I bought Punch-Out!! on impulse and, almost immediately, started feeling buyer’s remorse. I got the original Mike Tyson’s Punch Out at a yard sale when I was like seven, and I played the hell out of it, but the overly basic timing/puzzle based gameplay seemed like a style of play that vanished along with my childhood. 2009 demands more substance than 1989, and no one wants to spend fifty dollars on a twenty minute experience, regardless of how well it could stand up to repeat playthroughs. Yet, I bought Punch Out.

For whatever reason I rebought (argh) the original on Virtual Console, and made it all the way to Mike Ty-Mr. Dream on my first go around. I planned on blazing through the Wii version and confirming all of my rash suppositions, but, instead, I wound up getting the shit kicked out of me by Von Kaiser. Von Kaiser. I easily dispatched him on the next go around, as well as Disco Kid and King Hippo, but then I was completely wrecked by Piston Honda. From then on I don’t think I ever won match on my first attempt. Aran Ryan and Mr. Sandman, in particular, each kicked my ass at least a dozen times.

Honestly I was quite surprised by how well the inherent gameplay translated over to the current generation. For the most part, my opponents modified their techniques after they were knocked down a few times. Even the slightest variation to an attack, like a slight delay, totally threw me off my rhythm and resulted in a punch to the face. Punch Out wound up being far more hardcore-friendly than I had anticipated, yet it added nothing more than a facelift to the twenty year old structure. Pattern memorization, anticipation, and twitch reactions is game design 101, but through Punch Out’s rich atmosphere and endearing gameplay, it somehow made an ancient concept come off as fresh and exciting. For the last half of the game and all of Title Defense mode, I actually had to pay attention to everything that I was doing. I couldn’t sit back and let my brain take some time off; every single move by an opponent required a twitch reaction with absolutely no room to spare.

And I lost count of the times I almost gave up. Piston Honda on title defense seemed impossible, and I was convinced there was no fucking way I was going to beat Aran Ryan. Soda Popinksi seemed particularly assholic, with me being unable to distinguish punches I had to duck from punches I had to sidestep (the window to make a choice is impossibly small), but I always persevered. Currently I’m at Bald Bull, and, since I just got the headgear after notching my 100th loss, I suppose I should close out Title Defense relatively soon.

Punch Out’s most impressive virtue is probably it’s allegiance to the original incarnation. Glass Joe no longer spoke in Peanuts adult voice, but his inflections and mannerism remained identical to his garbled NES posture. Von Kaiser’s clicks mimed his head bobs, and King Hippo’s mindless gorilla noises matched what we all imagined he’d actually sat. Honda’s eye squints, Bald Bull’s inability to breathe, Popinksi’s foot shuffle, Macho Man’s pecs jiggle, and Sandman’s punch switch combos were all remarkably intact. The game was slavishly faithful toe the original, right down to Mac’s semi gay pink jogging suit and Doc spouting complete nonsense.

Easily dismissing any fears over game length, I have dumped more hours into Punch Out than I can count, and I’m overwhelmingly pleased that Nintendo finally decided to cater a revival toward the core audience.