Only a few long-buried bodies in the Nevada desert know this, but I was a hardcore Sega fan in my youth. I of course had all the Nintendos and a TurboGrafx-16 (Keith Courage FTW), but my outspoken, oft-times misguided loyalty lied with the Genesis, Sega CD, 32X, and my favorite console of all time, the Saturn. So when Sony launched their unprovoked invasion of the home console market, I was not only skeptical, I was resentful. There was a distinctively soulless and American flavor to the PlayStation launch titles that my mind rejected on every level. I wasn’t about to leave behind Panzer Dragoon and Guardian Heroes for 989 Studios’ shitty sports games or Warhawk and Syphon Filter.
But as time went on, the Sony PlayStation didn’t sputter out like the Atari Jaguar or the Panasonic 3D0. This only made me want it less, as it was now the popular system to own, and my Marilyn Manson posters and nonconformist clothing said I was a beautiful and unique snowflake who zigged when everyone else was zagging. Then, along came a little game by the makers of Street Fighter and Mega Man. A game that would define an entire genre and lead to many of the most memorable moments in video game history. A game that finally made me give in and get in line with the rest of the herd.
