cake and the warm glow of basking in his Kojima-ness for the previous 45 minutes.

The buzz in the room was electric, and as Kojima took his seat, he cracked a joke.

“There’s every phone under the sun,” he said, via Aki, his translator, and gesturing at the long row of phones we’d all placed on the table in front of him to record his every word. We all laughed, and then it was straight down to business.

The moderator was part of PlayStation’s Sydney PR team, and she did a great job. She’d prepared a slideshow and told us she’d be reading out the questions for Kojima to answer.

The first question was lame as hell, but also exactly what I’d expected for an opening question.

Death Stranding 2 is set in Australia, and as we were in Australia with a room full of Australian game journalists, it was always going to be the first thing asked. If we were in Aotearoa, New Zealand, with a room full of Kiwi journos, the exact same first question would have been asked, so I bore no grudge.

“What drew the team to bring Death Stranding 2 On the Beach down under? And have you on your team visited any Australian regions or used any real-life locations as inspirations?”

“Well, I've been asked the same questions ever since [landing] in Australia,” Kojima replied, before giving the same answer he’d given every time he’d been asked this question in the lead-up to release both here and elsewhere during his World Tour.

“Eurasia is too big. Africa's maybe too small,” he said. “So I thought Australia would be a perfect fit.”

Then he cracked another gag.

“But the real reason I selected Australia is usually, when I decide on a location, I go location scouting in that area. I go there to scan or to interview, and things like that. The last time was Iceland. But it was a little cold. So this time I'm making a little warmer in Australia.”

We all laughed, and the moderator moved to the next question.

“In Death Stranding 2, there are many animals from Australia. What inspired you to add other nature to the game? And was it tough to include Australian animals in the game?”

“I love animals,” he replied.

I was happy that this signalled the end of the Australia-centric questions — no offence, Australian chums— and even happier that the next one focused on his creativity.

“You said before that your creativity is born from consuming and synthesizing art and ideas. What were you consuming and what formed the initial concepts or ideas of Death Stranding 2?“

“When I see movies and get ideas, usually just talking to people, eating or walking, or maybe I'm in a bath, I come up with these ideas. So it's almost like a disease, I call it,” he laughed. “Even when I'm talking with my family, in my head, I'm in a totally different world.”

It was an exciting answer and I was hoping we’d keep walking in that direction, but the next question was techincal and boring (“What is the core gameplay change or new addition you find yourself most proud of in the jump between Death Stranding 1 and Death Stranding 2?”) and the next one was something he’d already answered many times during his World Tour (“Given that connectivity is such a big theme in Death Stranding, what do you think are the hazards of over-connectivity and digital overload, and how it changes the way we interact with one another?”).

A question about who was the game’s “freakiest character” was fun but got a little lost in translation before being politely declined an answer as it would be “a major spoiler”. A stance I respect.

The next question about the idea at the “game’s heart” also saw Kojima deferring. “I don't want to spoil so much,” he said.

By now, we’d ticked past the half-hour mark and only got through a handful of questions. There was no way we were going to get to even one question from each of the assembled journos. It was also becoming apparent that there had been a fair amount of PR bias applied to the questions being selected and the order in which they were being asked.

As I ran through the questions I’d submitted, questions that dealt with his philosophical mindset, his existential reflections and how his beliefs of what happens after death influence both this game and his work in general, I realised that the questions being asked were based on a criteria that mine had wildly deviated from.

As the moderator asked the next question, “You famously described the original Death Stranding as the world's first ‘Strand-type game’. Is the sequel a continuation of that genre?”, I fought to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head.

“Yes, of course,” Kojima answered.

It quickly dawned on me that there was little chance that any of my questions were cued up on the moderator’s list.

“Do you think it's become easier or more difficult for you to make a game now, compared to when you started in your career?”

“How did the team approach dynamic weather in Death Stranding 2?”

“What interests you in cameos?”

But such is the way of roundtable interviews. To paraphrase the banger theme tune from the old 80s sitcom The Facts of Life, you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both, and there you have the sort of questions that will be asked in a group interview. All you can do is roll with it.

Even still, in a display of his genius, Kojima managed to spin gold from the straw he was given, taking these questions and extrapolating his answers into thoughtful and interesting replies, and even cracking the odd joke along the way. I’d been worried at first, but as the session progressed, I knew he’d provided more than enough for me to cherry-pick from when it came time to write my feature.

Yes, it was a bummer that the opportunity for a deeper insight into the man and his beliefs had gone wanting in favour of some overly predictable questions, but it was still a helluva exciting event to be a part of, and I greatly enjoyed participating. It was a total privilege.

And who knows? Maybe one of my questions would have been up next if we hadn’t run out of time. Maybe they were simply being asked in the order in which they’d been sent in. Mine would have undoubtedly been the last to be received, putting them right at the bottom of the queue.

Maybe I just needed to take off my tinfoil hat.

With that realisation, I entered a state of zen acceptance and simply enjoyed the moment. And then the final question was asked.

“How has your life experiences, from making games in the midst of the pandemic, to your legacy as a game developer at 61 years old, influenced the narrative and development of Death Stranding 2?”

I could have applauded. It was the most interesting question of the session, sneaking in right before the bell, and Kojima’s thoughtful and frank answer would form the basis of my feature.

With that answered, there was just time for a quick group photo and then, in a puff of cool, Hideo Kojima was gone.

After nabbing a fried chicken roll and a giant lamington cake from the counter at the back of the room, so was I.

• Death Stranding 2: On the Beach is out now on the PlayStation 5.

What if I told you that full HD gaming with HDMI connectivity, wireless controllers and some of the most iconic games of this century was available to you for less than a Maccas combo? No, you don’t have to get ripped off on Temu. No, you don’t need to repurpose an old PC. Yes, you can get Maccas after reading this article. But I didn’t believe such a thing was possible either, and then something magical happened. I bought an Xbox 360 for two bucks.

The other day I was using my spare time productively by trawling used console listings on auction website TradeMe, NZ’s answer to eBay, when I chanced upon a $1 reserve auction for an apparently working Xbox 360 with two controllers.

The auction was due to close in 10 minutes. The bidding had reached $1.50, so I did what we’d all do: I bid $2.00. Then I watched in shock as the timer counted down and no one sprang up to outbid me. A few minutes later, the auction closed, and I became the owner of my first Xbox 360. I felt… strangely guilty. But I got over that quickly and made arrangements to pick up this fiscally frugal gaming beast.

Now, there were caveats to my score; the console’s face plate was badly chipped, and while it had its power brick, it didn’t have a power cable. These were hardly deal breakers. I knew a replacement face plate could be purchased cheaply online, but the power cable would cost $14. Crazy money for this budget project. So instead, I did what felt right and bought a second Xbox 360. This one cost $31 but had all its cables, another controller and a copy of GTA 5. However, it was the $2 Xbox 360 that won my heart.

The unknown element of a cheap console pickup is a form of gambling for retro gamers, and I can’t be alone in loving it. I drove to the other side of town, and there it was, waiting in a carport, in an old, reused chips box with the top flapping open. Dusty and grimy and with its busted face, who knows what kind of rage and abuse this poor 360 had endured? It must have wanted to Red Ring of Death many times. I got it home, ran a damp cloth over it and whispered, “You’re safe now”.

Once it was tidied up, I plugged in for the moment of truth. The button lit up green, and it sprang into life. I pushed eject on the drive, and, as there so often is with secondhand buys, an unadvertised game disc was waiting in the tray - Lego Batman. Hey, it could have been worse, at least it wasn’t a FIFA.

The picture looked great, the sound was on, and the fan got busy spinning tales of a former life. Both controllers functioned, but only one battery pack was working, so that needed replacing. Also, one of the white controllers showed significant yellowing. Now, you’re either a person who’s bothered by that or one who’s not, and unfortunately, I am. I decided that I need to hunt down some black controllers for my $2 Xbox 360.

The player profile hadn’t been deleted and showed that the console previously belonged to Ammo Alan. Judging off achievements, Ammo Alan was particularly fond of the Assassin’s Creed games but also dabbled in sports titles like PES ’10 and Rugby World Cup 2011. Shout out to Ammo Alan if you’re reading, and don’t worry, I won’t share what you had in the media centre... Nah, just jokes, Ammo Alan kept it clean. Well, not the controllers, they looked like they’d been used by the devil himself, nasty work.

It’s easy to forget how good gaming had gotten by the 360/PS3 generation. Some may argue that the seventh-gen marked the end of the big leaps that brought us from 16-bit to here in just three generations. There’s been diminishing returns since, and while each new generation builds and improves, we’ve reached a point where we’re expected to be excited over some new lighting tricks rather than have our heads blown off with graphics and gameplay we never dreamt possible.

To access this level of gaming for less than a feed at McDonald’s is staggering and speaks to both rampant consumerism and the speed at which technology is becoming obsolete. But make no mistake, even though marketing campaigns and spec sheets tell us that this is old tech, once you get into a good game, it feels just as immersive as the latest releases. Nobody’s told the Xbox 360 it’s obsolete, and it still offers fantastic gaming experiences.

So, how did Ammo Alan’s once brand-spanking-new Xbox 360, the latest in high-powered gaming, purchased 15 years ago and carried in excited embrace, become only worth a measly two bucks? Why is the 360 right now the cheapest console of any brand and generation?

Backwards Compatibility

A contributing reason to PS3 console prices clawing back up while the 360 bounces along the bottom is that if you want to play physical PS3 games, you’ll still need a PS3. Unlike Sony, Microsoft was more generous in its backwards compatibility with its newer consoles, and while welcome, it means 360 consoles have lost some desirability.

However, in many cases, the 360 versions of non-exclusive titles are cheaper for collectors and may play better than the PS3 version. Also, not every 360 game adheres to backwards compatibility for playing on newer Xbox consoles. Popular examples are Need For Speed: Most Wanted, Blur and The Simpsons Hit & Run.

Additionally, due to the timing of console launches, some game titles that released late for the PS2 also released on the 360, like Rockstar’s Bully, which can be played on newer generation console upgrades.

It’s cheap cause you got the stink one

Maybe I did, but in paying $2 for my Xbox 360, I don’t hold a grave fear of the dreaded Red Ring of Death. I can understand that back in 2006-07 it must have been concerning and highly annoying for those affected. Up to half of the early consoles fell victim to RROD before it was solved through hardware revisions.

Are potential 360 buyers still concerned about RROD? Possibly, and it’s pushed savvy buyers towards the later Slim and E models of the console. This has made earlier versions, like mine, cheaper. But if a console hasn’t RROD in over 15 years, perhaps it’s just not going to happen.

For the record, my two buck 360 is the Phat/Pro model manufactured in 2009 which puts it inside the time frame for freaking out about RROD. However, it has the Jasper v2 motherboard, which is considered by dudes in forums to be less likely to RROD. The Jasper is also preferred for modding, again on the authority of dudes in forums.

Xbox 360 Store and marketplace shut down

In July last year, the 360 party was shut down, Microsoft turned on the lights and pushed everyone out the door. The days of downloadable games and DLC are now over. But that doesn’t mean old 360s have to waste away in retirement homes. You can still play previously downloaded games on the console, and as around 1200 game titles were released for the Xbox 360 on disk, there’s still plenty of physical collecting to do.

Online Multiplayer is still possible for the hardcore

The 360 is well remembered for its online multiplayer capability and for giving many gamers an introduction to that, particularly with first-person shooters. In good news, it’s still possible to shoot people in the face from around the world online with your Xbox 360. In bad news, you’ll need to pony up for a Game Pass Core subscription, and it sounds like in 2025, many game servers aren’t well frequented.

Not enough love yet?

The PS3/360 generation is cheap in part because it’s currently occupying that awkward middle-school spot, not quite old-school, no longer modern. The nostalgia is growing, especially in its 20th anniversary year, and there’s no doubt the 360 will become a gaming history legend and likely the most fondly remembered Xbox console. As a middle-aged man, I know exactly how the Xbox 360 feels, caught awkwardly between distinguished retro charm and newer, more powerful tech.

There’s still plenty around

The 360 remains Microsoft’s most successful console with 84 million units in global sales. Naturally, there are still many floating about in the used market. But between the red ring of death, mistreatment and abandonment, mint condition and boxed examples may become harder to locate. The S models are known as the ones to get, so expect prices to stay firm on those and special editions, particularly the Star Wars edition or anything Halo, will remain coveted and valuable.

The difference in console gaming between 1985 and 2005 is immense. The same 20-year difference between 2005 and 2025, not as much. We’re in a time of diminishing returns with each new console generation. If you need a reminder of that, fire up an Xbox 360 and see how powerful it still is.

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So, is the Xbox 360 still good to buy in 2025? At the current prices, you’d be mad not to. If you’re a retro collector, now is the time to strike. Add one or two to your stockpile, occasionally rotate it into your second console position, collect some physical games, and be on the lookout for improved soft modding capabilities.

The console you find might be black or white, phat or slim or even some garish Gears of War edition, but please, go and save an Xbox 360 from a carport near you.

During a job interview, it’s common wisdom to nod, smile, and be as agreeable as possible. At my job interview for Official UK PlayStation Magazine, I chose not to do that. I chose something else.

I chose to die on the hill of Muppet RaceMania.

They chose to not give me the job.

The year was 2002. I was living in Reading, a small town about 45 minutes by train from London. It’s a nice enough place, rich in history and decent pubs. Pop-culturally, it’s known for being the hometown of comedian Ricky Gervais, influential shoegaze band Slowdive and Academy Award winner Kate Winslet. It’s also home to the jail where the fuzz locked up literary giant Oscar Wilde, and to music’s iconic Reading Festival, which is held in a giant-ass paddock a mere 15-minute walk from the city centre.

As is tradition for New Zealand twenty-somethings, I’d fled my sleepy country in search of a happening time overseas. Thanks to Brit-Pop’s massive influence and the ease of securing a two-year working visa, the UK was the de facto choice for most Kiwis with ambitions beyond Australia.

Five years earlier, I’d dropped out of art school and begun working on a national current affairs magazine in Auckland. My plan for the future was simple: 1) Go to London. 2) Get a job at a cool magazine.

That was all I had. I’d wasted enough life working on boring old people shit like news and current affairs. I now wanted to work on cool shit on a cool mag with cool people.

My dream was to land a job on Q, or The Face, or NME, or The Wire, or Edge or Mojo, or MixMag, or Loaded or FHM or any mag targeted at my demographic. Instead, I ended up working at the Blockbuster Superstore in Reading.

Before working in a video store for the second time in my life, I’d spent a few months and a lot of money, living as frugally as I could in London and applying for magazine jobs. My CV was decent, my work experience solid, but I couldn’t get my foot in the door. Heck, I wasn’t even being shown where the door was.

After almost four months of writing cover letters and sending CVs, all I had was a collection of polite rejections and a dwindling bank account. I hadn’t been asked to a single interview.

It was a miserable time. I started thinking about throwing in the towel, tucking my tail between my legs, and shamefully returning home. I’m still not sure why I wasn’t getting any interviews. Maybe the limited time on my work visa was a factor. Maybe, I just sucked.

By now, I was living in Reading — how I ended up there isn’t important — and had taken a job behind the counter at Blockbuster. I was one of four full-time employees. There was the manager, a grumpy old chain smoker named John, the assistant manager, a grumpy middle-aged Scot named Kenny, and my fellow counter jockey, a young dude to whom I bestowed the nickname ‘Stifler’ due to his frosty-tipped, spikey hair and never-ending tall tales of his sexual exploits.

I rarely think of the first two chaps, but do sometimes wonder what became of Stifler. He talked a shitload of shit but was a decent dude and quite funny. I could see him either bottoming out in life or just as easily talking himself into a CEO job. He was that kind of guy.

