You already know that the Crispy Gamer Game Trust knows its stuff when it comes to gaming. But where are the writers really coming from? What are their favorite games? Their defining gaming moments? Their turn-ons?

To answer these questions, and many more, we present our "Ask the Game Trust" feature. Every week we'll ask and answer a different question about our collective experiences, opinions and general thoughts on videogames and life in general. This week, we present our special Valentine's Day edition. Feel free to open a similar window into yourself in the comments thread.

This week's question:

What videogame franchise would you like to break up with?

Kyle Orland: Sonic the Hedgehog


The good old days: I'll never forget the first time I saw you, at a Toys "R" Us demo kiosk, your color depth and carnal sense of speed putting the NES I had at home to shame. Of course, I'd had a steady, four-year relationship with the Mario series at that point, but I think we were both looking for a little more variety in our lives. Mario would always be my first love, but his slow-paced 2-D adventures never turned me head-over-heels like your acrobatic loop-de-loops.


The beginning of the end: I guess you thought you were "getting more mature" when you made the jump to 3-D in Sonic Adventure. All I saw, though, was a series that had given up rock-solid 2-D platforming for confusing camera angles, slow-paced role-playing sections and an odd character named "Big the Cat." I guess we just had different ideas about what "maturity" meant...


I knew it was over when: You turned into a werewolf in Sonic Unleashed. At that point you were, quite literally, not the Hedgehog I fell in love with all those years ago.

Evan Narcisse: Metal Gear Solid

The good old days: The infatuation started innocently enough. A friend gave me Metal Gear Solid for the PlayStation for Christmas years ago. Your slinky combination of cinematic pacing, stealth gameplay and a grad-student approach to philosophical themes made me think we'd be together forever. I'll be honest: Thinking about the Psycho Mantis boss fight still gives me a tingle when I'm home alone on a Friday night.

The beginning of the end: I suspected something when you pulled that deceitful bait-and-switch with Raiden in Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty. The weirdness quotient just got out of control as our relationship continued. And, the increasingly bizarre inbred logic of your continuity became more annoying as time went on. To think that I used to love your oblique references to Outer Heaven and Shadow Moses, teasing me with clues to your big, sexy backstory.


I knew it was over when: You got too old to please me anymore. Sure, you still look great for your age. Good genes and all that. But, I couldn't play Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots the way I wanted to, as a mix of shooting and stealth. You railroaded me into only doing what you wanted. Last time I saw you, it was all long-ass "War has changed" cut scenes. Back in the day, we used to get right down to business. Snapping necks, firing rockets; it was all good. There might have been a little preamble, but that was just to get us in the mood. I'm sure you'll try to continue to manipulate my emotions (Snake's death scene was just a low blow). For my own sake, I'm staying away, until you show me you've really changed.

Scott Jones: Tenchu


Dear Tenchu: It's over. Really over this time. I can't continue to sit around, night after night, year after year, iteration after iteration, waiting for you to get yourself together. Remember when we first met? We'd spend hours together, losing track of time, getting lost in each other's eyes (and in Lord Goda's castle). Those were some good times, and I'll never forget them. Because all I have now are those memories -- Kodak moments, pressed between the pages of my mind. I guess we just grew apart. I got older. I bought new consoles. But you kept floundering. You kept going in the wrong direction. You kept passing yourself around to every developer in town, letting anyone with a dev kit take a turn at you, wine and dine you. I've had it -- we're through. I've put the colored rice balls and the smoke bombs that were in your "drawer" in the mail. They should arrive in a few days. Love always, Scott Jones.

Gus Mastrapa: Tony Hawk

We had some good times, you and me. I remember when I'd play your games all afternoon long, my PlayStation flipped on its back so it would read your disc without burping up errors. I unlocked every character. Rocked out to the Dead Kennedys, amazed that a videogame publisher was cool enough to put them on a soundtrack. I loved the way you encouraged my creativity, letting me find my own lines -- tackle challenges the way I saw fit. I even made a pilgrimage to the Burnside Skatepark in Portland because of you. It was fascinating to visit a real-world place that I'd skated virtually. But those days are long gone.

You changed. It was some time after Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. You started trying to emulate "Jackass" -- which would have been fine, but you were never all that talented at finding the sweet spot between low-key cool and obnoxiousness. With you, it was always go big or go home. And the ability to get off the skateboard and explore was great, but the last thing I (or anybody) wanted was kart racing. Mostly, I think I started losing interest when the places we skated started getting a little bit too crazy. Alcatraz might have been the last time I had a great time with you.

I knew it was over when you came to the Wii. Damn, was Tony Hawk's Downhill Jam awful. And still, you almost had me when I heard Lupe Fiasco's "Kick Push" on your soundtrack. But that's all over. So manipulative. You knew that song would appeal to my sentimental side. But I've found another. I'm playing Skate now. The series is refreshingly down-to-earth. It doesn't try so damn hard to be cool all the time. It just is. I've moved on, Tony Hawk. I hope you can, too.


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Scott Alexander: Nintendo


You're brilliant, sure, but you don't love me. And I can't live a lie anymore. When you started flirting with "emerging markets," as you called them, I was fine with it, but it's gotten out of control. Lately, you just ignore me completely. I console myself by thinking about the good times, like the years when you regularly sent Mario, Link and Samus to my place to take care of my (admittedly sizeable) needs. Sure, it was a little freaky, but I was into it as much as you were. But lately, you've been so distant. It feels like you'd rather hang out with your new soccer mom friends than with me. Are their minivans that awesome? I think not. You used to take me for Kart rides, but even the last time felt like you were just going through the motions. I know you don't like parties, but lately that's the only place I have any fun with you. It feels like I'm ripping out a part of myself, but until you're ready to have a real relationship that's about depth and commitment to each other, then this is goodbye.

