Tale of a Fallen Champion

Soul Calibur is the whole reason I became a gamer chick. I’m not talking abut the kind of chick playing D&D with a bunch of mildly depressed guys in one of their basements, slowly dating her way through the group until she’s with the GM/DM and gets the really juicy storylines thrown her way. No, I’m talking about the kind of gamer chick that plays every type of video game possible, decorates her Nintendo DS with a different (pink!) skin each month and continuously whips the snot out of most of her guy friends (and boyfriends) in fighting and 1st person shooters.

I was introduced to Soul Calibur on the Dreamcast at a week long retreat in the Carolinas, and immediately fell in love. After waiting a year and playing only occasionally as the group got together off and on, I finally got my own DC and copy of SC and the rest became history. I was wickedly vicious and unstoppable. I used to have to ban myself from using combinations or holds, restricting myself to only directional and single-button attacks, in order to get anyone to play with me for any length of time. I was that good.

But recently, I played with my son, a kid not even 8 years old, and he beat me about half the time. My emotions were mixed on this, of course; I was filled half with pride and half with the urge to scream something primal and banish him to his room. This, after all, was MY game. I mean, it is THE GAME I am guaranteed a win at.

No one beats me.

But here I sit this morning, wondering if I should get in some practice rounds while he’s outside skateboarding. Maybe my recent wrist injury was the issue? Or have I begun the slide into old age?

Will I be telling stories of “I used to beat people using only the Y button” and having people pat my shoulder and cluck their tongues saying “Of course you did, dear…” soon?

Maybe I’ll just ban him from the Dreamcast completely. Then my title will be secure.