Story time. (It might be worth reading.)
Back in high school, I was playing through a relatively obscure rhythm game called Gitaroo Man (though I assume most of you are familiar). Once I beat the game in normal mode, I decided to try out Master mode.
It was dramatically more difficult, and I hit wall after wall, but eventually overcame the first 7 stages after only a week or so of playing.
Then I got to
stage 8.
For some reason, it felt like the difficulty spiked up by a factor of 10. I wasn’t even
close to beating it. But I remained ever-determined.
Failure after failure, I inched closer and closer to the finish line. But the closer I got, the more my frustration grew. After a solid two weeks of attempts, my rage hit heights I didn’t even know existed.
The first time I blew up, I was only about 70% of the way through the song, but it was still a PB. But my minor achievement did nothing to prevent my controller from being speedily expelled from my grip onto the cold, hard ground below.
That was the first time I broke a controller.
Even more tilted that I just busted my favorite translucent blue PS2 controller, I continued to trek onward. Repeated failures over the next few days resulted in a few more tossed controllers, albeit after breaking one, I showed the slightest amount of restraint in not completely
slamming them into the ground.
Perhaps I chipped a bit of internal plastic, adding unintentional maraca to the music of the game, but once I realized I didn’t have $40 for a third controller, I forced myself to just grip tightly after each loss.
My grip continued to tighten as my frustration grew. But I was SO CLOSE to beating this song. There were only maybe 20-30 seconds left.
Then I got on the
god run. I breezed past the most difficult section and was in completely uncharted territory. This was THE ONE, I could feel it. I heard this song every night in my dreams at this point, and I knew I could conquer the rest. 30 seconds left. Then 20. I started stumbling, but I remained focused. Only about 10 seconds of gameplay left. I was hanging on for dear life at this point.
The light at the end of the tunnel was staring me squarely in the face, reaching out with open arms. I just… needed… to… make… it…
A frozen moment in time. I had made it, right? There was but one single note to hit. Sure, I had only a sliver of health, but it’s one single note. White-knuckled and sweaty-palmed, my hands simply did not want to obey orders. Struggling but determined, I pressed the button for the final note. The last note.
MISS
…..
YOU LOSE.
I saw white. The blood swiftly exited from my head and delirium struck for a brief moment, followed by pure, unbridled rage. Wrestling with the choice of throwing the controller through my TV, or simply taking a deep breath, I found myself incapable of either option. Instead, I gripped harder. But it wasn’t enough.
My rage had taken over. White turned to red. My hands became numb. While determined to not let my controller escape my grasp, my fury found the only outlet it apparently had available.
And so, with a complete absence of thought or consideration and a vice-like grip,
I SLAMMED the controller into MY OWN FOREHEAD, forcing BOTH analog sticks inward into the controller where they then lay broken and lifeless. I had literally broken a PS2 controller on my
face.
The next day, I went to school with two dark blue circle-shaped bruises on my forehead that lasted for at least another few days.
About a month later, I finally bought another controller and returned to the game. Of course, I ended up beating the song on like my third try, somewhat unceremoniously. And, to my knowledge, I’ve never thrown a controller since.
tl;dr: I raged in Gitaroo-Man and broke a PS2 controller on my actual face.