Looking in the window at Gamestation in my local shopping centre is one of me and my friends 'traditions' - along with going into the 'Cash Generator' to look at 6 month old games being sold for new release prices, as well as abusing people in the games workshop, which is probably the most entertaining part of the trip. Usually nothing takes my eye - I see a dreamcast or 2, a master system every now and then, and, at one time, there was even a special edition Super Mario World and Super Mario All-Stars SNES bundle, selling for a ludicrous �29.99. But Saturday was different.

On Saturday, I looked into that grey coloured room behind the sheet of glass and saw something that I could only of wished for. Something which my heart had panged for ever since late 1994. Street Fighter II Turbo was sat, waiting for me, with a cheeky �2.99 sticker slapped over its dirty label. In a bid to bring my SNES collection to something comparable to the Gamecube it sits next to, I slammed down my �5 on the counter and had a chat with the sales assistant behind the counter about favourite characters and getting beaten by Blanca in the arcades. As I sat on the bus home, I remembered all the good times I'd had with Street Fighter. The first time I did a 'Haduoken' with Ryu (albeit by mistake, as always), taking on my uncles with E. Honda and repeatedly pressing the punch button until I smacked them into submission and spending hours wondering if that WAS a bath in E. Hondas background, or something weird and demented made up in Capcom's HQ.

As soon as I got home, I plugged in my SNES, slotted in Street Fighter, grabbed a pad and waited for some hardcore ass-whipping action. And I got exactly what I was expecting. Somebody's ass was getting whipped, and it wasn't the computers Ken. Ryu, the ninja master of whom I was controlling, was going down, and without getting a punch in, bar the crafty jump I managed to pull off just seconds before my demise was complete. Ken was all over me, and I couldn't do a thing about it. In anger, I slammed down my pad, and went to put on Megaman for my Gamecube, which I had also bought on my shopping trip. As the strange Japanese music which accompanies the game sounded, I wondered if it had really come to this - was I really better 10 years ago than I am now? The facts were clear in my mind, that I couldn't do 10 years ago what I can't do one tenth of now. Back in the day (a bit of Ghetto talk for you there) I could've done that with any character you wanted me to, and now I could just about do it by repeatedly bashing the same button with E. Honda.

As I strolled through Megaman, I kept asking more and more questions of myself, if all the time I spent on games was actually making me any better. After defeating the pitiful enemies which littered the path, I got to the first boss. About 15 seconds later, I was gone or 'DELETED', as the game put it. I had absolutely no idea what to do, and was gone, which almost cemented my fears of me losing my touch. I strolled over to my Gamecube and watched as the orange lights flicked off. I looked at the collection of games sat atop my wardrobe, and counted how many I'd actually completed. To my knowledge, I'd only done 2. I looked at the others, and asked my self why I hadn't completed them, and almost every one I thought of, I'd gotten to a point in the game which I couldn't do and just given up, without ever looking back. As I looked back to my childhood, I began to remember bits the rose tinted glasses had blacked out - the struggles, the endless amount of continues used, helplessly tapping buttons in hope of victory. I hadn't lost my touch; I'd lost my fighting spirit.

And it's something which probably happens to all of us in time - as we grow in age, our amount of leisure time shortens and shortens, and our interests diversify beyond belief. My amount of time for gaming has shortened, and if I can't do something, I change to something which is guaranteed to entertain. Next time you think that you're losing your touch, look back at you history and focus on the bad times, and you'll realise just how much you've come on.

Matthew Tribute
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