Anyway, none of that is particularly important, other than to paint a picture of my life at the time. In Aotearoa, New Zealand, I’d been organising and working on cover photoshoots with national celebrities, Olympians and our Prime Minister, while also writing for the television and movie pages each week. Now my days were spent putting video and DVD cases back on shelves, tailing junkies around the store to stop them stealing ice creams and asking customers if they’d like to add a 1.5-litre Coke and a giant bag of Blockbuster-branded popcorn to their rental for an extra £1.49.

Despite this, I did come to enjoy the Blockbuster job. There was zero stress, and I became great friends with all the part-timers. Many of which are lifelong pals to this day. But on those long, boring Tuesday afternoons, it was hard to shake the feeling that I was wasting my life.

That feeling changed after I drastically adjusted both my ambition and outlook as I sat on the train heading back to Reading after an utterly disastrous job interview with Official UK PlayStation Magazine.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

As I was saying, I was about to give up on the UK and fly home. On the day I finally decided my UK adventure was over, I did one last check of the job sites. And there it was, my dream job: Staff writer on a brand-new magazine dedicated to Microsoft’s upcoming console, the Xbox.

This magazine was imaginatively titled Official Xbox Magazine (OXM) and was already on bookstore shelves with a launch special.

I took the job ad as a sign and decided this application would be my last stand. If I got the job, I’d stay, obviously. If I didn’t, I’d go home, defeated. This was it. I’d leave fate to decide my, er, fate.

Nevertheless, I vowed to go down fighting. I knew a standard CV and cover letter wouldn’t cut it. I was getting nowhere with that. I needed to stand out. I needed to wow them. I needed to get crafty.

So I went to the craft store.

I splurged and bought a snazzy black paper folder and a stack of expensive, Xbox-green-coloured paper. I spent days tweaking every line of my cover letter and CV to match the job specs perfectly. I spent even longer working on a detailed cover-to-cover, page-by-page breakdown and analysis of their rival Xbox magazine, Xbox Magazine. This bluntly stupid name was abbreviated to XBM on the cover as they tried to position themselves as the “edgy” alternative to the official magazine.

Alongside my analysis, I also wrote up a page of feature pitches and another page listing my complete gaming history to prove my gaming bona fides. I carefully cut a circle out of one of the green paper sheets and stuck it on the black folder to make it look like an Xbox, stuffed my stack of work inside, and sent it off. Then I waited.

And hoped.

The extraordinary effort paid off. HR emailed me a couple of weeks later and, as a next step, gave me a couple of days to write a 200-word review of a game of my choice. I chose Super Mario Advance on the GBA, which was only a few months old at the time. I quickly typed up a punchy review filled with ‘tude and quick zings, a skill I’d honed writing snappy TV previews each week for the current affairs mag back home, and sent it off.

A few days after sending it in, I was invited to Bath for an interview. I booked a hostel and train ticket, and headed off the following week. I was hyped and bright-eyed. Destiny was calling me.

At the interview, I killed. I nodded, smiled, and was as agreeable as humanly possible. I had all the answers to their questions about magazines and magazine production, writing, gaming, and the Xbox itself. The editor said he’d been impressed by my application, CV and game review.. Most crucial of all, my jokes landed.

I was in the interview room for over an hour — always a good sign — and we got on smashingly. “Yes, I’d be happy to move to Bath,” I assured him and the HR person when they asked just before I left the interview. It felt like a done deal. Finally, my dream was coming true.

I was on a high all the way home. And the next day. And the day after. By the following week, the high had fizzled to a low and been replaced with a terrible anxiousness. Why hadn’t I got the call?

A week later, HR emailed. There had been a production hold-up, which would delay their decision for two more weeks. All I could do was wait some more.

Three weeks later, the editor emailed. It was now the first week of December. He told me it was down to me and one other candidate, and he assured me I’d know before Christmas. He didn’t want this hanging over my head for the holidays.

On Christmas Eve morning, two months after applying for the job, another email arrived. My application for the staff writer job at OXM had not been successful. I remember getting profoundly drunk on £1 snakebites but little else from that night.

Needless to say, it was not a very merry Christmas. Nor a particularly happy New Year. The massive disappointment at not landing the gig after the stress of that endless wait, combined with the daily drudgery of work-life at Blockbuster, was brutal.

So when, in the second week of January, I got another email from the editor, I nearly fell to my knees to praise Jebus.

He told me there was a staff writer role open at Official UK PlayStation Magazine (OPM). He’d spoken with either the editor or the editor-in-chief or the dept. boss, I can’t remember who exactly, and had recommended me. Would I be keen to go back to Bath for an interview?

The following week, there I was again, sitting in reception with my CV in hand and hope in my heart. But that hope would be replaced by a kind of righteous fury.

Just to be clear: righteous fury of any kind is not the best thing to bring to a job interview.

It did not start well. Where I’d instantly clicked with OXM’s editor, my rapport with OPM’s boss was awkward from the get-go. Our conversation couldn’t find a groove. He told me about the job, then asked some standard interview-type questions, but didn’t seem particularly interested in my answers. Then he moved on to gaming.

At this point, the PlayStation catalogue might as well have been my Mastermind specialist topic. I’d poured years into the console back home and, thanks to my Blockbuster job, had played all the hot new titles.

He asked me to list my Top 3 PlayStation games. This seemingly innocent question is deceptive and actually one of the toughest to field. But I’d come prepared with a Top 3, Top 5, and Top 10 list at the ready, just in case.

I opened with an absolute classic: Tekken 2, a fighting game my pals and I had spent countless drunken hours battling in. It was an irrefutable choice.

He refuted. Tekken 3 was better, he said. I owned Tekken 3, so I knew this was nonsense. But I nodded, smiled, and carried on.

My second pick was undeniable: Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2. He denied it. Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 3 was superior, he claimed. I wasn’t sure about that as THPS3 was fairly new, and I’d barely played it compared to my time with 2. I nodded, smiled, and carried on.

I knew my final choice was controversial. I loved the game, but it was mainly a conversation piece in my interview strategy — a quirky oddity to jovially discuss after my two safe bets. That’d been the plan, anyway. I hadn’t counted on my two dead cert choices being dead on arrival. Still, I stuck to the plan. Muppet RaceMania rounded off my list of the Top 3 PS1 games of all time.

This boss guy had disliked my first two choices, but he hated my final pick. He spluttered, guffawed, and then haughtily dismissed it outright.

Crash Team Racing was the best kart racer on PS1, he huffed. This time, I didn’t smile. I didn’t nod. I didn’t carry on. Instead, I told him he was out of his damned mind.

This is not an advisable thing to say in a job interview.

My rebuttal to his rebuke did not go down well. Unlike THPS3, I’d played plenty of CTR, so I knew what I was talking about. Sure, superficially, CTR was a good game. It was certainly more accessible and more well-made. But I held no doubt that it was inferior. It lacked the depth, the challenge, the nuance and the charm of Muppet RaceMania. It was simply the lesser game.

I’ll freely admit that Muppet RaceMania is not an easy game to get into. If you only spend an hour or two playing, you will not have a good time. For such a cheerful game full of family-friendly characters, it is deceptively demanding. Mastery requires total commitment and a steely grit. The controls are floaty and slippery, the tracks bewildering, and the muppets are ruthless in dispatching their power-ups.

Adding insult to injury are the insulting and merciless heckles from Statler and Waldorf every time you lose a race. Which will be a lot.

But spend time with the game, and it will slowly start to click. You’ll learn the steering nuances, you’ll discover shortcuts, master your drifts, and learn how to power out of trouble. You’ll slowly, satisfyingly, transform from chump to contender to champion. Muppet RaceMania takes you on a fulfilling journey, but one that demands patience and work.

As an example, take the humble race-starting turbo boost. In most kart racers, it’s a simple case of learning when to hold the accelerator down during the starting countdown. It becomes muscle memory. Routine. Mindless.

Not so in Muppet RaceMania. Here, you have to earn your starting boost. What happens is that during the countdown, a random combo of button prompts flash on screen, and you have to frantically match them. The more buttons you match, the greater your speed boost off the starting grid. It’s a wee jolt of stress and adrenaline before the race even begins.

There’s a total of 34 wacky tracks to race on, all themed after scenes from the first six Muppet movies. The presentation of the game is utterly charming and delightful. The graphics are bright and full of character, and fantastic for their era. There’s plenty of FMVs lifted straight from the films, and the soundtrack is a killer mix of jaunty Muppet numbers. Best of all, the game perfectly captures the about-to-fall-apart chaos that typifies the Muppets.

The only real misstep is ‘Stunt Mode’. This car-crash of an idea resembles a 2D platformer and is next to impossible. Level 2 is the furthest I ever got. It’s a failed novelty. Avoid.

But back in the main game, there are 25 Muppets and 25 wildly variable karts to unlock. Some Muppets are deviously hidden on the tracks and they must be found, and then beat in a bastard-challenging race before they become playable. There are collect-a-thon tasks and multiple Tournament Cups to win. There’s an abundance of stuff to do and unlock outside of just winning races.

Best of all, it’s fun! I’ve introduced Muppet RaceMania to two different flats in two different countries, and both times, my flatmates became hardcore fans.

Hardcore being the operative word there. Don’t let the license fool you. Muppet RaceMania is the Dark Souls of kart racers. But like Dark Souls, once mastered, it is endlessly rewarding. Put simply, it’s a brilliant kart racer. On this, there can be no argument.

Back in the interview room, the boss guy from Official UK PlayStation Magazine argued. I argued against his arguments, to which he argued some more. The HR rep, a pretty 20-something woman, watched on, horrified, as two 20-something men vehemently debated the merits of their favourite cartoonish kart racing videogame.

I should have nodded, smiled, and carried on. I knew this. It was my dream job on the line after all! But there was simply no way I was going to sit there and let anyone tell me that Crash Team Racing was a better game than Muppet RaceMania. Sometimes you just have to stand up for what you believe in, no matter the cost. It’s called integrity, folks, and where I come from, Papamoa Beach, that means something.

From what I recall, the HR person brought an end to the increasingly heated discussion by interrupting the verbal brawl and asking me something job-related— no idea what —and as soon as I finished answering her, the boss guy thanked me for coming in and said he’d be in touch. I muttered an equally convincing thanks and left. The whole interview lasted 12 minutes.

On the train home, I had no regerts. But I did have what alcoholics call a moment of clarity. I’d spent eight months of my 24-month visa chasing a dream and riding a rollercoaster of hope and despair with every job application and subsequent rejection.

As the UK zipped past my window, I saw everything I’d managed to build in my adopted country: an awesome friend group, a great girlfriend, a crappy job that demanded little and was often fun thanks to my pals. On that train, I gave up job hunting and dream chasing, resolving instead to live and enjoy the life I was living while I could. I’d worry about work when I got back to NZ.

Freed from the career albatross, I could see how cool things actually were. I spent the remainder of my time in the UK slacking at Blockbuster and enjoying the hell out of the social scene. I bought an Xbox at launch, a GameCube a few months later and began nabbing insane retro gaming deals at the weekly car boot sale. Occasionally, I’d buy a copy of OXM, but I’d never even flick through OPM.

A few months later, Kenny returned to Scotland and I got promoted to assistant manager of the Blockbuster Superstore. A couple of months after that, I became the manager of my own store in Reading’s poshest suburb. Both roles added responsibility, which I gave exactly zero fucks about. I even poached my pals from the Superstore to come work with me in my little village Blockbuster. Old John was mighty pissed about that.

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As for Muppet RaceMania? It’s become something of a cult favourite these days. It’s a real “if you know, you know” game. On eBay, boxed copies start at around $35 NZD and race up to around $90 NZD, before shipping.

Back then, the game was routinely dismissed as being a cheap cash-in or another kiddie kart racer by people who didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Gamers didn’t give it a chance. But why would they? It reviewed horribly.

EGM gave it 6/10, Game Informer 5/10, and GameSpot, by far the biggest game media site back then, awarded it a dismal 5.1/10 after labelling it a “middling kart game”.

There was only one outlet that got behind the game. Only one outlet that championed it. That got it. That understood that the harsh demands it made of the player were rewarded tenfold. This outlet awarded Muppet RaceMania a whopping 9/10.

Who was it, you ask?

Official UK PlayStation Magazine.

I found myself among the lights, smells and screams of the arcade, and it was painful. To the untrained eye, a modern arcade looks similar to how it’s always been, but to an old-school gamer, it’s nearly unrecognisable.

I’d been efficiently parted with my electronic cash, and my kids were running about brandishing a plastic card loaded with gaming credit that was rapidly depleted. Their joy quickly turned to disappointment at how soon it was over, and the fact that they were left with a balance that was just short of one final game.

Once that calmed down, it was time for their next disappointment - the tickets. All that hard work playing meaningless half-minute dopamine-hit games yielded 550 virtual tickets. Expectations soared as we moved to the environmental-disaster prize area, but their faces dropped again on the realisation that 550 tickets were enough for a small bouncy ball, a plastic bracelet or a chocolate bar so small they’re usually sold in multi-bags. Even if no one lost the bouncy ball or snapped the bracelet, this junk would be forgotten by sundown.

“Take the chocolate bar and let’s go,” I say optimistically.

But I know it’s not that easy, the next 15 minutes must be spent gazing longingly at all the better prizes and asking, “Can we get that for 550 tickets?”

It was time to check out. I slide a bouncy ball in my mouth like a cyanide pill and slump into a dark corner of the arcade to die. A final resting place where some teenage worker can’t heroically Heimlich-hump me while others record it on their phones.

As the breath leaves my body, my arcade gaming life flashes before my eyes. At the skating rink, watching in wonder at big kids playing wood-panelled Galaga and Pac-Man machines. Coins heavy in teen pockets walking down rows of matching machines in the big ‘90s city arcades. Work breaks in Japan sat on stools at low cabinets, stinking ashtrays and a bewildering game selection. Painfully, watching the slow death of arcades before a rebirth as modern atrocities, and returning as a father.

Then, I arrive at the arcade pearly gates, and it’s there to meet me. Standing proud, concave six-button layout, God of arcade heaven - Street Fighter II: The World Warrior. I weep at its imperial beauty. On-screen flashes the countdown with a beaten Guile inviting me in. As I reach for the 1-player button to cross into arcade heaven, I hear a concerned little voice from beyond.

“Dad!… Is 550 tickets enough for the Nintendo Switch?”

I then realise a man this irritated can’t enter arcade heaven. I cough the bouncy ball across the sticky carpet. We leave the arcade, my overstimulated kids cry along the street, and the prize bracelet snaps, spewing its plastic beads into the gutter. Yet, all I can think about is the majestic Street Fighter II machine and why there’s only one true arcade god.

You see, there were great arcade games before SFII and a few great games after, but only one transcended its joystick and buttons to generate a culture all its own. While this probably differed around the world, in Aotearoa, New Zealand, there was a moment in the 1990s when Street Fighter 2 was omnipresent. It achieved an unprecedented cultural reach that would lead to enduring cultural references. And wherever there was an SFII machine, there were two games at play, Capcom’s masterpiece on screen and the game of those hanging around it.

Varied Locations - Fighting Anywhere

Of course, there was SFII in the large city arcades, it was a boom time for arcade culture, and that was great for practice, but the real action was out in the wild. SFII machines were at takeaway shops, bars, pool halls, and video rental stores, rich kids could even rent one for a weekend, but the true playerz were at the local dairy. The suburban Kiwi convenience store where wars of attrition were fought, legends were made and loitering teens were chased away by shop owners with brooms.

Perfect Timing

Released in 1991, SFII was entrenched in NZ by 92/93, and the timing was spot on. PC gaming was still niche, and there hadn't been a significant uptake on 16-bit consoles. For most Kiwi kids, formative gaming experiences were happening outside the home. SFII rode that wave until the mid-90s. The PlayStation and N64 shifted gaming to lounge rooms and arcade machines, especially in isolated locations, lost viability. Now, in the 21st century, with potential gaming opportunities available everywhere, including in our pockets, an apocalypse is required for us to huddle around an arcade stand-up again. It’d almost be worth it.

