After faithful years of service, a mighty warrior has fallen.
In the early years of the 21st century, Microsoft made a bid for a share of the console video game market. The hardware of the day was mostly compact and unobtrusive. MS decided that they wanted to be seen, and brought to market a ginormous black box with massive controllers, all decorated with a large green jewel in the center that did nothing. It was so big that the manual warned that it could kill a child if it fell on them.
Naturally I wanted one.
Mine came to me from my wife-to-be, cementing her status a best girlfriend ever. A green glow shone over my carpet from the ring of light as I drove the streets of Project Gotham Racing and battled the Covenant as Master Chief John 117 in Halo.
Alas, the hours spent together grew shorter as more responsibilites weighed me down. One night in February, looking forward to staying up late, I pushed the power button to fire up the 'Box, but only found a splash screen.
The green glow had been replaced by an angry blinking red, and the welcome screen for the game to be played was gone. In it's place was a multi-lingual message to call Xbox Support and an error code.
Six years from it's build date, nearly to the day, my Xbox suffered a hard drive failure, making it a noisy, oversized paperweight. I couldn't believe it. All the hours I'd put into the current game were now lost, along with all the others I'd played and saved along the way. I had games on the shelf that I hadn't opened yet. The hard drive? Seriously? I've got a desktop that's over a decade old and it's hard drive is still spinning. The kicker? It will cost more to ship and fix than it would cost to purchase another.
So I got an Xbox 360.