I feel profoundly old. Not because I just had a birthday and 30 is on to me like a Dahaka, but because Doomeru bought me a copy of Street Fighter IV, and I made the mistake of playing it.
I didn't play Street Fighter III. I didn't play Street Fighter Alpha, or Super Turbo Douchebag Fighter 20x6. I played Street Fighter fucking II at Lou's Mini Putt-Putt and drew the line at ice blue Ryu. I knew how run the cabinet back in my day. At least I thought I did, and there was no one around in Chester, NJ to tell me otherwise.
Like back on the fencing team in 7th grade, Street Fighter II was about timing, and distance. It was about patience, and poise, and not flinching first.
And so is Street Fighter IV. But things are more complicated these days. Between the super combos and the ultra combos and the and super cancels and focus attacks and ex focuses and throw escapes and technical reversals, I can't seem to see where I stand until I'm lying on my back. It's like the world when and got itself in a big damn hurry.
I'm not saying that change is bad, or that we used to have it better. This just isn't what I signed up for. I'm tired of being frustrated all the time. I've decided not to stay. I doubt they'll kick up any fuss. Not for an old kook like me.
Tomorrow I'll go back to work, banging my head against a wall of newspaper salespeople who refuse to learn about this thing we call the Internet, and maybe, just maybe, I'll have a shred more empathy for them. I am getting old, after all.