There’s a certain sensation I get whenever I’m asked to choose ten of ‘the best’ games at the end of any given year. At first, it’s exciting.
It makes me feel as if I’m in some kind of exclusive club where they serve cocktails in teapots and everyone has one of those fancy cigarette filters that are hopelessly impractical. As is the case when you realise you’re actually exhaling not-very-good-for-you smoke back into your own face, however, the excitement soon shifts to a sort of sourpuss shame.
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