There I was, clobbering foot soldier after foot soldier, as I noticed my fingers becoming sore and stiff, and this persisted as I tore through the Technodrome and began battling Krang. I sought to employ my old strike-withdraw-strike strategy, but my fingers were not properly responding to my brain, resulting in a sluggish Leonardo.
So I hit Krang, Krang blasted me, and back and forth we went for a while. I was nearing the end of my life and decided to go for broke and launch an all-out assault — just jump in there and hack and slash away in a Wolverine-esque berserker fury until one of us fell.
I only play Nintendo a few times or so per year these days, which is probably the only reason I still have a functioning 1980s Nintendo console. But back in the day, I was quite the player. Video-game player, I mean. Whether I was Mario, MegaMan, or Michelangelo, I rose to every challenge…until my interest began to fade sometime during adolescence. Coming out of retirement last night, with my fingers refusing to cooperate as fluidly as they once did, it was all very Dark Knight Returns.
I was down to my last hit, and Krang was glowing something fierce. The end was near for one of us, but whom? Me, the weary old Nintendo warrior who should’ve quit while he was ahead, or the evil cartoon brain with questionable taste in robotic bodies?
Finally, Krang exploded.
I had all of a second to bask in my victory from the jaws of defeat. Then Shredder arrived, split into two Shredders, and zapped me with lightning.
And, presumably, dined on turtle soup. Game over.
I learned two lessons that evening:
1) These fingers can no longer play with the skill of a 7-year-old, at least not on days I’ve kickboxed.
2) Whenever you think things are finally starting to go your way, beware of overdressed ninjas with gratuitous cloning and lightning powers they did not have in the cartoon.