I was just thinking of how to describe this feeling. If you remember playing the early NES games like Super Mario Bros, you'll get this.

I spent hours on Super Mario Brothers. Hours. Days, even. I remember playing so long and hard that I got the imprint of an arrow into my left thumb from holding the key pad down to move Mario forward. I bought the Magazines (Super Power), hint guides, strategy books...everything. I was going to beat that game. I even resorted to calling the tip line, on numerous occasions. In fact, my mom loves to tell the story of how, when she got the phone bill, there were all these toll calls to like Indiana. And she asked me who the hell we were calling in Indiana. When she figured it out, I caught hell. But, then again, my mother had also been sucked into Mario's World. Before long, she was calling the tip line herself. We took the Nintendo on vacations with us, and we left it on pause (we didn't know the trick of how to continue endlessly, back then). Once, on a summer trip to New York, she nearly whipped my ass for accidentally hitting reset. That's how badly we wanted to make this game our bitch.

And there was the day, the unbelievable day, that I finally beat Mario. Beat Mario. The mere phrase fills me with a rush of adrenaline. The details are hazy...it may have been dark, or light...not sure if it was summer.

I just, I remember very clearly, the feeling of disappointment when the closing animation rolled. I don't know what I was expecting. More fireworks? Mario and Princess Peach make out? It was so short, and I remember I couldn't stop it...I remember thinking my mom would be pissed she had missed the ending of Mario. Then, it was over. It just seemed like too much for too little. All that work, that frustration, those tears over a prize that, in the end, wasn't very rewarding at all.

Maybe that's why I don't play those games, the way I used to, anymore.