I still remember the first time I saw that chunky white controller with its stylus attached by a coiled cord, sitting next to what looked like a flattened Mega Drive. The Sega Pico landed in our living room sometime in '94, courtesy of my aunt who worked at…

There's something oddly therapeutic about organizing old game boxes by chronology, which is exactly what I found myself doing last weekend when my wife politely suggested the loft needed "a proper sort." Between dusty cardboard and that peculiar smell of aging plastic, I ended up tracing Sega's entire…

Saturday afternoons in the mid-90s had this specific rhythm – mum making tea, dad doing something mysteriously important in the garage, and me hunched over the coffee table with three mates, all of us clutching those bizarre three-pronged controllers like alien artifacts we'd finally learned to decode. The…

Saturday afternoons at my mate Kevin's house always ended the same way—four controllers spread across his mum's coffee table, the Mega Drive humming away beneath the telly, and someone inevitably shouting "No fair, you're playing as Wolverine again!" That someone was usually me, because honestly, who wouldn't want…