Showdown with a Stranger

This was local multiplayer in its purest sense, strangers brought together by fate to share a moment in time, shoulder-to-shoulder fighting each other on screen. Waiting for their fish and chips to be cooked, often not a word exchanged. The winner continues, and the loser walks away 40 cents poorer and pride dented. When you stepped up to take the joystick in hand, you represented your mates, your family, your school and your area. To others, we looked like kids playing spacies, but to have been there and felt the intensity, it was much more.

Talking large, without fear of verification

“Yeah my cousin’s neighbour is the best Street Fighter player in NZ, he’d smash you hard out.

Before YouTube, before mobile phones and pretty much before the internet, outrageous claims were made without any possible verification. No matter how good you were on SFII, there was always someone’s cousin or brother or brother’s cousin or friend who lived down south that was apparently a lot better than you.

Mostly, you were informed of this indisputable fact from a foe who’d just lost their 40c to your handiwork. There were always rumours of SFII tournaments, but no one knew what was going on. Champions were localised, not just by suburb or area but even by individual machines. Find yourself playing at a dairy somewhere new and kicking some local ass, it was possible a nearby SFII legend would be alerted to your presence and come down to sort you out. What a time to be alive.

Seconds - Master and Student

Among the roundhouse kicks and trash talk, the practice of seconds offered a softer, social element to SFII culture. Fighting an AI opponent, each level is best of three rounds, so a confident player could afford to lose one round and still clear the level.

After winning the first round, a player might offer the second round to a friend or spectator to step in and play. Advice and encouragement could be offered, and this was the beautiful nature of seconds. Many a coinless young kid learned to play SFII by hanging around and being offered seconds.

Cheeky kids could ask other players for their seconds, but that wish didn’t have to be granted, players may oblige in the early rounds of the game, but would need all three rounds later to progress.

The Cheaps - Them Fighting Words

SFII offered the capacity for different styles and approaches by players. These could be power moves or something more elegant. But some moves weren’t pretty, were repetitive and just got the job done. Often, one character had a weakness that could be exploited by another. This style of play was often referred to as “the cheaps.”

Now, if you wanted to clock the game in 1-player mode, using the cheaps was acceptable. However, in versus multiplayer, accusing a rival of using the cheaps was a serious accusation, and to be used carefully as the fighting may spill off the screen.

In reality, we all pulled the cheaps on each other at times, using the same move repeatedly or targeting a defensive weakness. Or just be slightly ahead on health and jump around the screen like a maniac till the clock runs out. There were many ways to execute the cheap, and when 40 cents and bragging rights were on the line, no regrets.

Game Glitches - Beautifully Flawed

With thousands of playing hours being put into SFII, any mistakes in the game’s code were going to be uncovered, and they were, particularly in early versions of The World Warrior. An ability to exploit these glitches elevated a player to top-dog status. The best glitch play belonged to Guile and included his invisible throw, freeze stance and a frustrating move known as handcuffs, which would render his opponent frozen. These were no ordinary combo moves and required precise timing for a series of buttons.

These dark arts were passed along through spoken word and demonstration. Some kids claimed they were impossible, while rumours of other unknown glitches circulated. Attempting these moves could quite easily lock up a machine, requiring a full reset from the owner. Often, it was better to walk away than be the tenth kid that day to explain to an annoyed shopkeeper that you froze your Guile and couldn’t unfreeze him before the time ran out.

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The ultimate dick move involved a glitch where the player could reset the machine mid-game using a series of buttons, perfect for wiping out two credits the moment before you lose.

The Machine - A Showcase for Self-Expression

Myself and my SFII playing partner, Joe, thought Guile was the coolest character with the raddest moves, so surely everyone else would feel the same. It turned out not. A former special forces pilot with an eye on revenge and a mean haircut wasn’t for everyone.

Players identified with different characters and found ways to be deadly with them. Frequent players also required a secondary character for use when they faced an opponent already using their regular choice.

Players came from different cultural backgrounds, and in many cases, this could be represented on screen through character selection. This added to the mystique of SFII and the feeling that it was for all of us.

When we see groups of teens staring at their phone screens, it’s hard not to think back to when we all stared at the same screen. A quaint, more innocent time when we could all enjoy a violent video game. Ultimately, SFII brought people together, sometimes they’d end up pushing each other or someone would get called a dick bag. But we were together.

It also inspired us in different ways. Chun-Li’s thighs inspired me to live in Asia when I was older. Guile inspired Joe to use more hair gel and wear camo print.

Then, it all slowly moved on. SFII evolved, we had Championship Edition, Hyper Fighting, an expansion of characters and other developments. But for most, the purest form of Street Fighter will always be The World Warrior. It was the perfect arcade game at a perfect moment in arcade gaming history.

Street Fighter II will forever be the one true arcade gaming god because, for a divine time, it was the only game.

You’d have to be a damn fool to get scammed online. An idiot. A chump. A prize rube. That’s what I used to think. And then I got scammed online trying to buy a Steam Deck.

Valued overseas readers of Pixel Fix may be scoffing into their tea and scones, wondering how you could possibly get scammed buying a Steam Deck. All you do is open Steam, type in ‘Steam Deck’, and press ‘Buy’. No problemo.

No. Big problemo.

For whatever reason, Steam Deck manufacturer Valve has decided against selling the Steam Deck in Aotearoa, New Zealand. Which is annoying because that’s where I live.

What makes this situation even more maddening is that Valve’s head honcho, Gabe Newell, also lives here. I bet he has a Steam Deck. You’d think we’d of been one of the first countries to get it. But nope. We don’t get it at all. The big jerk.

Just to sprinkle a little extra salt in my wound, Valve recently started selling the damn thing next door in Australia, a country that’s a mere three hours away. For context, we are closer to Australia than New York is to Los Angeles. And not just a little bit closer. 1790kms closer. Or, if you prefer, 1115 miles closer. It takes longer to fly across Australia than it does to get to NZ from Australia.

This situation forces any local wannabe Steam Deck owner to enter the wonderful world of importers and their wonderful approach to pricing. Now look, I understand everybody’s gotta make a living, so some markup is expected. But I don’t expect to be robbed blind. That will happen online later, but I’ll get to that in a sec.

Converting the Australian sales price into real money, the 512GB OLED Steam Deck equates to NZD $959. In the shops here that have grey imported it, the same model sells for NZD $1399.

At the risk of stating the bleeding obvious, this is a lot of money. Too much money. We’re talking a difference of NZD $440. With that sort of cash, you can buy a brand new Nintendo Switch Lite, a dozen beers, and some Fish N’ Chips for dinner on your way home.

NZD $440 works out to AUD $412 or USD $263 — essentially half what the Steam Deck actually costs in those territories.

I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. My overwhelming desire for a Steam Deck, squashed by my stupid, principled refusal to be blatantly extorted.

And so I turned to the secondhand market. First, I braved the wild west of Facebook Marketplace. But as I live in a small beach town and not a bustling metropolis, there were never any single Steam Decks in my area. I’m naturally a distrustful and suspicious person, so buying one from out of town was off the table. The golden rule of Marketplace is that deals are best done in person. Especially ones involving hundreds of dollars.

That left only one option: TradeMe. This is NZ’s version of eBay, which never took off here. Unlike Marketplace, it is relatively safe and trusted.

Or so I thought.

The earlier sale of my Retroid Pocket 4 handheld was funding my Steam Deck purchase, which pointed me towards the cheapest LCD model. While I would prefer the OLED screen and QOL improvements of the refreshed model, I’d decided I could live with the LCD compromise if I could score a deal.

After watching the market, I learned the 64GB LCD model was routinely being listed from around NZD $550 and going up from there. The RP4 and accessories would get me most of the way there with only a small top-up required. And so the hunt began.

Checking TM every hour or so for new listings became part of my daily routine. Occasionally, I’d bid on an auction and be leading until the closing seconds when a sudden, bastard flurry of activity would push the device beyond my meagre budget.

And then, one afternoon, my patience paid off. A new listing, like a shiny Pokémon, suddenly appeared in the middle of the day. A 512GB LCD Steam Deck for the bargain price of NZD $400.

After a quick flutter of the heart, my suspicions were raised. This was very cheap, especially for a 512GB model, but still plausible. I’d observed prices of the LCD models trending downwards as OLEDs began to trickle into the secondhand swamp. And besides, in these troubled times, there are all sorts of reasons someone may need quick cash.

Still, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I searched the listing for red flags, and indeed, there were many billowing bright and bold in the breeze. But, for every red flag, there was also a green flag acting as a calming balm to my burning suspicions.

Red: Sergeant_Andy was a new member with no feedback, and this was his first listing.

Green: He was an Authenticated Member, a process that involves using a credit card to top up your TM account and purchasing an item with ‘Buy Now’.

Red: The listing was short on detail.

Green: But the three pics looked legit and passed the Google reverse image search test.

Red: He had no feedback.

Green: But the listing said potential buyers were ‘welcome to come view beforehand’.

This last one went a long way in assuaging my fears of being scammed like an idiot. Not only could you go view the Steam Deck, but buyer pick-up was also offered as an option. Had I not been 130 kms away, I woulda been knocking on his door, cash in hand.

Even still, I was hesitant to smash the Buy Now button. I asked Sergeant_Andy a question on the listing: Would he be willing to use Ping? He replied immediately with ‘Yes’ and promptly added a ‘Pay with Ping’ button to the listing. Ping, if you haven’t guessed, is our local buyer protection service, just like PayPal. That was good enough for me. I pressed ‘Buy Now’, transferred the cash, fired off an email to Sergeant_Andy with my address details and began excitedly waiting for my Steam Deck to arrive.

However, it didn’t take long for my Spidey-sense to begin tingling. During the auction, Sergeant_Andy had been super responsive in answers and action, but now I was being ghosted. My original email, sent moments after buying the Deck, which was moments after he’d replied to my Ping question and request, went unanswered. The next day, I emailed again and again got no reply. The Sarge had gone to wind, taking my $400 with him.

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As I sat there forlorn and Steam Deck-less, I could only imagine the highroller lifestyle Sergeant_Andy was now enjoying on my dime. Fast cars, fast drugs, fast food and fast women, no doubt. All paid for by Muggins here.

I dutifully began the process of having Ping refund me my cash. It wasn’t particularly difficult, but it took longer than I would have liked. It was obvious that Sergeant_Andy was a Major_Scammer, but Ping still had to work through their processes, which involve contacting the seller (presumably by email) and giving them a couple of days grace to respond and get the goods sent.

I bought the Deck on the 11th, contacted TM support on the 13th, who logged the complaint but said I had to wait a few more days before moving to the next step. On the 16th, a Ping Disputes and Investigations rep emailed me and four days after that, on the 20th, the $400 was refunded back into my account.

I was not out of pocket, but I still felt like an idiot. A chump. A prize rube. What next? Helping a Nigerian prince with his banking woes? I’d ignored all the warning signs and paid the price — even if I did get my moolah back in the end.

All things considered, it could have been much worse. As it stands, all I lost was my time, my desire for a Steam Deck and my innocence. It’s been about a year since this all went down, and I’ve only recently started getting that nagging urge to resume the hunt for a Steam Deck to call my own.

As for Sergeant_Andy of Hamilton, who knows? TM terminated his account, Ping would’ve sent their heavies after him, and I can’t imagine my $400 got him too far on the lam. I like to think he’s rotting in a jail somewhere and regretting his life choices after the full force of the law came slamming down on him for scamming such an upstanding member of society as myself.

But it’s more likely that old mate pulled off the perfect crime. Sergeant_Andy is probably in his Hamilton home, chilling on his couch playing his new Switch Lite, and washing down his Fish N’ Chips dinner with an ice-cold beer.

The bastard.

When all eyes were on the Switch 2 announcement, the Wii U quietly became a Grandpa and may have taken a step toward desirability for retro collectors. Will it now move in the tracks of the GameCube and build a following, or will it forever be the black sheep of the Nintendo family? The Wii U’s long-term destiny remains unknown, but in 2025 it’s as fascinating a console as ever. Pixel Fix needed a hit and scored a Premium Pack Wii U console in black. It’s time to find out why the haters hate and if right now is the best time to own Nintendo’s rarest console.

Going Wii U in 2025

Of course, I’d heard the Wii U sucked, I’d read articles and watched clips pointing out its many vices. I was even aware of Nintendo stock falling 10% in the days following its infamous 2011 unveiling. However, like other weirdos, the more I’m warned off of something, the more I’m attracted to it.

Now, as a proud Wii U owner, I’m not about beating up on it. The console has taken enough punishment already and remains the punching bag of the gaming world. This year, an April Fools meme circulated online showing a parody Wii U 2. So cruel, so insensitive, just online bullying really. So what if the Wii U had a catastrophic launch, poor third-party support and was viewed by many “serious” gamers as an over-priced gimmick? That was 2012 and this is now. Despite the Wii U’s short tenure and low sales, it will always be Nintendo’s eight-generation console.

At launch in New Zealand, the Wii U was priced at $470 for the Basic Pack White Console with 8GB internal storage. The Premium Pack in black was $570 with 32GB. I don’t have new sales figures for NZ but they could be in the thousands, rather than the tens of thousands. It didn’t sell well here, and the used market isn’t abundant. At the time of writing, there are only nine complete Wii U for sale on the online auction website Trade Me — our version of eBay. A complete console with gamepad and cables currently goes for around $150 NZD. Naturally, expect to pay more if it’s boxed, special edition or bundled with games and accessories, and less if it’s in poor condition, particularly with scratches on the gamepad screen.

Now, the haters will have you believe that the Wii U console and its gamepad are somehow confusing, they’re not. Just make sure you purchase both the gamepad and console together. The gamepad isn’t like other controllers, it wasn’t sold separately from the console. There aren’t any more gamepads out there than consoles, they’re life partners, so keep it simple and buy both together.

I paid $230 NZD for a good condition unboxed, but complete Wii U 32GB. It came with a Pro Controller, Motion Plus Wiimote with Nunchuck, five games, cables and some protective silicon sleeves. General condition suggests an easy life, with no scratches on the gamepad and minimal wear on the black surface of the console itself. The Pro Controller and Wiimote look unused. It was a solid deal. The games are standard fare, so often used console deals come with a version of Assassins Creed and Call of Duty: Black Ops, but Monster Hunter 3 Ultimate and Xenoblade Chronicles X were welcome scores.

I won’t do a full buyer’s guide here, there are some great ones online including this by loveable bogan Metal Jesus.

Deadweight or misunderstood pioneer?

The Wii U lived and died on the success of the tablet-style gamepad, it’s where the defining innovation was, and the risk. The gamepad has various capabilities, it can operate as a tethered handheld, or perform other functions when a game is being played on a TV or monitor. The problem was that developers weren’t prepared or coordinated in approaching a touch screen sitting in a player’s lap. Screen mirroring was a base idea, showing maps and items was more handy, and some games embraced this gamepad with greater innovation.

An often-used example is Zombi U, a survival horror where the gamepad is used cleverly. One way is to control your inventory, which sounds unimpressive, but forces the player to look at the gamepad, leaving the character on screen vulnerable, amplifying the game’s tense atmosphere. The gamepad can also work as an environmental scanner and performs in-game augmented reality tricks. There’s also a two-player mode ‘King of Zombies’ where one player, using an alternative controller, tries to survive. The other player, the King, uses the gamepad to spawn zombies into the setting. It’s cool stuff and showcases the gamepad’s potential while highlighting the missed opportunity. Experiencing the different developer approaches toward the gamepad is a unique feature of Wii U gaming.

While each Wii U game makes some use of the gamepad’s capabilities, there was never a console-selling, flagship title that really pushed it’s limits. A stark contrast to its Wii predecessor which was very clear in what the sensor bar and Wiimote could do and had people jumping around smashing flatscreens globally.

