My Wii has been hooked up for years now, even managing to survive the theft of nearly everything electronic in my home, passed up by thieves in their eagerness to strip me of Xboxes, PlayStations and iPhones. They didn’t hate the Wii. There were just so many other things to steal.
And I’ve had too many other things to play, plus two relatively new children (though you couldn’t tell from the smell).
So my Wii has sat there, waiting to be replaced, at least until yesterday.
Yesterday I went to GameNoGo and stumbled upon the store’s final boxed copy of The Last Story. Lured by the proficiency of Final Fantasy‘s Hironobu Sakaguchi and tempted by Jason Schreier’s glowing recommendation, I decided it was finally time to dust off the old Wii. The Last Story would be the fitting final chapter in my Wii’s life.
I was actually excited to sit down in front of the television, Wii remote in hand. I felt that novel tingle as that little white hand navigated the menu. I was feeling it.
I took it out and cleaned it. Not reading. I turned the system upside-down, on its side, on its other side — I tried jiggling it as it tried to read. No dice. I pulled another Wii game off the shelf, slipped it in — no dice.
I can only imagine how lonely that drive felt when it died.
So now I have to wait until November to play The Last Story on the Wii U. There’s no way I am purchasing a new Wii at this point; not with the new console just a few months away. I tucked the game back in its case, slipped it onto the shelf and sighed.