Back in 1991, I was twelve years old and completely convinced that my Genesis was about to change the world. I’d been defending Sega since getting my Master System three years earlier – you know how it is when you’re the weird kid with the “wrong” console – but Sonic felt different. This wasn’t just another exclusive game to add to my arsenal of playground arguments. This was ammunition. I still remember unwrapping that first…
You know what’s funny? I’ve been gaming for over forty years now, and I can still remember the exact moment I realized helicopter games were something special. It was 1992, I was fifteen, and my friend Dave had just gotten Desert Strike for his Genesis. We’d spent most of that summer trading games back and forth, but when he popped this cartridge in and handed me the controller, everything changed. Most games back then were…
You know what’s funny about coming to retro gaming late? I missed all the “you had to be there” moments that define most people’s gaming memories. Like, I never experienced the cultural earthquake of certain games hitting at exactly the right time. But sometimes I stumble across something that makes me wish I’d been paying attention back then, and the Beavis and Butt-Head game for Genesis is definitely one of those titles. Found this one…
Coming to Pokemon Stadium at age 40 was like walking into a conversation everyone else had been having for twenty years. I’d missed the whole Pokemon craze when it first hit – was too busy working construction, raising my daughter, generally being an adult when all this pocket monster business was capturing kids’ imaginations. But diving into retro gaming meant I couldn’t ignore one of the most significant gaming phenomena of the late 90s, so…
Right, let me set the scene properly here. It’s 1991, I’m twelve years old, and I’m standing in Argos clutching a crumpled catalog page with the Mega Drive circled in red biro. I’d been saving up for months – paper round money, birthday cash from my nan, the lot. My mate Dave had one already and every time I went round his house I’d end up glued to the telly watching him play Streets of…
My mate Steve turned up at my fifteenth birthday party in ’96 with this knowing smirk and a Mega Drive cartridge hidden in his jacket pocket like he was smuggling state secrets. “Right, forget whatever else you’ve got planned,” he announced, which was exactly what you wanted to hear when you’d been politely enduring my mum’s friends asking about my GCSE choices for the past hour. Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 wasn’t just another fighting game—it…
My buddy Mike texted me last week while he was cleaning out his garage – found his old Genesis collection in a milk crate behind some Christmas decorations. “Dude, what was that weird Sonic game where you looked down at him like you’re flying overhead?” Three seconds later I’m typing back “Sonic 3D Blast” because honestly, that game’s been living rent-free in my head ever since I set up proper Genesis emulation on my Steam…
Last Saturday I was down in my game room doing that thing we all do – you know, pulling cartridges off the shelf pretending I’m organizing when really I’m just fondling plastic and having flashbacks. That’s when I grabbed my copy of Sonic 3D Blast, and man… even after all these years, that blue spine with the chunky yellow lettering still makes me stop and think. This game was so damn weird. Still is, honestly.…
Back in ’94, I was still primarily an Amiga lad, but I’d managed to convince my parents to get me a Mega Drive the year before – had to have Streets of Rage 2, didn’t I? Most of my mates were still on their Spectrums or C64s, but a few had made the jump to Sega’s 16-bit machine. The thing about console gaming in the UK then was that we were always a bit behind…
I’ve got this muscle memory thing that happens every time I pick up a Sega six-button controller. My thumb just automatically finds those three top buttons—X, Y, Z—without me even thinking about it. It’s been like thirty years since I first held one of these things, and my hands still remember exactly where everything goes. That’s not nostalgia talking, that’s just good design burned into my nervous system. Back in ’93, I was fifteen and…