Since owning the Wii U, I’ve enjoyed playing some Zombie U and Mario Kart 8, which is exceptional. I was also surprised by how much I got into Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze. I’m not really a 2D platformer guy, but was captured by its mellow skill progression and colourful antics.

So uncool, it becomes cool

Social trends and human desirability are strange and fickle. Something becoming so uncool that it eventually goes full circle and becomes cool is a phenomenon with many examples; Crocs, mullets, thick-framed glasses, caring about the environment and wearing back packs with both straps. Nintendo’s GameCube enjoyed this zero-to-hero journey in the past, and right now if there’s one console that’s considered uncool, it’s the Wii U.

Another reason for the Wii U to increase in popularity is scarcity. For full-set collectors of Nintendo consoles, the Wii U could be a future missing link. Just 13.5 million units were sold worldwide, a massive difference to the Wii (101 million) and the Switch (150+ million). Add in the dangers of a low-value perception towards it and the need for the gamepad and console to stay together, there are likely many Wii U that are already busted, e-waste or incomplete.

Thinking ahead but looking back

Nintendo hasn’t always been a champion of backward compatibility but for the Wii U, it was a marketing focus point. With the Wii being a sales success story the next-gen Wii U needed upgrade appeal for this new legion of casual gamers. Being given full backward compatibility with Wii games and all Wii accessories was a vital part of that appeal for the Wii U. Unfortunately in 2012, casual gamers weren’t a brand-loyal bunch and most moved on to gaming on tablets and phones, waiting for the PS4 or just grew tired of Wii Sports and their Wii Fit Boards.

In practice the backwards compatibility is excellent, the Wii U can be booted into “Wii Mode” and then functions identically to a Wii console. With the sensor bar connected and Wiimote in hand, the Wii experience is more than emulated, it feels native. As Nintendo’s first HDMI connected console, the Wii U is also a viable solution for playing Wii games on a modern TV with upgraded HDMI picture quality.

Just for you Wii U - exclusive games

A console is only as strong as its game library, an area where the Wii U fell short. However, there were some handsome first-party releases like Mario Kart 8, and Super Mario 3D World. Those and many others were scooped up and ported once the Switch arrived, but there were some notable titles left behind, marooned on planet Wii U.

For Zelda fans there are two entries only playable on the Wii U, the HD remasters of Wind Walker and Twilight Princess. They’re at the more expensive end of the used physical copy market but offer a strong visual upgrade and slick gamepad features for managing menus.

In case you’re wondering, all online services for the Wii U were discontinued in April 2024. Nobody cried about it.

Not exactly street legal - modding

Modding is perhaps the Wii U’s greatest strength going forward, and a reason some gamers are grabbing them right now. Nintendo won’t be celebrating, but the Wii U has become a very popular console for soft modding, It’s one of the simplest to Homebrew and with RetroArch can emulate many retro consoles for playing ROMs. A cool option here is to keep your modded Wii U full Nintendo, and with the right emulation cores, and a little know-how, it can play games across each generation from Wii, Gamecube, N64, SNES and NES. All with the convenience of an HDMI connection. One console to rule them all, and no one expected it to be a Wii U.

Other modding tricks for naughty gamers include, removing the region lock, going disk-free, and dual-booting Linux for full nerds.

Collecting on the cheap

Right now, collecting physical games for the Wii U is comparatively cheap. Many righteous games can be purchased, with some patience, for less than $10 NZD. Many more for under $30 but expect slightly rarer titles like Game & Wario and Shovel Knight to be over $50. The physical copies look great too, with cool cover art, they’re colourful and recognisable on shelves.

Often there aren’t many used Wii U physical games for sale online but there’s usually minimal competition on $1 reserve auctions.

Should you get a Wii U?

Yeah probably. The Wii U is fun to play on, easy to mod and, at the right price, is just an intriguing console to own. Who knows, It may be a collector piece in the future, but in 2025 considering it’s age and capability, it’s a console you’d play rather than admire as a relic.

What’s underestimated is how good the gaming is on the Wii U. There’s no doubt it was a commercial failure, but there was a period where Nintendo went all-in on it and you can feel that.

It’s easy to be put off by the bad reviews and online hate, but when you score one with a few games, the appeal of the hardware is clear, as is what Nintendo planned for the console. With clearer communication and greater developer support, Nintendo might have pulled it off. Like any Grandpa, the Wii U has a past but still has some capability and will often be the most interesting console in the room.

I had planned to sleep through the video game event of the year. At 2 am Wednesday, Nintendo took to YouTube to finally spill all of the beans about their much-anticipated and very hyped new console, the Nintendo Switch 2.

In case you were unaware, 2 am is very early. Too early. Before hopping into bed on Tuesday night, I did not set an alarm.

But thanks to sleep-depriving modern-day anxieties and stresses, I found myself wide awake in time to watch the presentation live. Yay, I guess?

Mario Kart World

Nintendo had already spoiled the announcement that Mario and his racing buddies would be zooming onto the Switch 2’s Starting line. I probably would have been more excited about this reveal had they not already revealed that.

Still, it was cool to see a brand new Mario Kart after however many hundreds of years it’s been since Mario Kart 8 released on the ill-fated, but very fun, Wii U.

The game boasted a massive 24 racers, including a cow that has already become an internet icon. I have no doubt the game is going to be wild fun as it tests your ability to navigate the utter chaos provided by 23 rival racers, as well as the twists, turns and hairpin corners of its race tracks.

The game’s big new feature is that it’s open world. You drive between tracks and can cruise around wherever you want to go. I’m sure there will be incentives to do so. Would have been nice to see them…

Still, the game looks great. It looks fun. It looks like Mario Kart. Only bigger. Better? Well…

I thought I’d be more hyped for it. I can’t plug into why I’m not. It got me thinking about an old quote from Mario creator and Nintendo game designer visionary, Shigeru Miyamoto. When asked why there was no new F-Zero for the Wii U, he simply replied he had no new ideas for it.

At the time, I thought that was a ridiculous answer. Just give the people what they want, I thought. It turned out he’d nicked F-Zero’s anti-grav track ideas and plugged them into Mario Kart 8, therefore making the future racing franchise redundant.

With Mario Kart World, Nintendo has given the people what they want (more karting) and a new idea (open world), but it just looks like more of the same. That same will be very, very good, sure, but it’s not enough to make me want to race to the store to plonk down a pre-order.

I should clarify that I love Mario Kart. But I think I’m not totally jazzed about the new one because they haven’t shown what you actually do in its open world aside from driving to the next track. Maybe if we’d seen the point of it being an open world, I’d feel different.

The game’s a day one release and will be a day one purchase for nearly every day one Switch 2 buyer, especially as there’s a slightly discounted bundle deal avaiable.

But at the end of the day, it’s Mario Kart. And I don’t feel the pressing need to spend the guts of $900 NZD just to play Mario Kart.

Price

Shit’s going to be expensive. So expensive, Nintendo didn’t mention the price at all during their presentation.

But stores have prices up now and by golly, they are up there. Mario Kart World is going to cost $129 NZD. In contrast, the hot new release Assassin’s Creed Shadows on the PS5 will set you back $98 NZD. It’s apples and oranges, sure, but you can buy a lot of apples and oranges with that $31 difference.

The console itself is an eye-watering $799 NZD. I’m reliably informed that it costs $699 in Australia. Using today’s exchange rate, that is $45 more than it costs across the ditch. You can buy a lot of apples and oranges with that $45 difference. Perception-wise, $799 also feels expensive. Even if the hardware is fairly priced for what you’re getting.

In comparison, the original Switch was a cheerful $549 NZD at launch. Yes, inflation, covid costs, Trump tariffs, blah, blah, blah. The problem is life costs are soaring and $799 — or, more realistically, $869 because you’d be a damned fool to not buy the bundle — is a lot of clams to be dropping.

If you want Mario Kart World, and of course you do, then you’ll be buying the offered bundle at $869 NZD. Which is a comparatively good deal, but still a shit ton of moolah.

My armchair analysis is that it’s too damn expensive. I don’t expect Switch 2 to fly off the shelves here in Aotearoa, New Zealand. Mario Kart has a huge appeal. But not $869 worth of appeal.

Typical Nintendo Crazy-Ass Shit

Nintendo marches to the beat of its own drum. Well, fire the conductor because deciding to charge actual real life money for tech demo Nintendo Switch 2 Welcome Tour is some typical Nintendo crazy-ass shit. It’s a collection of little mini games designed to show off the capabilities of your shiny new Switch 2 that should have been free. It is not.

Rumour is the snappily titled Nintendo Switch 2 Welcome Tour will cost somewhere in the region of $11 NZD. This is $11 NZD too much. I’d rather spend that money on apples and oranges.

The System Itself

The bigger screen of the system looked gorgeous. I don’t care about it being LCD and not OLED when it looks this good. More computing grunt is always welcome, and I’ve read that the Switch 2 is close to a PS4 Pro in power. Which is big for Nintendo. My only concern is that the system’s battery can handle whatever computing parts they’ve stuffed in there. I don’t want to see expected playtimes of 1-2 hours.

The snappy new Joy-Cons look like an improvement in every way. The camera accessory is goofy but I do like that some games will show your pals’ faces next to their character in multiplayer. That’s fun.

Look, I’m not a tech specs nerd. As long as shit looks cool, modern games play well and I can play for a decent chunk of time without needing to plug in, then we’re all good as far as I’m concerned.

Game on?

Nintendo also showed off a bunch of other games that I will ruthlessly breeze through here.

Donkey Kong Bananaza: This appears to be Mario Odyssey: DK Edition. No beef with that idea here. Seeing DK go full ‘Hulk Smash’ mode through the destructive levels looked smashing fun. It’s also priced lower than MKWT, and will no doubt be the satisfying second purchase of most Switch 2 owners.

Kirby Air Riders: This is an odd choice for Ninty to have poured resources into, as nearly every Switch 2 owner will already have a Nintendo racer in the form of Mario Kart World. If they felt the need for a second Nintendo racer, then why tf wasn’t it F-Zero? This game’s existence is some typical Nintendo crazy-ass shit.

Metroid Prime 4: Beyond: This is releasing beyond launch day and it may be even beyond the launch window. I suspect a Christmas release. But as it’s also coming out on Switch 1, albeit at lower specs, it can’t be counted on to be a system seller.

The Duskbloods: This collab between Nintendo and From Software got a lot of folks excited. Not me! I love the dark, twisted look and world-building of From Software’s games but I do not have the patience to ‘Git Gud’ at playing them. They are notoriously difficult, rewarding repetition and perseverance. I just get frustrated. So this is a no from me, dawg, but a lot of people are very excited by it and I understand why.

There was also a bunch of older big-name ports like Cyberpunk 2077, Elden Ring, Final Fantasy VII Remake Integrade and Street Fighter 6 announced. So if you haven’t played those elsewhere and have no other gaming system where they sell cheaper, then the Switch 2 has you covered.

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The Verdict

There’s no getting around the fact that the cost of Switch 2 entry is too high. The console itself is at least $100 NZD above temptation levels, and the games themselves aren’t priced competitively. Especially as Nintendo is resistant to dropping the sticker price over time.

I don’t plan on picking one up at launch. I’d vastly prefer to put that same money towards a secondhand Steam Deck.

My guess is that it will be a fairly slow launch. Hype will be big, but sales will be small. I don’t expect there to be a panic price drop after a few months, like Nintendo had to do to kickstart the 3DS sales figures when they overshot people’s wallets with their initial pricing, but they’ll be low enough to make headlines.

Still, Nintendo will know the Switch 2 sales tail will be long. Each of their releases will give them a welcome sales bump, and eventually, the lineup of Nintendo IP games will be too tempting and too strong to ignore.

The question is, can Nintendo afford to wait us out? We’ll see who blinks first.

Back in 1997, games based on movies were notoriously suckful. So when the James Bond game GoldenEye 007 bungee-jumped onto the Nintendo 64, gamers really weren’t expecting much

Along with being a licensed game, there was also another blaring alarm warning off potential players; the GoldenEye movie had left cinemas two long years ago. If developers Rare had been hoping to cash in on all the positive James Bond hype, they’d failed that mission.

But, there was still more. The game was built by a rookie team, and first-person shooters weren’t yet established on consoles. GoldenEye 007 should have bombed. Instead, it soared, becoming the third highest-selling game on the N64. Topped only by Nintendo’s moustached maestro himself with Super Mario 64 and Mario Kart 64.

Despite GoldenEye 007’s success, when revisited on the original cartridge in 2025, it has not aged gracefully. Like other 3D games of the fifth-gen era, the game looks less Bond Girl and more… M.

For those who want to relive former glories, and we all do, you’re probably wondering the best way to get one more hit of GoldenEye 007? Pixel Fix has got you covered. Strap up some body armour and let’s look back at why GoldenEye 007 killed it in the ‘90s, and how, after a little real-life espionage of your own, you can play Rare’s unreleased remaster, for free, right now.

Why was it so special?

Mate, it’s only the most important first-person shooter ever made. GoldenEye 007 is a blueprint for many elements we take for granted in modern FPS games, like zoomable weapons, level mission objectives and stealth tactics.

In recent years, some young-buck gamers were outspoken about GoldenEye 007 and how they don’t “get it”. They can’t understand what the big deal is. Well, no one orders Martinis at the bar anymore, but that doesn’t mean they won’t get you smashed. What works, still works regardless of changing modern tastes.

GoldenEye 007 represents a classic brand of FPS, back when there was a purity to the genre. Before it became all aim-bots and headset slurs. What these young doubters have proved is that GoldenEye 007 is a “You had to be there” game. They pick on the controls because they’re accustomed to the two-stick FPS standard, but back then, the N64 controller was a fascinating design and GoldenEye 007’s controls felt new and exciting, especially when accentuated with a rumble pack.

GoldenEye 007 arrived when gaming was advancing rapidly and gamers were adaptable. There was less analysis and overthinking. You played, you enjoyed, you improved and eventually, you kicked a little ass.

GoldenEye 007 was also responsible for moving first-person shooters away from PC gaming nerds, with their dungeon crawlers and awkward go-get-a-chair desk setups, and into the lounge room consoles and couches of the people.

With its 18 story-based levels, aligning with the film’s plot, it brought the two mediums together in a fresh way. The objectives weren’t always clear, which only added to its mystique, and the soundtrack and sound effects were catchy and suspenseful. Indeed, the game’s iconic Pause Menu music has now become a popular meme for being a stone-cold classic jam that goes way harder than mere Pause Menu music ever needs to go.

There was also scope for differing strategies, some opting for run and gun while others would torture spectating friends with a slow stealth approach. And who could forget the blood curtain descending the screen every time you died? Things got emotional.

While single-player GoldenEye 007 is a good shout, for many it was the local multiplayer capability that gave it GOAT status. Using the N64’s four controller ports and a 4-way split screen, Deathmatch mode is one of the most iconic multiplayer experiences in gaming history. Despite the violence, it functioned as a party game where you’d slap your mate to death on screen, while he sat beside you. There was a wealth of set-up options for Deathmatch, so much so that different gaming groups had their own rule sets and culture for battles. There were also cheat codes to punch in if you were a real bunch of animals.

What’s with the remastered version?

If you’ve got a half-decent PC and an internet connection, you could be brandishing a PP7 silenced about 20 mins from now. It’s all because of the GoldenEye 007 XBLA game file and its unlikely path from development to your PC.

Back in 2007, to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the original game, developer Rare was busy putting its loving touch on an official GoldenEye 007 remaster for the Xbox 360. It was set to be proper rad. And then the project hit the heavy headwinds of rights issues.

Between Microsoft, Nintendo and James Bond franchise owners MGM, there were too many dicks on the dance floor and they couldn’t sort it out. The suits shut the remaster project down. Those in the know place the blame heavily on Nintendo.

