I have a secret. Already years into an esteemed career of running jumps, jumping attacks, and even rudimentary physics, I found myself consistently pummeled by Glass Joe. Choking back tears of shame and embarrassment in front of my friend David, whose house my dad dropped me at on his weekends, I had to step away.
David was already well past Von Kaiser but, lacking the vocabulary to describe the two-step dance that Punchout is supposed to be, could only ask me quietly as we walked through Battery Park, “do you think maybe you’re doing something wrong?”
And I was. My rapid random string of body blows and uppercuts was only tiring me out, and getting us nowhere. I lacked the consciousness to recognize what a predictable negotiation Joe and I were engaged in. At six going on sixty, I could speak with eloquence but could not hear.
Mimicking David’s movements I finally found his patterns and soon hit the harder stuff. But it was years before I began to realize that Joe’s weaknesses, fears, infrailties and lowered expectations, along with his noble strength of persevering character, they were right there in front of me all along. In finding his pain- which is my pain, which is your pain- I found a weapon with which to topple him, or, had I chosen, elevate him perhaps as high as Major Circuit.
At twenty-six going on sixteen, my hearing has improved but I still struggle to remember this.
