The winter of my discontent, or how Street Fighter II really pissed me off.

The year was 1991, and I was in my senior year of high school. The Super NES had just been released. My friends and I was amazed by it, as it was capable of doing things that neither our beloved Sega Genesis or NEC Turbografx-16 could. Scaling! Rotation! Transparencies! Echo effects! Soundtracks that sounded like they were performed by a full orchestra! You get the idea!



Right around the same time, I had been introduced to the world of flea markets by my friend Marc, and we were starting to hit them every other weekend. The amount of used games they had for different consoles was staggering. I’d never seen so many Sega Master System games in my life. The selection of NES games was like someone had taken  three or four video store’s worth of rentals and put them all out on display.  There were racks of Atari 2600, 5200 and 7800 games, mostly untouched and covered with a thick layer of dust. Intellivision, ColecoVision, Odyssey 2? Present and accounted for. Every so often, one of the vendors would have the odd Fairchild Channel F or Bally Astrocade for sale. Of course, they had Genesis and Turbo games as well, usually priced almost as high as what you’d find them for new.

It was only a matter of time before the Super NES games started trickling in. A lot of the vendors had them on display, but the consoles themselves were only demo units and were not for sale. Not that I could have afforded any of them at that point in my life.

The nearest flea market to me, Flea World in Sanford, FL., had a mini amusement park of sorts attached to it, named Fun World. There were go-karts, kiddy rides, even a petting zoo – but most important to me was their arcade, which was massive. They had so many games, old and new. The arcades in the local malls were pretty impressive, but this? This was something else entirely. The place was always crowded, the multiplayer games like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles getting the lion’s share of attention.


Not exactly the same, but you get the idea. (photo courtesy of Arcade 1up)

One Saturday, after trading in a couple of games and staring wistfully at the Super NES displays for a bit, Marc and I found ourselves in the arcade. I’d made a successful trade, but even with the games I’d traded in, I didn’t quite have enough to afford the game I wanted, unless I threw in some cash. The trade took nearly all the money I had left. By the time we’d made it to the arcade, I had maybe sixty-five cents on me. I had to choose what game I wanted to play carefully.

As one might expect, TMNT had a crowd around it. So did a lot of the other popular games. The older games weren’t really being played, but I wasn’t interested in those. I’d played a lot of them to death by this time. No, what I wanted to play was something new.

That’s when I saw it, over in a corner. It was a game I’d never heard of, a sequel to another game I’d never heard of, but it was by Capcom, who I knew from their NES games and their earlier arcade games. No one was playing it.


Hmm. I decided to check it out. Upon first inspection, it reminded me of an older arcade game I’d played a couple of times, Data East’s Hippodrome, minus the weapons and mythological setting. Okay, sure. I’ll plunk down a quarter and give it a shot, then maybe go try something else.

No dice. It was going to cost me fifty cents to play, practically all of the money I had left. I considered this for a moment, then shrugged, dug my two quarters out of my pocket, and dropped them in the slot. I hit the one player button and was presented with a character select screen. Wow, I could choose from eight characters? That was unusual. They were a colorful bunch. I chose the blonde karate guy, and then the game informed me that my first match would be in Brazil, and my first opponent was some freaky green dude with fangs and wild red/orange hair. Huh. Here I thought this was nothing like Hippodrome.



Before I could even get a proper handle on how to play the game, Greenie absolutely thrashed me. I don’t think I managed to land a single hit on him. My jaw dropped slightly, but when round two was announced, I realized that I had another shot.

Not that it mattered. I think I may have actually landed a hit on him that time, before his combination of air attacks and electrocution did me in. And just like that, the game was over. I think I lasted maybe a minute and a half, tops.

I was furious. I just blew the last bit of money I had for a minute or so of gameplay. The game was a broken, cheap, piece of shit cheating money grabbing garbage pile! I decided right then and there that the game sucked, and I would never, ever play it again.

Of course, if I’d stuck to my guns on that, we wouldn’t be here now.

Why bring the OPCFG back now?

That’s a good question. After all, it’s been 21 years since I first started the site, and just under a year since I signed its final (?) death certificate.

It’s certainly got nothing to do with the site’s original mission from 1998, to try to get Japanese games that went unreleased during the 32-bit era released here now. It’s not about exposing the rest of the world to some of the great titles of the 8 and 16-bit eras that never left their places of origin. All of this has been done, far better than I ever did, by people who branched far beyond the constraints of Web 1.0, where I remained (and in a lot of ways, still do remain) perpetually stuck.

It also has nothing to do with my attempt at “reloading” the site in 2008. The age of the physical compilation/collection is nearing its end, and there’s no point in discussing the merits of various compilations in this age of downloads and digital re-releases. It has nothing to do with the 2014 revival either, which was basically just shilling for my book Memoirs of a Virtual Caveman, until it got its own dedicated site and traffic moved away from the old OPCFG site. Nor does it have anything to do with my brief flirtation with having the OPCFG on Facebook.

As I said nearly a year ago, “It’s time for this website to end. The OPCFG ran its course over a decade ago. What revivals I attempted were too little, too late.” So, to put it bluntly, if that’s truly how I feel, what gives?

The thing is, I still have a lot I want to talk about. I’m still learning a lot about the games of the past, and seeing as how I’ve thoroughly explored my favorite genres, I’m now branching off into what’s relatively unexplored territory for me. Take vs. fighters and classic FPSes, for example. Both are genres I turned my nose up at in the ’90s, but am now tentatively starting to get into, and I’d like to talk about my experiences as I brush aside the cobwebs and see what these have to offer.

But maybe, to bring attention to my new adventures, it’s time for a rebranding. The OPCFG name is ancient, but does still have some “brand recognition,” so to speak. Problem is, that recognition is tied to an era that’s now long past us. The old timers in the community might remember the old site, but the new blood? Doubtful.

So rebranding could work. It worked for Kurt Kalata when he retooled The Classic Gaming Review Archive into Hardcore Gaming 101. It worked for Derek Alexander when he changed from being the Happy Video Game Nerd and became half of the driving force behind the series Stop Skeletons From Fighting. It worked for TJ Rappel after he left the Metroid Database and started Retro Game Super Hyper. See what I mean?

What to do, what to do…