And I'll always love you.

David Thomas: I just don't get you squares, pouring out your heart to a single franchise.

Man, I was born a gaming swinger, and swinger I'll stay. I'm the king of the one-night stand. Give me some booze and I'll turn it into a lost weekend. Sure, I almost fell for Halo when she was fresh and young. But she got all serious and I was out the door in a heartbeat. Grand Theft Auto could have been the one. But there were just too many other lookers that caught my eye. So, I've never settled down, and at this point, I doubt I ever will.

Games, you'll never break my heart because I'm a player, baby.

Paul Semel: Crash Bandicoot


This isn't easy for me to say, because I love you, but it's because I love you that I must say this: You're not the same fun marsupial you used to be -- always running, jumping, spinning, crashing into boxes. The spark in your eyes is gone. Now you're all about partying, about being a faux action hero. But that's not who you really are. You see your pal Mario playing soccer or driving fast, and you think he's cool, but those are only weekend diversions for him. He's never stopped being Mario (okay, yes; it's been a long time since he's touched a wrench or cleaned a clogged drain, but you get my point).


That's why, until you get your life in order, I can't see you anymore. I've been hurt before by too many people I cared about, and I won't be hurt again. You need help, and until you get it, this is goodbye. -- Paul

P.S. When you have a chance, can you please mail me that Bukowski book I lent you. Thanks.

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Jason McMaster: Madden NFL

The good old days: I couldn't wait to see you each year, John. You brought me a nicer-looking field and a bigger playbook each year, and I ate it up. Sitting at work, all I could think about was you. When I got home at night, the first thing I did was get comfortable, mix up a drink and let you take me to a magical land.

The beginning of the end: I didn't want to believe that you were going cheap on me. Others were saying that you had only updated the running game and the rosters, but I wouldn't hear it. The talk around the office was about how you had a sexy new competitor from 2K. When it came time to pick you up in your new duds, I was shocked and heartbroken to find out that the talk around the office was right. I found myself slipping out to see the new girl -- after all, she seemed to care about me more than you did.

I knew it was over when: You bought exclusive rights to the players' names. I appreciate your getting rid of the competition because you love me, but now you've lost all reason to try. I picked you up every year, in the hopes that something had changed. This year, well, I just couldn't do it. I've given you countless opportunities to change and every time you've smiled and laughed. I'm sorry, John; this time we're through.

James Fudge: City of Heroes/Villains

It's not what you think. That email I got from Champions Online was just a friendly note, and that visit to the Web site was just to say "hey." We're just friends, I swear. DC Universe Online? Oh, that's one of Evan's friends ? You're just being paranoid; there's nothing to worry about.

Honestly, I don't care about getting travel powers at level zero or the ability to have more say in how my powers are put together. I love having to wait until Level 14 to fly or Level 20 to get a cape, and I love to take the train to get to Skyway City, even though I'm supposed to be some kind of bad-ass super hero.

What we have is special, and I would never, ever jeopardize what we have to help Batman or Superman. Who needs those jerks, anyway?


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David J. Long: Xbox 360


The good old days: That first time I convinced you to come home was a joyous day. You were the cute console behind the counter. I was so happy to get my hands on your Project Gotham Racing 3 and Geometry Wars: Retro Evolved. Later, it was The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion that brought me closer to you, and The Outfit that you wore. I was finally convinced that our love affair could bloom!


The beginning of the end: You know exactly when it started to fall apart, quite literally. It was summertime, and we had played for an extended time. Then you played with my boys for awhile, becoming a bigger part of our family. But, being so enamored of your company, the boys forgot to turn you off. That was when you failed me. Then you wanted me to pay to fix you up? It was too much to bear.


I knew it was over when: Finally, I let you go, all broken and hurt. You said you could get back to your old self again. We met again and had a blast -- but when it all came apart a second time, our love affair was over. I can't abide your constant failures. Oh, sure, we can have a fling every now and then, but the long-term relationship is done!

Mark Asher: Duke Nukem Forever

The good old days: Hey Duke, you were everything I wanted to be -- tough, cool, always with a wise-ass comment (even if it was cribbed from a Bruce Campbell flick and never given proper attribution). I mean, the Duke isn't worried about footnoting. That's for those bald-headed academics who cough in ink and wear the carpet with their shoes. Nah, you were too busy busting open your bottle of beer on some alien's head, or throwing loose change at a stripper to see her crude polygonal charms, to worry about something like that. I idolized you.

It was 12 years ago in 1997 that the tease began. "Duke Nukem Forever." A year later, there was a trailer at E3, the gamers' version of some Pamela Anderson/Tommy Lee blue footage. Then you dropped the Quake engine for the Unreal engine. A year later, further engine improvements and some leaked screenshots caused Epic's Cliffy B to declare, "Those shots rock my nuts." What gamer doesn't want his nuts rocked? You had me. You really had me.

The beginning of the end: And then you didn't have me. The years passed. 2000: nothing. 2001: another DNF trailer. 2002: Work is halted. In 2004, you win the Wired Lifetime Achievement Award for Vaporware. Then in 2007, yet another trailer is released, and yet... There are only so many times I can call up and have you tell me you're busy washing your short, blond hair. I mean, that should take you what? Ten minutes? Duke, baby, you're so not happening.

I knew it was over when: I stopped Googling you. I stopped thinking about you. Worst of all, I stopped wondering how I could work you into something I'm writing as a joke. Duke, you're not even worthy of being laughed at. You're off my speed dial. I don't know if I ever really cared. So ciao, baby. If you ever do make it out, twist open one more beer for me in some unlucky alien's nostril. We won't be together, but maybe -- just maybe -- we won't be completely apart.