However, in a twist of fate, a near-complete Beta version of the remastered game file was put up on the Xbox developer sandbox site PartnerNet. This was where new games were staged and tested before retail release. The remastered GoldenEye 007 game file was mistakenly posted on PartnerNet for only around one hour before being pulled down. But that was all the time needed for some dead-set legend with their own DevKit console to download the file.

What happened then is unknown, but it’s possible our hero freaked out and went to wind, as for over a decade, the GoldenEye 007 remaster trail went cold.

However, 13 years later in February 2021, the Beta remaster of GoldenEye 007, which many doubted even existed, was leaked online with the file name GoldenEye 007 XBLA, kickstarting a feeding frenzy of emulator use.

Perhaps it was that same legend who made it available? Or we could be dealing with a second legend who somehow acquired it. Whatever the case, the remastered GoldenEye 007 appeared as a gift from the retro gaming gods, and it’d be disrespectful not to make the most of it.

A couple of years later, in 2023, Xbox Live and Nintendo Switch Online offered rival versions to play on their systems. Both are simpler re-releases rather than Rare’s leaked remaster. While they have been brought up to a higher resolution, they still run at 30fps and are more of a spit-and-polish instead of the bare-metal rebuild like the 007 XBLA file. The full remaster has updated textures, assets and various enhancements to play in 720p at a stable 60fps. It’s the real deal.

So why didn’t Xbox and Nintendo put aside their differences and use Rare’s leaked remaster from 2008? It’s a complicated and long story, but those in the know again blame Nintendo.

Enough history, how do I play remastered GoldenEye now?

You don’t have to be Dr Doak to get the Goldeneye 007 XBLA remaster going on your PC, or even Boris, especially if you’ve dabbled in the dark arts of emulation before.

You’ll need to find an appropriate source to download the Xbox 360 emulator Xenia and a few files with odd extension names. Google is your friend here, and YouTube is an even better friend. There are multiple articles and vids on how to get the remaster going. The game file is only 701MB, tiny by modern gaming standards, and because it’s fresh from 2008 you won’t require a high-powered PC to run it.

What’s it like playing remastered GoldenEye?

For those nostalgic about the N64 original, it’s absolute magic. Get the sniper rifle going again on the first Dam level, and it all comes flooding back. The upgraded textures and assets look great, but not too great, which is spot on. 2008 was the right era to rework the game. A remaster, with all available resources, in 2025, could move GoldenEye 007 too far from its origins and make it resemble COD with Bond.

During play, you can see how far the graphics have advanced from the N64 version by pressing the R shoulder button to toggle between remastered and the original graphics. Don’t think you’re an old-school purist capable of resisting the new aesthetic upgrades. Believe me, you’ll struggle. Visually, the step up is immense.

The controls have also advanced, making use of the modern twin thumb-sticks standard. You can play with skill immediately, it’s a seamless joining of old on-screen with new in your hands. I played through with an Xbox One controller, which makes sense, and it worked flawlessly.

The leaked remaster is considered to be around 90% complete, there are apparently a few guards and objects missing for eagle-eyed GoldenEye 007 aficionados to smugly notice. But most players would never know. Generally, the game is smooth, precise and more immersive than on N64, which was considered highly immersive for the time.

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Before you think the remaster might be too sharp, smart and advanced from the original. It’s not, and remains beautifully buggy in parts, particularly around doorways with guards getting stuck in doors and appearing half out of them. Natalya ‘Death-Wish’ Simonova still runs in front of you when you’re about to shoot. But who can stay mad at a character that can sustain three enemy shots to the head but is killed by one of yours to the hand?

Many will just want a quick nostalgic blast on GoldenEye 007, and for that, the remaster is perfect. You can bludgeon your way through on Agent level, and reach the end credits in under 8 hours of gaming time. To push on and unlock both bonus levels, the game must be completed on Secret Agent difficulty and 007 difficulty, which is no joke. You may find yourself going down this road even if you don’t plan to, such is the allure of GoldenEye 007.

Multiplayer is also fully operational on the remaster, offering the same quality-of-life upgrades as single-player. There are two multiplayer options, local and system link. If you’re running an emulator-driven PC connected to a TV, it’s a path to serious nostalgia. Four-controller, Deathmatch with the crew is glorious local multiplayer action from the 1990’s. Order pizza, drink Mountain Dew and smoke Lucky Strikes. Who knows how you used to roll?

System link mode does offer a way to play with buddies online, but you might have to be Boris to work that out. It’s also possible to play GoldenEye XBLA on a modded Xbox 360, but that’s beyond my clearance level. Most of us just want to shoot some henchmen, maybe run a few over in the tank. Standard stuff.

Who would have thought back in ’97 when GoldenEye 007 shot onto our CRTs that 25 years later the best way to play it would be by dropping a stolen game ROM into a sketchy emulator. But in a way, it’s behaviour that celebrates the era of the original and honours the work and love developers Rare put into GoldenEye 007 on both builds. So play with a clear conscience and a quick trigger finger and remember, as Bond, you have a licence to kill.

There are 32 levels in Capcom’s shoot ‘em up classic 1942. After over three decades of playing this game, I have seen a whopping two of them.

I can’t even claim to be bad at this game. I’d love to be bad at this game. But no. I actively suck at this game. And not just at the money-hungry, arcade version either — although that is the version I spend the most time with — I suck at the home console conversions as well. Back when emulation only extended to videogaming’s early consoles I spent an embarrassing amount of time playing the NES version on various handhelds, consoles and PCs and how far did I get? Level 2. Occasionally.

And yet I keep playing. Day after day, week after week, year after year and, at this point, decade after decade. The question is why. Why the flip do I keep playing 1942?

The game is a vertically scrolling shoot ‘em up set during World War II’s famous Battle of Midway. You are an American fighter pilot shooting your way through squadron after squadron of Japanese rivals. This is not a tactical dogfight. This is a fast-paced, brutal and vicious battle for survival.

Each level I’ve seen, which is two of them, begins with you taking off from an aircraft carrier, shooting your way across the sea and then somehow landing back on the same carrier at the end.

A quick look at the game’s wiki page reveals the plane you’re piloting and the planes you’re taking out are all based on real-life aircraft, which I won’t bother naming here because they’re all just a meaningless jumble of letters and numbers to a non-WW2 aircraft enthusiast like myself.

Instead, I’ll just say you’ll face standard military-green planes that swoop down in formation before breaking and flying in circular patterns shooting at you, bigger green planes that require multiple hits before falling and can shoot omnidirectionally, little red planes that drop a much-needed power-up if you can shoot the whole squad before they fly off and an end-of-level boss which is — you guessed it — a very big plane that shoots many, many bullets at you.

There is no health bar. Planes don’t have health. Like Eminem, you only get one shot. Unlike Eminem when you get your shot you don’t get rich and famous. In 1942 you get dead.

Your only defences in this game are your instincts, your reactions, your joystick dexterity, your old-fashioned luck and your plane’s barrel roll manoeuvre. The barrel roll can is a get-out-of-jail-free card. When you push the button your pilot pulls up and you fly out of danger, dodging the threat, before circling back down.

That bullet about to hit you? Barrel roll. That plane about to fly into you? Barrel roll. That bullet and that plane and that other plane and those other bullets that you’re about to fly into? Barrel roll.

It doesn’t always work. It’s quite possible to barrel roll out of danger and straight into a path of bullets. Still, when you pull it off you feel like Maverick, outsmarting the enemy while wearing cool shades and raining down cruel death upon them.

When you don’t? Well, you feel like a right goose.

Despite my suckage, 1942 is a game I keep returning to. Any new device I get it’s always the first game I play. I’ll boot it up, start a run and a minute later shut it back down. I always think this run I’ll get further. But I never do.

I’ll often reach the final battle of level one, but not always, and maybe get halfway through level two — or in the game’s curious parlance that sees it counting down the levels, stage ‘Last 31’ — but heavens forbid I reach the mysteries of stage Last 30.

This brings us back to the big question; why the flip do I keep playing 1942?

Well, it’s fun. The game was a global hit, one of Capcom’s first big wins, and it oozes with arcade appeal. The retro charm of the graphics still holds up today and looks superb. I’m fairly time-poor and I know that when I play 1942 I won’t be spending much of the little time I have playing it. In a twisted way, that’s a big part of its appeal.

The gameplay is fast and furious and there’s an undeniable stressful thrill to dodging and weaving around the enemies and their bullets that’s incredibly addictive. That said, the inner rage that boils when getting shot down or crashed into is also palpable. Often because I know it’s mostly the result of my own unskilled piloting.

But this also makes 1942 annoying and frustrating. At least to me. Each death, which I’ll remind you comes quickly and often for me, doesn’t make me want to insert another coin, hunker down, put in the time and git gud. It makes me want to rage quit.

I don’t. I’m not an aggro man-child who never learnt to process his emotions and whose development is now arrested. No. Instead, I simply push that anger to the pit of my stomach and continue to play until my credit runs out and then I quit. Like a man.

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These frustrations are what keep the game’s addictive qualities in check. I simply can’t play 1942 for more than three runs at most. Originally, I had thought the game would be a perfect candidate for our regular The Cost to Beat the Boss feature, where we work out how much money you need to spend to clock an arcade game, but I quickly realised there was absolutely no chance in hell of me being able to keep my cool long enough to keep flying to the end of the game. The cost to beat this particular boss would be my sanity and my stress levels.

It’s simply ludicrous to me that Capcom gave this game 32 levels. 32! Dear lawd. I can’t imagine anyone ever being able to dogfight through all 32 levels of this bullet hell at the arcade back in the day. No matter how deep their pockets were.

I have a deep history with 1942. It’s one of the first arcade games I played as a kid at the Uncle’s Takeaways that was on Auckland’s Mt Albert Road in the 80s. It clearly left a lasting impression.

The coin my dad gave me while we waited for dinner on a Friday night never lasted very long or got me very far, but I always wanted to keep playing. To have one more go. To try and get further. But I never could.

In the decades since, not much has changed.

It’s a question as old as time; Do you really know your friends until you all gather around the TV for some eight-player Micro Machines?

When local multiplayer ruled supreme and things got real on the gamepads, that’s when a person’s true character became visible. It was a mystical time when TV rooms housed a console-headed octopus that spread its controller-cable tentacles past beer bottles and ciggie packets to all corners of the lounge room. It was a time of war and if you talked too much smack you’d have to either double down or back down — no matter the consequences. And with a crew waiting beside you for their turn on the gamepads the winner-stays-on gameplay made gaming sessions tense.

Once the cartridge clicked or the disk spun a group of best friends would become mortal enemies and at the end of each controller, you’d be guaranteed to find one of these eight punishing, millennium-era characters.

1: The Cheap Shot

Hate them or hate them, you can’t deny the effectiveness of The Cheap Shot. Before the game is properly learned by all, The Cheap Shot finds one move that yields immediate results and just keeps doing it. A special leg kick that’s impossible to defend, a shortcut on the race track or a ball juggle as he runs downfield, that one move is all needs.

When asked how he’s doing it, he claims to not know, like it’s just somehow happening - over and over and over again. Threats of violence, gasps of frustration, thrown snack foods - nothing stops this monster and his one agonising move. Alongside The Trash Talk Tech, he’s the most punchable gamer in the room.

How to identify: Always first to read the game manual. Takes up a position to the side of the main sofa and keeps quiet while he goes about his dirty work.

Nemesis: The Golden Boy. He’ll be the first to find a counter for that cheap shot move.

2: The Work Horse

Orthodox in his play style and a keen student of any new game, The Work Horse is a slow-burning beast who just keeps improving. The nice guy of the group, he’ll take early losses with grace because his eye remains on the prize at the end - total domination.

When his period of laying dormant is over, he’ll even have a little trash talk saved up. So burn him at your peril. Anyone want another beer? The Work Horse will grab it for you, and two hours from now he’ll take your dignity too as he knocks you off the gamepad every time.

How to identify: When everyone else takes a break he gets in some quick 1-player. Probably still wearing his work clothes.

Nemesis: The Complainer.

3: The Golden Boy

He doesn’t try, he doesn’t even really care, but the wins just keep coming. A generator of disbelief and frustration, the Golden Boy doesn’t need to learn the buttons for the new game, his golden hands just mysteriously know them. When a level needs to be cracked or a player unlocked, it’s the Golden Boy’s time to shine. Never play turn-based multiplayer games with him because he’s always distracted, on the phone with a girl, outside smoking or has simply vanished. As is his legend.

How to identify: He’s a handsome devil, and has those new kicks everyone wants, they’re already scuffed. Most likely to bring a romantic interest to the gaming session, who is still willing to be with him after.

Nemesis: The Stoner. When The Stoner is recruiting, the Golden Boy is volunteering and that smoke is kryptonite to his game play.

4: The Cheater

The good thing about video games is you can’t cheat. Well, it turns out you can and the cheater knows how. The slow walk in front of the screen mid-game, a perfectly-timed elbow to your ribs on the couch, pause button miss-push - The Cheater has his moves.

An unfortunate man of many accidents; When your controller became unplugged it was accidental. When he told you that you were on the bottom of the split screen and you were up top? A mere mistake. The weakness of The Cheater is that his moves get stale and soon enough are easily avoided or countered. Done well, this relegates this villain to a low/mid-placed player in the gaming group.

How to identify: Body odour, his musk proceeds him, his moves stink and so do his pits. Always trying to talk the others into using cheat codes.

Nemesis: The Cheap Shot, these bad boys are best mates but once they’ve both been nullified, they become staunch enemies to stay on the gamepads.

5: The Complainer

His controller always has a problem with it, and it’s not even the Mad Catz. He demands a restart a few seconds into the race, he can’t see because of screen glare, it’s too hot in here, he doesn’t like this brand of lager, the lager isn’t cold enough… the whinging has no boundaries for this man-baby.

But when the complaining stops, exercise caution because The Complainer can play, he just loves a pile of excuses when he loses. If he’s on top, he’ll complain that no one can challenge him.

How to identify: Constantly asks what the buttons are, and complains about their position. If you’re thinking your gaming group didn’t have a complainer, you were probably it.

Nemesis: Anyone he can complain about.

6: The Stoner

The Stoner is erratic, his play is abysmal, he’s dazed and easily confused. But when he gets in his special zone - he’s throwing out ten types of smoke and becomes unstoppable. Luckily, this performance-drug-enhanced zone is temporary and usually undone by his desire to order takeaways or commence a second smoking session. Then, with an unbalanced dosage, he returns to a lower position in the ranks.

How to identify: An organic aroma. He needs to be seated beside The Cheater so he can work like incense and their smells cancel each other out, because no one’s opened a window in the gaming pit for about a year.

Nemesis: The Work Horse. Both are slow burners and often hit their stride at the same time albeit from different means.

7: The Trash Talk Tech

A true trash-talk technician doesn’t just have the zingers, he’s got the timing too, and that’s what causes problems in a group gaming situation. You’re deep in concentration, the moment is clutch and he’ll seek you out. Jokes about your many failings, your girlfriend, your mum, nothing is off limits.

The game on the screen isn’t the game he’s there to play, and what’s worst is your options are few; Engage and risk serious distraction, or maintain focus while feeling the burn. Every group has a Trash Talk Tech in their ranks and, at times, escalation to the physical is inevitable.

How to identify: Difficult to spot before he opens his mouth. Possibly barefoot. Usually a weaker player so spends serious time off the game pads.

Nemesis: The Golden Boy. The only thing that shuts down the Trash Talk Tech is being beaten ice cold, that’s where The Golden Boy shines.

8: The Girl

Her origin in the group is mysterious, her attendance sporadic, everyone thinks they have a chance with her, but no one does. The gaming session is never her whole night and she usually puts off meeting her real friends by an extra hour so she can keep playing. There’s always speculation after she leaves over who she likes and why she’s there. The truth is she likes the games, the energy, and just kicking some nerd butt. If approached correctly she may even offer valuable advice on attracting girls, like to stop wearing track pants and referring to women as females.

