text: You’ve done it. After weeks’ worth of late nights, unbridled fury, carpal tunnel, game restarts, and ragequits, you’ve...you’ve *done it.* You’ve beaten Matt from Wii Sports. His cartoonishly geometric form lies crumpled before you in the ring, as the announcer, with his crisp, cheerful voice that has become all too familiar to you, initiates the countdown. “DOWN! One! Two! Three!...” He stays down. He’s not coming back for a second wind. You don’t know for sure, but you just *know* somehow. This *has* to be it. “...Four! Five! Six!...” Ten seconds have never felt so long to you. Each ticking pulse in your temple as you stare at the television screen, daring the motherfucker to stand up again, feels like a drum concerto of eternity. “Seven!...” You think back to the furious round in the few minutes before. Spraining your wrist pumping the Wii Remote and Nunchuk. The rising pressure in that one spot in the side of your head. The muted, high-pitched curses uttered under your breath. Did you break a sweat? If so, that’s quite pathetic. But you don’t care. Matt is *down.* “Eight!...” You think about your skill level, and the prodigious boost it must receive after this fight. You’ve beaten the champ. It’s taken you weeks. Never in your life will the sight of a line graph fill you with such satisfaction. “Nine!...” And there’s a sudden stab of guilt - all the times you had to restart to avoid losing skill points, and getting demoted to squaring with lesser fighters. It was only necessary, you tell yourself. Restarting all those games was *necessary.* It was the only way you could stick with Matt, keep him in your sights, lock him in your dance. Now, there is no need to restart. The game is up. A winner is you. “...Ten! KNOCKOUT!” the announcer declares. The bell dings a double chime. The crowd of Miis cheers. Your heart balloons in your chest. Your limbs soften with relief. It’s official. It’s inscribed in data and code, sealed in a save file. The Wii Message Board might even receive a letter of congratulations. It’s all too much. As your face breaks into a smile, something changes. A sound effect plays from the television. The scene darkens and freezes. You must have accidentally paused the game. You make to click “Continue.” But something’s not right. Your pointer doesn’t register on the screen. The words are flipped, as if reflected off a mirror. How are you supposed to read them? What are you supposed to do? Then it hits you. It hits you like a flying virtual boxing glove. Another pointer appears, ghostlike and hazy. Slowly, almost mockingly, it drifts toward the center button. He’s been staring at you this whole time. “Start over.” The screen fades to black. You emit a scream. The match starts over. You vs. Matt. The latter of whom is fully recovered and ready to go at it again. And again. And again.