In high school I had a crush on a girl named Alicia. I thought she was pretty awesome, at the time, and as a result about 70 per cent of my teenage energy and efforts went toward trying, in vain, to impress her. But my efforts weren’t necessary embarrassing insomuch as they were misguided. There was no dressing to impress, wearing of cologne, buying plush hello kitty toys or flowers – a romantic I certainly was not. That wasn’t how I was going to win her heart, no not me sir. But I did have a plan. You see I was convinced as a lanky, red-headed fourteen year old boy that my admittedly rather great skills at playing competitive Street Fighter would be enough for her to fall madly in love with me, and spinning bird kick herself right into my arms. I can remember standing in the arcade smashing opponent after opponent (at least, this is my memory of this time) smugly thinking to myself that this fight, this perfectly timed super combo, would be the one that would win her over and that we’d be madly in love and get married and have children and live happily ever after. Of course this never happened and the girl that at one point I thought I was madly in love with continued not to notice my advances and continued, perhaps even more so, to ignore the fact that I was the greatest Street Fighter player frequenting my local arcade. Okay so girls don’t care how good you are at videogames, that’s cool, unfortunately it took me more years than it should have to realise this.
But its okay the story isn’t all bummed out nerdy teenager. I eventually found someone who, while she doesn’t appreciate my admittedly deteriorated Street Fighter skills, thinks I’m a pretty alright dude. And for that I’m glad Alicia ignored two years worth of nerdy and self indulgent advances.