How to identify: Breasts. Feels no pressure to laugh at idiotic jokes.

Nemesis: The Trash Talk Technician, because he once told her that she was pretty good… for a female.

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And that, friends, is all our lounge room characters. Their personalities transformed by the controller in hand and exposed under the glow of a CRT. Right now you’re leaning back righteously thinking, “But I’m none of those.”.

Newsflash, cartridge blower — you were at least a couple of them.

The memory is vivid. Real. Emotional. The moment came out of left field and was so startling in its beauty and so wildly unexpected that it left me in quiet awe. It is a moment that has tattooed itself on my brain.

Yes, I’m talking about a moment in a video game. But ask anyone who has played Shenmue II and they will tell you Shenmue II is much more than just a game.

That’s certainly what my pal told me when he insisted I play it on my shiny new Xbox back in 2002. I wasn’t an RPG guy, I said, and he countered by saying that Shenmue II was so damn good that I didn’t have to be. He said it was unlike anything I’d ever played. He claimed it was the greatest game ever made. He promised it would blow my mind.

I hated it. At first anyway. And, if I’m honest, for many of the countless hours I poured into it before the credits finally rolled on its bastard cliffhanger ending.

Nevertheless, I have incredibly strong memories of sitting in my little flat in the UK and playing it constantly. I played it before work. I played it after work. I played it during the day. I played it at night. I played it and I played it and I played it.

Mostly, I played it through gritted teeth. Constantly willing myself to keep going. I could play whole game sessions and not advance things in any perceptible way. I don’t know why I felt so utterly compelled to finish Ryo Hazuki’s self-imposed quest for vengeance. But I did.

Maybe, it was because my friend had so earnestly recommended it. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to give up before getting to the good bit or to give up before my mind was blown. Maybe it was because everyone called the game a masterpiece and I needed to be able to say I’d also finished this masterpiece and could therefore collect my official Gamer Cred badge.

Was I having fun? In all honesty, I don’t know. I remember pondering that question a lot. Some of the time I was. Shenmue II is full of wonder and surprise. Its sense of discovery was entirely unlike anything else in gaming at the time. Its open world felt truly alive and so much of it was explorable. From buildings to houses to bedside tables. You could pretty much talk to anyone and nosy about wherever you wanted.

Being a quest for vengeance, it featured a decent amount of fighting. This was based on a slightly modified Virtua Fighter engine, and any scraps I got into would be thrilling and visceral.

Even the QuickTime events — now a dirty word in gaming — made my heart jump when buttons quickly flashed on screen and I prayed the muscle memory of my itchy trigger fingers was accurate enough to ensure Ryo made his jump, made his powerslide or made whatever other feat of athleticism would be activated by pressing the right button at the right time.

The game’s use of traditional music was also nothing short of brilliant. It set a mood and an atmosphere like nothing else. It immersed you and fully transported you into its world.

Indeed, there was a lot I did like.

But there was also an undeniable amount of faff. An awful lot. Shenmue II is an extremely slow game. Purposefully slow. I understand why it’s like that, but it’s not always fun. Like Steven Seagal, you’re out for justice, but you also have to work a day job.

Time is a major consideration and a major pain in the ass in this game. Being where you need to be, when you need to be there, took planning and mindfulness. And even then, success was not guaranteed. It was not unusual to spend forever searching for a person and then when you finally found them, to be told you actually needed to speak to someone else who wouldn’t be back until the next afternoon so please come back then. Goodbye.

I’m pretty sure there was a time-skip function but I can’t remember how it worked. Maybe you could only skip the rest of that day? I don’t know. But I do remember spending a lot of time killing game time by aimlessly walking around the streets of Hong Kong.

I think now, looking back, this is what hampered my enjoyment. I kept waiting for the. story to blow my mind. And it simply didn’t. In fact, the story’s aforementioned cliffhanger conclusion infuriated me. It’s clichéd to say, but I would have enjoyed Shenmue II a lot more had I realised sooner that the game was about Ryo’s journey, not Ryo’s quest.

Still, it was during the endless faffing about that its sense of discovery happened. Shenmue II made you a tourist. And I loved it for that. Poking around location-accurate alleys and backstreets, chancing upon things of note, getting into trouble with local goons... One time I decided to snoop around a rickety old building and discovered a whole bustling city living in there.

You could even find old arcade machines in abandoned warehouses and, if you hadn’t spent all the money from your job on toy capsule machines, insert some coins and play a few rounds of Sega classics like Out Run or Space Harrier.

In 2002 the idea of playing a video game and making your character inside that videogame also play a videogame felt like plugging yourself directly into the Matrix.

This brings us to Shenmue II’s cherry blossoms. I remember I was deep in Ryo’s revenge quest by this point and had arrived in a new town that was characterised by boringly grey, maze-like streets. I can’t remember what I was doing or where I was going. I may have been striding along with purpose, but equally, I may have just been moseying along, waiting for the clock to tick over to some arbitrarily designated time so I could do something.

Anyway, the streets had begun to blend together and while I wasn’t lost, I wasn’t not lost either. I turned a corner and saw a gate leading into a small park. I walked in and the street noise was replaced with soothing, tranquil music and the screen turned a pleasing shade of hazy as the camera panned away to show a cherry tree in full bloom.

Then its petals started to rain down in the sunlight.

It was utterly serene and incredibly picturesque. The camera panned and showed an old man practising what looked like Tai-Chi under the tree and its falling blossoms and his movements were graceful and precise and the music swelled and this moment in this videogame transcended the medium to become art.

The contrast between this serene moment of crafted beauty and the drab grey of the city streets I’d just been wandering about was shockingly dramatic. I didn’t want it to end. The stirring, traditional Chinese music perfectly accompanying the wonderous visuals, allowed me to fully experience a place I’ve never been. It’s best described as a sudden shock of beauty. The scene made a lasting impact. One that I’ve never forgotten.

Or, maybe, I have?

This is how I fondly recall Shenmue II’s Cherry Blossom scene. But I don’t know how accurate my recollection is. I fear I may be an unreliable narrator.

Shenmue II is a brilliant game. People were right to call it a masterpiece. It’s also a game I have no desire to play again. So working my way through to revisit this scene again was never going to happen. For me, anyway, it’s a moment lost in time, like tears in the rain.

But, after writing the bulk of this recollection straight from the top of my dome I thought it would be neat to look it up on YouTube. To rewatch it 23 years on. To go home again.

And while I found various videos of various scenes that featured various bits of my memory, I couldn’t find one single video that matched it.

This means that there’s a very real and somewhat frightening possibility that this treasured gaming memory of mine does not actually exist.

It looks like my pal was right after all; Shenmue II did blow my mind. It just took 23 years to do so.

Wipeout, we’re not angry, or disappointed; we just want you to come back. Then, we can race like we used to, listen to some tunes, and maybe do that cool earthquake thing.

This is how much of the gaming community feels about the iconic anti-gravity racing franchise in 2025. It’s been 30 years since the first, rough-edged, Wipeout was released on the PlayStation. The three decades since have had hits and misses, fat beats and thin, and a long wait in the pit lane since the last new entry in this gaming legacy.

This long wait opened a gap. And when a gap opens you can bet a small development team will be ready to power their open-modding, tribute game through it. That development team is Neognosis and their homemade Wipeout homage BallisticNG.

While Pixel Fix is suitably late to the party on this 2018 release, we’re set to find out if BallisticNG is a burst of glory for Wipeout lovers or mere fan fiction. But before that, let’s check the replay of where Wipeout started and the gravitational forces that ultimately dragged it down.

We’ve Got History

The initial offering, Wipeout or wipE′out″, for punctuation haters, was a 1995 launch title for the PlayStation in Europe. It immediately stood out on the new console for its ambitious 3D graphics and kick-ass techno soundtrack. Unfortunately, its physics were floaty and unforgiving but the potential was massive and obvious.

When sequel Wipeout 2097 arrived the following year, it was smoother and vastly improved, striking a cult following. More than an excellent futuristic racer, 2097 became a generational marker with a pioneering sense of speed, style and a rave-inspired soundtrack. 2097 blew the minds of those already busy blowing their minds at 3AM and converted many into life-long Red Bull customers.

In 2000, the third instalment Wipeout 3 didn’t disappoint, it was larger, more refined and matured. After ports to other platforms, it was sunset on fifth-gen consoles and the speed wobbles set in.

Wipeout Fusion on the PlayStation 2, wasn’t entirely charmless but couldn’t recapture the same energy and visual delights. Then, Wipeout went portable with versions on the PSP and Vita, before an IOS/Android offering, where players were no longer the pilot, but a racing manager. Shoot us in the face with the plasma gun. Among the madness, was a comeback in 2008 with WipeoutHD on the PlayStation 3. This return to form strapped many old fans back into the cockpit to fire cannons and ignore shield warnings again.

Much has been said about what went wrong with Wipeout, about developer Psygnosis’ consolidation into Studio Liverpool and the influence of overlords Sony. No doubt, mistakes were made and maybe there was some auto-pilot in there. Whatever the deal, the only option for fans in the past decade was Wipeout Omega Collection on the PS4, a greatest-hits offering of polished-up content from previous games. Since then, there’s been little to do but wait for the start of a real-life anti-gravity racing league, or die first.

Before we order our Auricom-livery coffins, development team Neognosis picked up the fallen king’s helmet and sped onto the track with an unofficial entry into this legacy - BallisticNG. Available on PC and Mac, many Wipeout fans have got behind this new leader.

BallisticNG - Light the Fires and Kick the …. anyway

BallisticNG development began with a three-strong team in 2015, led by Vonsnake, a name as vague as a weapons symbol. A big fan of futuristic racers, Vonsnake’s vision for BallisticNG was a homage to the initial Wipeout trilogy on PS1. From the moment the game starts, the Japanese-infused style of Wipeout 3 is particularly present. If your heart desires, then forgetting this isn’t an official Wipeout entry can happen the moment you air-brake into the first turn. The speed, the controls, sights and sounds, are all welcomingly familiar.

Set in the 2159 anti-gravity racing league, BallisticNG has 15 standard race tracks. There are additional tracks for the Model B and C alternative craft racing, and expansion packs that are either free or purchased for a few bucks. If that’s not enough, there are a couple hundred more custom tracks designed by an enthusiastic modding community.

Naturally, modders have built convincing copies of the tracks and ships from the first three Wipeout games. It’s a nostalgic detour for players to head down. The standard tracks offer a good variety. Early in campaign mode, the tracks don’t move too far into a high-tech future, instead maintaining a connection to nature. Push on, and the settings shift to urban street circuits and heavier-handed futuristic backdrops. The Luna track is the ultimate here, a green-neon epilepsy warning of a place.

Campaign mode runs like WipeoutHD in format and reward system, with various challenges clustered into ten individual campaigns. The challenges are broad with conventional races, mini tournaments, survival challenges and a knockout race where the ship running in last each lap is eliminated. Players acquire medals/points in each challenge that unlock new campaigns with new tracks. The most fun remains a conventional race, on a familiar track, cockpit view and a full grid. When the campaigns run out, there’s also a campaign editor where you can make your own.

Available expansions make for a fun break from the main campaign, particularly the Aster League where you pilot smaller anti-gravity go-karts to race on road-based race tracks.

There are five speed classes, as you progress through the campaign mode, and the skill ceiling can feel high. That said, there’s a linear skill progression, so you don’t feel suddenly out of your depth. BallisticNG faced some criticism around the difficulty of the controls and handling, but players familiar with Wipeout games will pick it up quickly. Those complaints likely come from casual gamers to the genre unfamiliar with anti-gravity style controls. As the courses become more difficult and the corners sharpen, airbrakes require very early engagement. The type of braking points used by sim-racers would be useful at times but anti-gravity racing is more feel and flow than considered precision.

Hitting the wall in BallisticNG feels more forgiving than Wipeout games, there’s still an infuriating dink sound and a speed reduction but often not enough for an opponent to glide past and poo out some mines in your path, doubling the misery. The speed boost pads could also be slightly smaller and easier to miss. These factors may reflect a mindset of BallisticNG developers to extract fun elements of Wipeout while minimising its frustrations. An admirable plan, but in its pursuit they’ve lost some of what makes Wipeout games intriguing to learn and rewarding to master.

There’s 16 race teams and some craft mimic the Wipeout ships closely while others are more freestyle. A small amount of lore is offered around each team, if that’s your thing, but most players just want to create a lore of kicking ass. Choosing your ship involves compromises on speed, handling or shield, you can’t have it all and if you could, you’d probably smash into every other wall.

Depending on ship choice, shield management isn’t as intensive as WipeoutHD and rather than trading weapons for more shield energy, it’s a return a shield regeneration pitlane. AI opponents bunch up, so being in the middle of them can be a fierce experience and you’ll often finish either side of the pack.

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Weapons pickups include the classics, like turbo, tremor, autopilot and the highly satisfying plasma. There’s also some innovation like the energy shield pickup deploying automatically if the player holding it is hit by a weapon, saving the ship from the damage.

There is an online multiplayer mode via Steam but I couldn’t get a game going there. I imagine it’s no longer frequented. There’s also the capacity for online peer-to-peer multiplayer if you have the skill to set up and there’s a friendship group you want to destroy. VR is supported with SteamVR compatibility and a nicely arranged cockpit view.

And what about the music, a crucial component of all Wipeout games? Well, it’s not a curated collection of tracks from some of the hottest EDM stars in the world. That trick couldn’t be pulled here. Instead, it’s fairly generic, but likeable, doof doof beats. Developer, VonSnake was responsible for much of the music himself. If you don’t share his taste, you can import your own music for custom playlists. That’s for you twisted firestarters.

BallisticNG remains relevant six years after launch through continued developer support. The most recent updates coming in late 2024, so it’s fresh for newcomers and its existing fan base. The developers also opened the doors wide to the modding community with any mod download accessible from the main menu.

BallisticNG vs. Wipeout

Viewed as a progression to Wipeout 3, BallisticNG stacks up well. However, the Wipeout franchise had its own progression from the earlier games, cumulating in WipeoutHD and its Fury expansion. While unfair to compare this built-in-the-back-shed title against WipeoutHD, it must be done.

Despite being released a full decade earlier, WipeoutHD offers more granular detail in every aspect of the gaming experience including graphics and controls. Visually, BallisticNG is competent but sanitised, some of that Wipeout grime is missing. Dirty ships, dirty backgrounds and dirty racing are replaced with cleaner, brighter but less-detailed graphics. Wipeout isn’t exactly Mad Max but it’s not Tron either. Aesthetically, BallisticNG took Wipeout’s body but couldn’t capture its soul.

That’s not to detract from what BallisticNG has achieved or how entertaining it is. If it’s thought of as sitting between Wipeout 3 and WipeoutHD, it fits nicely. It nails the same captivating sense of speed and immersion that goes all the way back to the fan-fave Wipeout 2097. BallisticNG’s passion for the Wipeout franchise is evident in all aspects of this game. It comes from a place of love but will also appeal to those without a nostalgic connection. OG Wipeout players though, will get much more.

In terms of competition for BallisticNG, there are others on the grid. F-Zero fans would have plenty to say here but the latest version F-Zero 99, for Switch Online, is more retro-focused from the 16-bit era. The Redout anti-gravity games have developed a following across platforms, the feel of speed is excellent but they’re more colourful and cartoon. Redout 2 is a good option for those seeking an AG fix.

In most ways, the fiercest competition to BallisticNG remains Wipeout itself with WipeoutHD on PS3 and the Omega Collection on PS4. Physical copies of both titles aren’t difficult to pick up second-hand. Alternatively, emulation may be an option if you have the will and the processing firepower.

All up, BallisticNG is much greater than a mere Wipeout knock-off. With a more independent style and an increased development budget, it could even be a challenger to Wipeout’s throne.

