Corkscrewed

I swear, I felt like my world crumbled this afternoon. I was feeling sleepy. I was feeling unusually depressed (because I’m single as fuck). And I felt like I needed to punch a baby.

But I didn’t. Instead, I punched Dudley—and he turned the tables on me.

I’d normally shrug off defeats in Street Fighter; I’d accept them nobly. But Dudley was different. I have a story about him. I have a story about us.

It all started in high school back when the only cool Street Fighter in the arcades was Third Strike. Once of the game’s main features is the parry system wherein you get to, well, parry your opponent’s attacks using a specific and timed joystick movement.

I first met Dudley in Third Strike. He was a fucking beast. He parried all my attacks and super art (Kikosho) and sarcastically (and loudly) ranted just how “killer” my moves were.

It was insulting.

Almost immediately, my enthusiasm for Third Strike ended.

When Street Fighter 4 and its succeeding versions came to life, I felt like I was in a new era. I had the chance to start over and redeem Chun-Li’s glory.

I practiced and played a lot on Xbox and PS3 consoles alike. Everything about Street Fighter was awesome and overwhelming because I met new people who shared my passion for the game.

Then Dudley resurfaced. Apparently, he’s one of the veterans in the local arcade community.

I wasn’t worried though. I was ready to face him. And when the time came, I did beat the crap out of him. I beat him a several times. I tipped the scale on my side. It felt good.

All the Third Strike stupidness, gone.

I felt like a king.

Until this afternoon.

I was feeling depressed. I was feeling sleepy. I was feeling tired. But I still felt like playing Street Fighter 4. I did. I wish I didn’t. Because I felt like Dudley was going to turn the tables on me again. I didn’t want that to happen.

But it did. It happened. It happened four times.

And by the time I beat Dudley on the fifth match. He walked out on me.