Only through time and experience can one gain the sagacity to realize they are a dope with worthless opinions. For four years, when asked the worst video game I've ever played, my default response would usually be this. I loathed it, based mostly on the fact it pissed me off. I remember finding Sonic and Knuckles unplayably jank, the levels all sloppily designed and the rest just generally unfun. The biggest problem in retrospect is that I went in with years of hearing every YouTuber I grew up with disparage the series. In my head, it was nothing but a disappointment factory from a failure company in the years where the Mario Galaxy brothers were collectively still my favourite game of all time. Hell, I don't think I'd have ever even played the damn thing if it wasn't for that Snapcube fan-dub. My opinion, as much as I hadn't realized it, was psychologically pre-emptive, established on experiences which weren't my own. Naturally, the one Sonic game I've played had to reflect that mediocrity. Then, now that I had a position, I found it bombarded by fans of the games or witnessed joy over a game I detested. Eventually, I began to respect the music and, having not touched the Chao garden my first time around, always heard that it was the best part and had to respect it. Originally despising the cast, I came to concede that most of them are quite lovable after playing Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog (though I still sort of detest Sonic's character). I watched videos by hazel and KingK, conceding more and more while still holding arrogantly on to my view out of mere tenacity and the gripping comfort of having a scapegoat. Something in me needed a game to be the worst, to be a 1/10 point of reference by which all could be weighed in displeasure.
Recently, I've been holding off on purchasing games, instead completing or achievement hunting in games that have sat on the backlog long enough to be fatal. Having only the achievements for the Hero Story and First Level, the scent of the burning witch beckoned me. I'd dip my toes in the Chao Garden, perhaps give a couple of the Villain Story levels the old college try. Out of what I can only assume to be trauma from my first run-in with Miss Adventure 2, I looked into graphics and physics mods, admittedly indulging in a few cheats to hasten and make less punishing my return. After some troubleshooting amidst which I complained of the game's awfulness, off I went. While feeling out the Chao Garden, I began to come to a realization. Immediately, the little details charmed me as I scanned the setpieces in the Chao's kindergarten. The mistranslations echoed the charm of the obscure B-titles I'd been playing. The music, textures and skyboxes encapsulated this perfect childhood feeling. The Chao system shocked me in it's complexity, and the damn things were so cute it made me uncomfortable. Between all that and my character of choice, Eggman, hobbling at mach 10 between the homely Japanese schoolhouse and serene Windows screensaver, I was having fun. Not planning to wait around for 3 hours for my two unleveled Chao to develop into an angel and devil, I tried my hand at the Villain Story. I constantly found myself stuck by odd or misremembered mechanics (seriously, why does this game have a power-up system instead of having all the moves from the start?), but it wasn't as unplayable as I remembered. At the very least, getting to bring little treats and creatures back to my baby Chao's after each stage made it all feel worth it (like a true parent enduring the hardships of capitalism, or in this case, Sonic gameplay). On the level White Jungle, however, a change took hold. I was... having a blast. The level flowed incredibly smoothly and intently. The shortcomings of the game began to feel like my own. I began resetting the stage when I died to keep my ring count up, feeling each mistake was my own. I zipped through the stage, tasting each alternative path and feeling out the little secrets for the most rings possible. After finally clearing it, I was awarded with an A-rank. My first playthrough, I got all D's and E's, but this... this felt good. The level felt good. The game felt good. I stayed up until 8AM not only clearing the rest of the Villain story, but clearing the whole Hero story again (no cloud saves, thanks Sega...), collapsing before reaching the final part. Meanwhile, my Chao were around level 40 and I was fueled by an urge to play more and more of the game, weighing whether I would watch my Chao into adulthood or chip my way up to 90 emblems. The last level stunk, and the last boss wasn't nearly the Pinnacle of Gaming hypefest I'd seen it sold as, but what I must note is this itching desire I have, even now, to keep playing. I want to play more, see everything this game has to offer, to love my Chao through each racing cup and to hoard those A-ranks. While a lot of the game is rough to play through and quite often unfun, these alone are not the marks of a 1/10 game.