What it's achieved is more noble; it’s keeping fans warm while they wait and hope for a new Wipeout entry. Also, by aligning itself to the older versions of Wipeout, BallisticNG has left space ahead free for future progress if a new Wipeout never comes. Until then, BallisticNG is one contender that can’t be eliminated.

• BallisticNG is available for purchase, currently at $18.99 NZD from Steam here.

• Wipeout Omega Collection isn’t currently available for purchase at the PlayStation Store but a free demo is available here.

During the dark days of Covid-19 lockdowns I found myself a visitor to a strange corner of retro gaming - Playstation 1 peripherals. It was a safe place, not particularly popular and almost everything was grey, it suited me nicely. A land of chunky memory cards, multitaps and link cables, but one accessory towered above all others, the Analog Joystick. Many collectors covet the Playstation Mouse, others desire spicy third-party gear like the Wu-Tang Clan controller. For me, when I first locked eyes on the Analog Joystick with its epic proportions and extreme endowment of buttons and switches, I knew it was the one. If you want people to enter your lounge room and say, “Dude! What the f**k is that thing?” Then, the Analog Joystick could be the peripheral for you too.

Now, I get it, you’re scared, you’re used to a piddly little Dual Shock controller in your hands and the Analog Joystick represents awesomeness on a level your unacquainted with. That’s ok, I was once there too, so let Pixel Fix allay your fears and answer your questions.

But seriously, what the f**K is that thing?

It’s Playstation’s Analog Joystick (SCPH-1110), often misnamed, by buffoons, as the Playstation Flightstick. It has twin joysticks and over 20 buttons, switches and triggers. Released initially in Japan in 1996, the Analog Joystick then sold in other global markets. It’s functions are fully supported by around 50 PS1 games and partially supported by all the others. It doesn’t need batteries or require its own power source, it just plugs into the controller port and works. It’s ready to go to war controlling fighter jets, mechs and combat vehicles or it can just look pretty on a shelf. It is Playstation’s Analog Joystick.

Why is it special?

While joysticks weren’t new in 1996, the Analog Joystick had something fresh - potentiometer technology. This tech was superior to the switches and currents in traditional joysticks and meant finer control for players and new possibilities for developers as console gaming embraced 3D graphics. The Analog Joystick will forever be a special piece of gaming technology as It’s the first controller to feature true dual analog control using potentiometers.

As Sony’s first analogue controller for the Playstation, it blazed the trail for the Dual Analog controller that followed and then the Dual Shock shortly after. There’s little family resemblance, but the very same tech in the first Dual Shock originated in the Analogue Joystick. All this went down before staunch rival the N64 was released.

Rumour states the reason Sony’s first Analogue Controller received two thumb sticks was for compatibility with Analog Joystick supported games. The Analog Joystick was bleeding-edge, for the time, and remains an impressive ancestor to all the Dual Shock controllers that followed.

How do you use it?

Each of the joysticks have a selection of buttons, switches or triggers that match the button layout of the original PS1 controller. The right joystick also has a hat-switch which can mimic the directional pad on the original controller. Supported games may use that independently of the two joystick directional inputs, often as a selection tool for weapons or for in-game menus. The standard controller buttons are also repeated in a more familiar arcade stick-style format on the joystick’s base.

There’s a switch on the unit to move between two modes - Digital and Analog. In Analog Mode the controller’s functions are fully available for supported games and that’s cool. The added genius here is that switch the controller into it’s Digital Mode and both joysticks become a simple d-pad replacement. The Analog Joystick then works like a conventional arcade stick with a joystick in your preferred hand and the base buttons to tap on with the other.

What PS1 games are compatible with it?

In Digital Mode, all of them. Familiar games feel like new experiences and even those early Playstation games, that don’t support the Dual Shock controller sticks, will work with it. The 50 plus Analog Mode supported games have an “Analog Joystick Compatible” icon on the back of their case.

Flight games, controlling mechs and tanks all suit the Analog Joystick’s controls, but some first-person-shooters, fighting games and even platformers find a home with it as well. Discovering what games work well is a part of its charm.

Personally, I’ve enjoyed playing Ace Combat 2 and 3 with mine and I’ve heard R/C Stunt Copter is good times as well so I’d like to give that a shot. Other well-known fully compatible games include: Descent, Mech Warrior 2, Sled Storm, Spyro 2, Vigilante 8 and the Syphon Filter games. I can’t vouch for how smoothly all those titles work with the Analog Joystick’s control set. I’d imagine some are epic, while others will have you rapidly returning to the familiarity of the Dual Shock.

A list of fully supported games is available here.

Whats the playing experience like?

To use a 90’s expression, it’s totally rad. On offer is something beyond a unique retro experience, it also functions extremely well and is strongly built. Although, some games are challenging in Analog Mode. Often one joystick is used to move and the other to aim and fire weapons, this requires a different whole-arm type coordination compared to what we’re used to with thumbsticks. Perseverance is rewarded, and a more detailed level of control awaits.

The joysticks offer a good measure of resistance and will snap back to their neutral position quickly. The buttons and triggers on the joysticks feel great and are positioned right where your corresponding fingers naturally rest. While the base buttons can’t match quality arcade options, they’re well sized and spaced.

Does it only work on Playstation 1?

No, playing it on other consoles is possible for keen owners. The Analog Joystick works on the Playstation 2 in digital mode with many games available to play with one joystick and the base buttons. Only a handful of PS2 games are fully compatible in Analog Mode but R-Type Final is one, and could be a good lark.

There isn’t a wealth of info online about cross-console compatibility, however the Wired-Up Retro guy on YouTube is like the Gandalf of this accessory and through his wizard-like use of available adaptors he’s had the joystick connected and functioning on the Wii, PS3/4 and the Xbox 360. A PS1/2 controller to USB adaptor also opens up options to connect to PC or a Retropie. Knowledge around the required adaptors is needed but it’s definitely possible to open up the game libraries of other consoles with full compatibility for the Analog Joystick. Connecting to a Playstation Classic is also possible and provides an elegant solution for HDMI connectivity and game emulation.

It’s worth noting that the Analog Joystick underwent some form of hardware revision, and while appearing identical there are two versions of the unit. One has a “01” ending model number and another with “02”. The numbers are visible on an underside label. Both models function the same under normal use but the “02” variant has superior compatibility, through adaptors, with other consoles.

I also love the Analog Joystick now, how can I get one?

Unsurprisingly, the Analog Joystick didn’t sell strongly when new. It was expensive, large and just too badass for the masses who only wanted to clear the next level of Crash Bandicoot. For the time It was very ambitious in scale and complexity. Also, when the Dual Shock was released the Analog Joystick became redundant in the eyes of all but the hardcore. This is reflected in how many are out there, particularly in NZ where sales were likely minuscule.

The bad news is that you might be waiting a while to find one for sale domestically, the good news is it shouldn’t cost too much when the opportunity arises. For reference, I waited six months from when I fell in love, till i saw one listed on auction website Trade Me. Mine was purchased loose, without it’s original box, for $40 NZD, with only my bid on its auction. Others didn’t share my desire. Shipping was an additional $40 due to it’s bulk. It cleaned up well and luckily the grey plastic hadn’t yellowed, as is the curse of many PS1 consoles and accessories.

If you’re all worked up and gotta have it now, there’s always a few available on eBay, but expect to pay a lot more than 40 bucks, and an painful amount in shipping as well.

What do I do if I score one then my non-gaming partner sees it, gets angry and calls it E-waste?

Firstly, remain calm. Non-gaming partners say hurtful things about large peripherals all the time. You may also be dealing with some jealousy because of the lustful way you’re looking at the Analog Joystick. Standard protocol applies; don’t mention the dollar amount you paid, instead stress what a great deal you got. Gently explain the significance of the Analog Joystick in retro gaming history. Encourage your partner to play with the joysticks and try hard to avoid innuendo comments. Attempt to move on amicably. If that fails, agree to sell one of your Guitar Hero guitars… then don’t.

Thanks Pixel Fix, I was blind but now I see.

No worries partner. If you ever chance across an Analog Joystick out in the wild and you can make it yours, we’d say go hard. It’s possibly the biggest, baddest and sexiest official playstation controller ever made. It’s a cool talking point and the kind of fresh madness many in the retro gaming scene would enjoy. It’ll get you dusting off those old PS1 disks for another thrash, or experimenting with it on different consoles and PC. The Analog Joystick, just pull the trigger.

Here at Pixel Fix, we’re not above a little megalomania. We’re also not above a good credit rating or the overdraft of our bank account. While our gaming peers have been shelling out a whopping NZD $129.99 to board the CIV VII hype train, we’ve only been able to watch poorly from the sidelines.

For us, money may be too damn expensive but at least dreams are free. Verily, my cup runneth over with dreams. Big dreams. Dreams of unbridled power. Dreams of unlimited wealth. Dreams of world leaders cowering before my might and a population worshipping me like a king. Dreams of a house with one of them fancy Japanese toilets in it. You know, dream stuff.

And so it was I slumped down beside the metaphorical tracks and watched the metaphorical Civ VII hype train whizz right on past me. The metaphorical sky darkened and it began to metaphorically rain. I stood up and stepped in a metaphorical puddle and realised my metaphorical shoe had a metaphorical hole in it.

It’s fair to say, this was a low. Those Civ VII players looked happy. They sounded happy. It’s said money can’t buy happiness, but money can buy you CIV VII and that can make you happy. And here I was, standing in a puddle in the rain with naught but a hole in my shoe. I was not happy.

And then — lo! — a wonderful chorus filled my ears with music soothing and sparkling and reassuring and a blinding light filled my vision before a figure appeared.

There was no doubt in my mind who this figure that stood before me was. The herald angels sang and I dropped to my knees. It was God.

Not the God. But a God nevertheless.

In that moment, when she appeared, the rain cleared and night fell and the stars sparkled and this God looked down on the pathetic figure I cut, drenched through with a hole in my shoe kneeling beside these lonely tracks, and she took a great pity.

Upon me, she smiled with all the warmth and wisdom of the heavens and it filled my soul with pure radiance and all my envious thoughts of CIV VII and its game engine improvements, brand-new features and updated graphics fled at once from my head.

Within the glow of her presence, Civilization on the SNES appeared before me, like a life-saving oasis in a cruel dry desert. I was gifted with an innate knowledge of this 1991 game’s surprisingly robust and intuitive control scheme as my ears filled with its inspiring Final Fantasy-esque soundtrack and my heart swooned over its charming pixel graphics. The world of SNES Civilization seared into my overwhelmed brain and I felt its power surge through me.

This PC port which should have been impossible, was indeed manifest. And not only manifest, but spectacular. It was as if this God herself had conjured it from nothing more than stardust and arcane unknowable magic.

And then the world went silent and she spoke.

She spoke with love for the earth and she promised me the world. All I had to do was build great cities in my honour and nurture a flourishing civilisation in my image. A civilisation that would be respected and feared from the dawn of time through to its last spluttering breath. At least, that’s what I took from her divine rambling.

“With civilisation,” she said in a voice that shone with unblemished grace, “the people will lead richer lives,” and I smiled because I too wanted riches. And then her voice grew increasingly more terrifying and voluminous until at awful last a blackness enveloped my heart and soul at every black word she spoke, “and Germany will rule the world” and then a terrible thunder roared from the night sky and my world turned black.

Startled, I awoke. God knows how many hours had passed. I would have asked God but she was gone. Why hast thou forsaken me? I cried. But thou hadst forsaken me and thou wouldst not answer.

I looked around and aside from the plain I was standing on, the world was enveloped in a black fog. All I had was a horse and cart and a hole in my shoe. With nowhere else to go but into the black fog I clicked forward and looked for somewhere, anywhere, to call home.

Eventually, my settlers discovered some prime waterfront real estate. The gentle lapping of the nearby ocean was calming and nearby there were horses to break and gold mines to ruthlessly plunder. I claimed this land for myself and planted the first seed of what I knew would become the greatest civilisation the world has ever seen. After all, I had been blessed by God.

Not the God. But a God. And that still counts for something, right?

With thoughts of glory and Japanese toilets swirling in my head, I founded Germany’s capital, the proud city of Pixeltopia and began my crusade to enter the history books. Or, at least, Wikipedia.

At once I set my peoples to work. Hard work. Gruelling work. Work without end. My farmers farmed the land day and night, my city trained soldiers at a punishing pace and my scientists studied around the clock tirelessly to discover the mysteries of the wheel. This last one, I’ll admit, puzzled me as our settler’s carts quite clearly were equipped with fully functioning wheels. But being a man of grand ambitions and not a man of science I commanded them to fulfil the task anyway and left them to it.

By the Spring, a crack militia had been trained and was awaiting orders. I sent them off South West to explore the coastline and ordered that more peasants be trained in the art of war.

I watched the militia’s travels across the land with keen interest until one day — Eureka! — my scientists revealed the dark secrets of the wheel to me and I swiftly vowed to never allow this sacred knowledge to ever leave the great borders of Pixeltopia. I then immediately tasked the boffins with unravelling the truth behind horseback riding despite the fact that our settlers’ carts were quite clearly already equipped with fully functioning horses.

More time passed and my militia came upon the borders of Rome. Their leader called for parlay. I knew there was little they could offer aside from a plate of grapes and a pledge of allegiance but yet I deigned to humour them and agreed to meet.

These Romans offered to trade their secrets of burial for my treasured scrolls on the wheel, a laughable offer and indeed one to which I laughed in their faces. Burial? Who doesn’t know how to dig a damn hole? “Burial,” I spat. “Who needs it?”

The God herself shone through my white-hot indignation and the Romans pleaded for forgiveness for their impudence and begged for peace. I agreed, but only after demanding a hefty gold tribute, of which they hastily paid.

With this transaction complete, peace ruled the land and my militia left their borders and continued their explorations.

By now my second militia had formed and they too had been sent out into the world. Instructed to travel South East they made their way across rocks and mountains and what I assume were forests until they stumbled across the Greeks.

This meeting was less memorable than my encounter with the Romans and history does not recall the trade deals denied and the gold tribute demands made, but do know that we left with a purse full of Greek gold and another deal for peace.

Back inside the gates of Pixeltopia construction had begun on a barracks. I had peace in my heart but had begun to realise the only way to share this peace was to conquer all of those in front of me until they too were peaceful. With a barracks, I could train a great and feared army of peace.

It was then a battalion of horseback riders were spotted heading towards Pixeltopia. They were quickly identified as originating from Greece, our supposedly peaceful allies, and they began to trouble the borders of my land. I ordered one militia home to the walls and hoped they would make haste. The other militia was sent to the Greek capital at once to see how they liked the feel of a similar transgression. The movement of my troops towards their home did not go unnoticed by the Greek horsemen and they left my Empire on an intercept course. But they were too late and my militia had already assumed a defensive stance outside their gate.

In a foolhardy attack, that I can only assume was driven by Greek arrogance instead of calm strategy, the peacekeeping militia of Pixeltopia found themselves under fire by the untrustworthy currs of Greece. My militia were outnumbered, outgunned and out-horsed but they were not out-spirited. In a heroic battle that will be celebrated in song for years forth, the brave militia kept their defensive stance and put the horsemen down like the dogs they were.

Boosted by this victory, they turned their attention to storming the wall. And then! From nowhere. A squad of Greek archers appeared from the black fog to march upon my grand city. The Greek horsemen had been a mere feint to keep me distracted.

The militia that had been marching home was still not close enough to engage and could only watch idly by as the Greek archers outpaced them in a deadly sprint to Pixeltopia’s walls.

The betrayal of the Greeks beset me into a murderous rage and blinded me with an aggressive madness. Without hesitation, I ordered my other militia to strike their city. Buoyed by their brave and victorious defence against the column of Greek horsemen my battle-hardy soldiers rushed the city and their war cry echoed in the cobbled streets.

