I always thought I was a great Smash player. My first console was the Nintendo GameCube. My brother and I went in on it together, and one of the first games we purchased was Super Smash Bros. Melee. We would crowd around the TV with our friends and duke it out for supremacy. We could have five, six, or seven players, and it wouldn’t matter. Everybody but the winner would hand over their controllers, and it would rotate like this for hours.

I would work on improving my gameplay with my go-to characters like Falco and Ness. My brother would inevitably pick Luigi. And everyone would harass the players who couldn’t achieve anything beyond jumping with Kirby or spamming lightning bolts with Pikachu. Through those makeshift tournaments, I developed a sense of understanding about my place in the Smash world. I was competent. I could go toe-to-toe with the best players we knew. I wouldn’t always win. But I’d win enough. Enough to feel confident in my skills.

So, it was only natural to think that same skill level would translate nicely in the new world of Super Smash Bros. Ultimate. Yeah, there are over 60 characters. Yeah, it’s been over a decade. Yeah, levels of competition in video games has risen starkly. All that aside, though, I was pretty good Falco, remember? And as soon as I got a Nintendo Switch, I started preparing myself for the overwhelming adulation that would accompany my Smash dominance. I was ready. I had the game. I had the adapter and four original GameCube controllers. None of those tiny, hand-cramped Joy-Cons for me. I was about to bring old-school savvy to the new kids on the block.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. I felt good in the beginning, playing with friends and showing them the ropes. I dodged past and jumped around them with ease. They’d never played before. I was like a god among men. But then I tried to play online, by myself, against people who had been studying the pros play and utilizing all the tricks of the trade. More specifically, against people who had been playing the game frequently and hadn’t taken a 13-year hiatus.

I lost every game. I was alone in the living room at midnight, with family members sleeping in rooms around the house, and I was getting absolutely pummeled by each opponent. I tried different characters. Didn’t help. I sat there on my coffee table with a GameCube controller in my hand, and I felt irrelevant. Years of Smash nostalgia crumbled around me, and I realized that I’ve got a lot to learn. Thankfully, I’ve got some kids in the neighborhood who can give me some lessons.