Be it absolutely drinking up the aesthetics and music, my friend mocking me in Steam DMs or the powerful maternal instinct I developed for, now admittedly, probably the cutest video game character of all time, the "worst game" has merits that I feel like a cretin for trying to take away from people in outputting and arguing my hatred. The moral of all of this self-indulgent rambling is that rating games sucks (hence my lack of stars, though if I must put a number to it now, 3 stars, but that's far too vague given the range of quality). It's a practice locking our value of an object on one experience in one place. I detested Evangelion until I rewatched it at the height of my depression and loneliness, and now it's in my top 5. I dislike very few games, so unless the game is irredeemably degenerate (like I judged the lone king of my half-star rankings, Nekopara), games are art and art is always worth protecting no matter it's quality. A reading for my Moral Philosophy class has taught me that rose-tinting the interior world often extends its effects into the external world, and no doubt this ought to be applied each time a beloved game gets us heated. Give me your buggy, your jank and your low-budget and may we dance the nights away not as enemies, but hand-in-hand for this limited life we have.
Recently, I've been holding off on purchasing games, instead completing or achievement hunting in games that have sat on the backlog long enough to be fatal. Having only the achievements for the Hero Story and First Level, the scent of the burning witch beckoned me. I'd dip my toes in the Chao Garden, perhaps give a couple of the Villain Story levels the old college try. Out of what I can only assume to be trauma from my first run-in with Miss Adventure 2, I looked into graphics and physics mods, admittedly indulging in a few cheats to hasten and make less punishing my return. After some troubleshooting amidst which I complained of the game's awfulness, off I went. While feeling out the Chao Garden, I began to come to a realization. Immediately, the little details charmed me as I scanned the setpieces in the Chao's kindergarten. The mistranslations echoed the charm of the obscure B-titles I'd been playing. The music, textures and skyboxes encapsulated this perfect childhood feeling. The Chao system shocked me in it's complexity, and the damn things were so cute it made me uncomfortable. Between all that and my character of choice, Eggman, hobbling at mach 10 between the homely Japanese schoolhouse and serene Windows screensaver, I was having fun. Not planning to wait around for 3 hours for my two unleveled Chao to develop into an angel and devil, I tried my hand at the Villain Story. I constantly found myself stuck by odd or misremembered mechanics (seriously, why does this game have a power-up system instead of having all the moves from the start?), but it wasn't as unplayable as I remembered. At the very least, getting to bring little treats and creatures back to my baby Chao's after each stage made it all feel worth it (like a true parent enduring the hardships of capitalism, or in this case, Sonic gameplay). On the level White Jungle, however, a change took hold. I was... having a blast. The level flowed incredibly smoothly and intently. The shortcomings of the game began to feel like my own. I began resetting the stage when I died to keep my ring count up, feeling each mistake was my own. I zipped through the stage, tasting each alternative path and feeling out the little secrets for the most rings possible. After finally clearing it, I was awarded with an A-rank. My first playthrough, I got all D's and E's, but this... this felt good. The level felt good. The game felt good. I stayed up until 8AM not only clearing the rest of the Villain story, but clearing the whole Hero story again (no cloud saves, thanks Sega...), collapsing before reaching the final part. Meanwhile, my Chao were around level 40 and I was fueled by an urge to play more and more of the game, weighing whether I would watch my Chao into adulthood or chip my way up to 90 emblems. The last level stunk, and the last boss wasn't nearly the Pinnacle of Gaming hypefest I'd seen it sold as, but what I must note is this itching desire I have, even now, to keep playing. I want to play more, see everything this game has to offer, to love my Chao through each racing cup and to hoard those A-ranks. While a lot of the game is rough to play through and quite often unfun, these alone are not the marks of a 1/10 game.
Be it absolutely drinking up the aesthetics and music, my friend mocking me in Steam DMs or the powerful maternal instinct I developed for, now admittedly, probably the cutest video game character of all time, the "worst game" has merits that I feel like a cretin for trying to take away from people in outputting and arguing my hatred. The moral of all of this self-indulgent rambling is that rating games sucks (hence my lack of stars, though if I must put a number to it now, 3 stars, but that's far too vague given the range of quality). It's a practice locking our value of an object on one experience in one place. I detested Evangelion until I rewatched it at the height of my depression and loneliness, and now it's in my top 5. I dislike very few games, so unless the game is irredeemably degenerate (like I judged the lone king of my half-star rankings, Nekopara), games are art and art is always worth protecting no matter it's quality. A reading for my Moral Philosophy class has taught me that rose-tinting the interior world often extends its effects into the external world, and no doubt this ought to be applied each time a beloved game gets us heated. Give me your buggy, your jank and your low-budget and may we dance the nights away not as enemies, but hand-in-hand for this limited life we have.