But their demise was swift and brutal and indeed I cursed loudly at both the Greeks and the God who had set me down this road to ruin. ‘Where are you now?’ I cried, wiping my Militia’s blood off my otherwise crisp-white toga.

But there was no answer and all I could do was watch the hateful Greek archers draw closer. With Pixeltopia’s barracks only half built, reinforcements would not be forthcoming. In a furious rage, I ordered my remaining militia to divert course to Rome to send our remaining peaceful allies the same spite and ruin currently marching towards my proud city.

Dutifully, the militia abandoned their home and changed course leaving Pixeltopia to face the Greeks alone.

Unguarded and undefended there was not much of a fight. The secrets of the wheel proved less than useless in keeping the Greeks outside the walls.

The end was nigh. As enemy soldiers marched through the streets I began to wonder where it all went so wrong. Perhaps, my advanced wheel knowledge should have been freely shared instead of hoarded like a useless treasure. Maybe, my insults to their leader would have been better left unsaid, instead of enthuistasically gifted. It may have been a mistake to demand a pot of gold right after signing a peace treaty.

But those thoughts were fleeting. And besides, there were bigger things to worry about.

In single file, they marched. Past my farmers. Past the teepees of my people. And right up to the grand palace which I called home. Then, they ransacked the place until they found my treasured secrets of the wheel and then the brutes stole them.

“Good luck understanding them, you uncouth barbarians!” I shouted manically as I valiantly fled from the palace and into sweet, sweet freedom. But my brave attempt to avoid certain death only served to anger the enemy and indeed they took hot flame and burning malice to the city.

Abandoned by God — not the God, but a God – and then betrayed by a civilisation that couldn’t even work out how bloody wheels work, this was truly a dismal end for a Civ whose destiny to impact the history books was cruelly denied them.

It is said history is written by the victors, but let this historical account from a loser who just wanted to play Civ VII but was too broke, stand forever through the ages.

All that remains of the once not-that-great-really city of Pixeltopia were some strong words emblazoned on ancient stone ruins that were recently discovered by archeologists. This mysterious phrase left those dirt diggers stumped.

It read like a song. It read like a rallying cry. It read like the last gasp of a proud civilisation.

It read, “Restore PixelFix!”.

It all began in the cleaning products aisle at the supermarket. I was looking for a fresh bottle of Toilet Duck. For a while, I’d been a Mr Muscle sorta guy but I was tired of his jacked image making regular dudes insecure. It’s even worse now that he wears a lab coat that barely contains him. Jacked and brainy, that’s a no from me, dawg. So now I’m here for the duck.

As I reached for my usual pine-fragranced bottle, I noticed a new entry; Fruity Blitz. It was colourful and exciting so I immediately turned away. But it was too late. Before averting my gaze I saw that it was ‘Limited Edition’. Like many of us, I’m a sucker for a limited edition. Fruity Blitz went in the trolley.

I then forgot about the special Toilet Duck bottle in my possession, and my slow descent into mid-life madness, until it was toilet cleaning time. As I sprayed Fruity Blitz’s purple contents into the bowl I noticed a QR code on the bottle linked to a ‘limited-time game’. I scoffed at Toilet Duck’s rush marketing tactics and the ridiculous tie-in between toilet cleaning and gaming. But as I scrubbed and wiped I wondered, is there a genuine connection between the toilet and gaming? Maybe the duck knows something I don’t.

So, did I scan the code with my phone? You bet your sparkling seat I did. If Toilet Duck can destroy 99.9% of germs why can’t he create a decent pick-up-and-play? This, friends, is how I found myself at the Toilet Time Arcade.

The arcade has four mini-games to play. There’s the mildly rewarding Scent Shooter, the challenging Pop-A-Squat, the random Triple Flush and, finally, the concerning What’s under the Seat?

None are straight-out bangers, but each needs to be experienced once before being flushed out of your consciousness due to sluggish ‘promo-game’ physics and lazy re-skinning of decade-old mobile games.

I realise you all want to know what’s under the seat. Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing real poos don’t have faces.

Strangely, Toilet Time Arcade offers a global leaderboard for its game. Stranger still, players from Mexico of all places currently dominate the top 10 positions. Perhaps this has to do with beans being a staple of Mexican food. Maybe the duck hands out prizes in that region. Possibly, Triple Flush just really took off with poo-time gamers over there. It’s hard to know.

I wanted to at least enjoy the humour of the Toilet Time Arcade but there just wasn’t much to be found.

Except for the music, which has a mild 8-bit charm, this arcade isn’t fresh at all. It’s just a big steaming pile of… missed opportunity. You’ll probably clock it in three to four poos.

There’s not much else to report from the Toilet Time Arcade, except I hate how Toilet Duck looks at me whenever I get Game Over, despite it being the one same look he always has.

A Flush Through Time

If our greatest toilet-cleaning hero hasn’t built a decent plop-session game, who has? Let’s look back at the stools and stalls of the past, to one legendary toileting game from each decade.

Tetris - Nintendo Gameboy (1989)

The Gameboy flushed in a new dawn for 80s kids, recreational toilet time was no longer stuck in the dark ages of magazines or reflective thought. Was it acceptable to bring a handheld into the toilet? Unknown. But it felt right and parents were never home anyway.

In ’89 Tetris was everywhere so it might as well be played everywhere. Turn the jingle up, sit back and let the bricks fall down. Additionally, Tetris was the first game to be compatible with Nintendo’s Game Link Cable, all set for an open-minded buddy in the cubicle next door.

Snake ’97 - Nokia Mobile Phones (1997)

For most, the humble Nokia was the mobile phone that really dumped gaming into the throne room. Snake ’97 was one of the first mobile games to capture hearts, minds and unclean hands. Many will recall it on the popular Nokia 3310 and 3315 models, phones that would last three days off a ten-minute charge and survive a nuclear apocalypse.

Snake ’97 offered dot-matrix display goodness with epic monotone sounds so when it was business time, high scores were worried. Based on Blockade a 1976 arcade game, Snake ’97 gameplay was elegantly connected to toileting. Starting small, the player directs their snake to consume food, it then grows longer and faster, making it harder to navigate but increasing the score. Ultimately the snake becomes uncomfortable in size and something has gotta give.

Angry Birds - IOS, Nokia and Android (2009)

Arriving with a splash in 2009, Angry Birds saved developer Rovio from bankruptcy and millions of us from toilet boredom. For many years it was thought that the pigs were the game’s villains due to a swine flu outbreak at the time of development. But that myth was eventually busted.

Hard to believe now, but the game was a slow drop. It wasn’t until 2010 that Angry Birds was sitting at number one on the gaming app download charts and assisting number twos worldwide. Birds were launched, structures destroyed and the baddie pigs were yelled at for their resilience.

Working through the original game’s 700+ levels requires many visits to the throne room, so there was great longevity on offer. Angry Birds became a global phenomenon spawning two movies, over 140 games and more than five billion downloads. A near-infinite amount of toilet time gaming awaits fans with a phone, a toilet and angry intent.

Clash of Clans - IOS and Android - (2012)

If there’s a battle raging below you might as well start one up top. As a village chief in Clash of Clans, it’s your job to develop your village through upgrades, build resources, attack the villages of others and repair yours after it’s been raided. With an attack time limited to three minutes on an opponent’s village, Clash of Clans was perfect for toilet gaming.

Players can choose to go lone wolf or join a clan, with up to 50 other toileting chiefs, to indulge in clan wars. Using this private time to be part of a warring clan and sharing the spoils was clearly attractive to many of us and by the end of the decade, Clash of Clans had over 500 million downloads and amassed $6.5 billion in revenue from those suckers that bought their gemstones instead of earning them.

Animal Crossing: New Horizons - Nintendo Switch (2020)

You're gaming in the lounge and nature calls... Frustrating! Nintendo, early pioneers of the toilet gaming scene, knew this. We like to believe they invented the Switch’s handheld mode purely so gaming needn’t stop when the pants drop.

Also, the opportunity to socialise is often missing from toilet time and that’s where Animal Crossing: New Horizons steps in. If you’re feeling lonely in the throne room this peaceful social-sim lets you interact with sweet animal villagers, gather resources, and maybe even indulge in a spot of crafting. Live a little, when you’re dropping a deuce.

The high-tech toilets of Japan are particularly likely to host the cute sights and sounds of Animal Crossing: New Horizons with it now being the best-selling video game of all time over there.

What’s the future brewing?

The future of toilet gaming seems limitless. Will there be augmented reality gamification of the toileting process itself? Wearable tech? A health app home urine test with a ‘Post My Results’ online feature? Who knows?

While Toilet Duck should stick to toilet cleaning, instead of toilet entertainment, his enthusiastic arcade has brought fresh awareness to toilet gaming and the richness of its near 40-year history.

For that, we salute you Toilet Duck. After we’ve washed our hands.

Bad Dudes vs. Dragon Ninja makes it personal before you even begin. You insert your .50c coin and hit ‘Start’. But before you can begin button-mashing, an 80s bad-ass appears on screen. He has bad news. And he wants to know one thing.

Make no mistake, the game is addressing you, the player, not the character. While it’s phrased as a question it’s really a taunt. Are you a bad enough dude to rescue the President? Are you a bad enough dude to clock this game? Are you — yes, you — a bad dude?

When DataEast’s classic side-scrolling beat ‘em up was released in 1988 being bad was the best thing you could be. And at arcades and Fish n’ Chip shops around the country, Bad Dudes vs. Dragon Ninja was the baddest game going.

I vividly remember it appearing on the scene. People were always playing it and watching it being played, entranced by its kick-ass graphics and soundtrack of pure 80s action-movie goodness. If I’d somehow acquired a coin or two I’d play it too. But back then I was not a bad enough dude to rescue President Ronnie. I rarely made it to the game’s signature second level, the infamous moving truck.

But now, 37 years later, it’s time to do what the younger me could never do. Or, more accurately, never afford to do.

It was time to clock Bad Dudes vs. Dragon Ninja. It was time to prove that yes, I am a bad enough dude to rescue the President. Who’s bad? Me. I’m bad!

My first .50c goes in and I’m off punching and karate-kicking my way through the mean streets of 1980s New York. The Dragon Ninja clan are both relentless and numerous in their attacks. If you’re not a bad dude it’s easy to get overwhelmed by their numbers. They are well-trained but have little stamina. One hit dispatches most of these fools.

Control over your fighting moves is limited as one button is both punch and kick. The move you execute is based on enemy proximity. If you hold down the attack button you’ll charge a super punch, but it’s rarely useful and annoyingly discharges itself automatically whenever I try to use it against a boss. You can also tornado kick by pressing both buttons at the time. This is very effective.

One area of innovation was the game’s use of elevation. Most levels have ground and raised platforms and you can jump freely between the two as you make your way towards the boss. Indeed it’s a crucial tactic to escape ninja swarms and defeat bosses.

The first boss breathes fire at you so the easiest way to defeat him is to kick him in the head from range.

Level 2 is the level. The reason crowds gathered. The reason people pumped their cold hard cash into the machine. The reason BDvDN was hailed as an instant classic at the time and is still regarded as one of the baddest — in the 1980s sense of the word— games of its era.

The action takes place on the roof of a moving truck. You jump from trailer to trailer until you reach the cab of this extremely big rig. If you get knocked off you take damage, but do have a chance to jump back up.

The sense of speed is palpable as Dragon Ninjas swarm, either hanging onto the side of the moving truck, waiting for you to get closer before jumping up to attack or appearing from both sides of the screen from out of their ass

Even after all these decades, BDvDN’s signature level remains visually impressive and a thrill to play.

The main boss is a total jerk-off. Perhaps inspired by Marvel’s Wolverine, he’s a little short-ass with claws who is adept at avoiding jabs and kicks. To get the KO I just stood on the truck’s bonnet and spammed him with punches every time he leapt towards me. It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done.

Getting to the truck is relatively achievable, Data East obviously wanted as many players as possible to be wowed by it. But from here the difficulty ramped up, mainly just by increasing the number of Dragon Ninjas it threw at me.

Level 3 is a bog-standard sewer level, guarded by a green ninja who clones himself.

Horrifically the next level, the jungle, introduces suicide ninjas. These Dragon Ninja extremists set themselves on fire and then charge at you screaming as they burn to death. I’m not gonna lie, the first time I saw a burning ninja running at me it was both a shocking moment and fricken’ awesome in that outrageous 1980s action flick way. There is not much funnier in gaming than karate kicking a burning ninja in the face.

The boss is a brute who looks a bit like Tekken’s cyborg Jack. His main attack is a scissor slap which drains almost all your life so I kept my distance and worked the tornado kick to KO him.

Next, the game repeated its Level 2 trick of putting me on a moving vehicle, this time a train. It’s not as memorable as the Truck level and, let’s get real, there’s no way the game can top the jungle’s burning ninjas.

The boss is a bastard as well. He’s effective at close range and at long. If I got close he smacked me in the face with a scimitar and if I kept my distance he hurled a long-ass trident at me. Like I said, he’s a bastard and he claimed many of my coins.

Next, is the caves. This is fairly standard. I battled through, dodged falling stalagmites and then faced Stickman, a boss who poked his stick at me. I kicked him in the face till he went down.

Finally, I arrived at the final level; Dragon Ninja’s HQ. Here you battle through until you reach a lift and then you re-KO all the bosses you previously KO’d.

After handing out another can of whoop-ass it was finally time. Time to find out if I really was a bad dude. It was time to face the leader of Dragon Ninja. The feared Dragon Ninja himself; Dragon Ninja.

Yes, the leader of the Dragon Ninja clan is named Dragon Ninja.

Turns out Dragon Ninja is a Dragon Coward. He stayed up on his helicopter, biffing fire bombs and refusing to come down and face me like a Dragon Man, leaving his hounds to do the dirty work. Every time I jumped onto da chopper I’d promptly get smacked in the face by ol’ Dragon Nads before I could get a hit in.

After pumping in coin after coin after coin I finally landed the KO and defeated Dragon Nads. Sadly, I can only describe this final battle as an underwhelming conclusion after almost 20 minutes of fast and furious, button-mashing gaming. I couldn’t identify any strategy, tactical spammage or cheap shot that would lead to a skilful victory over him. Instead, sadly, it all came down to a battle of attrition between the game and my wallet.

Still, I’d done it. I’d defeated Dragon Ninja and the Dragon Ninjas of Dragon Ninja. I’d rescued the President. I’d proved I was a Bad Dude. But still… I felt empty.

Not the President though. He was stoked to be rescued. He was flipping jubilant.

The Total Cost to Beat the Boss

All up I inserted 21 .50c coins in my journey to kick the ass of Dragon Ninja making the total cost $10.50 to win the game. A veritable fortune in 1988. For instance, my copy of Midnight Rogue, an entry in Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone’s ubiquitous Fighting Fantasy adventure-game book series cost a mere $6.99 at the time.

But that’s the past. What about the now? According to the Reserve Bank of New Zealand’s Inflation Adjustment Calculator, I have determined that the actual cost to beat the boss in 2025 would be a whopping $26.21.

That is a lot of moolah. With that kind of money, you could buy two 1.25l bottles of Aotearoa’s finest high-strength cider, Scrumpy or find a game on sale and buy that and one bottle of Aotearoa’s finest high-strength cider, Scrumpy.

Final Thoughts

At the start of the game, you are asked the wrong question. It shouldn’t be, ‘Are you a bad enough dude?’. It should be, ‘Are you a rich enough dude?’. Because that, unfortunately, is what it takes to beat this game. Lots and lots of money. Yes, that is the whole basis of arcade games, but even still, skill should still play its part.

The game is a fair challenge up to its brilliant and iconic second level. But from level three on the game switches gears to prioritise earnings over its players. That aspect of the game is bad, but in every other regard, Bad Dudes vs. Dragon Ninja remains one of the baddest games around. And I say that with full ‘80s respect.