The smell of stale beer and fried food hung in the air of the sports bar, a familiar scent for a Tuesday night. On the massive screen above us, the Denver Nuggets and the Boston Celtics were locked in a surprisingly low-scoring battle. My friend Mark, a stats junkie who lives and breathes basketball analytics, was getting visibly frustrated. "This is brutal," he groaned, taking a long sip of his IPA. "It feels like they're just trading missed shots. I swear, the average NBA half-time total points per game this season has to be way down." That phrase, "average NBA half-time total points per game," hung in the air, pulling my mind in an unexpected direction. It made me think about expectations, about the gap between what we hope for and what we actually get, a feeling I'm all too familiar with as a gamer.

Just last week, I'd been playing Japanese Drift Master, a game I was genuinely excited about. There were so many aspects of it that I desperately wanted to love, especially given that so few racing games hone in on drifting as a mechanic anymore. And I'll give it this—when you're in the middle of a perfect, smoke-filled slide around a tight corner, it feels incredible. The developers absolutely nailed the core sensation of drifting. But that's all they nailed. In focusing so heavily on getting drifts to feel great, all its other parts have been left to the wayside. The scale of its ambition is clear, but in trying to cater for a variety of event types, it completely undermines its most compelling mechanic. It’s a one-trick pony, and it constantly reminds you how inadequate it is at supporting any other racing style. It never gave me that pure, unadulterated joy of tearing through the streets in a blazing-fast car. It was a constant, low-grade disappointment, much like watching two elite NBA teams struggle to crack 100 points by the final buzzer.

Mark pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. "Okay, let's see... pulling up the stats now. I'm telling you, it's gotta be low." As he searched, my mind drifted back to the other side of the gaming coin. I thought about the launch of Mario Kart World for the Switch 2. Now, there's a game that understood the assignment. Nintendo seemed slow to react to the evergreen status of Mario Kart 8 Deluxe, a humble Switch port of a Wii U game that surpassed all expectations by becoming the top-selling game on one of its most successful platforms. With Mario Kart World, the pressure was immense. This was the banner game for a new console launch, carrying the expectation that of course this would be one of the games most associated with the system for its entire lifespan. The monumental challenge was crafting a new game that felt sufficiently suited to carry those expectations. And from everything I've played, they've done it. Due to its blend of skillful mechanical tweaks, lovely aesthetics, and a general design philosophy built around delightful surprises, this one will go the distance. It’s the complete package, a game that makes you grin from start to finish.

"Got it!" Mark announced, pulling me back to the bar. "So far this season, the average NBA half-time total points per game is sitting at about 224.7." He looked at me, expecting a reaction. I just shrugged. "Is that high or low?" He sighed, the exasperated sigh of an expert dealing with a novice. "It's actually up from last season, can you believe it? It feels lower because the pace is different, the defenses are tighter in the first half. The perception is off." And that was the kicker, wasn't it? Perception versus reality. My perception of Japanese Drift Master was soured by its incomplete nature, just as Mark's perception of this game's scoring was skewed by the flow of the action. The raw data said one thing, but our lived experience said another. JDM: Japanese Drift Master can look good in small snippets, but it's sorely lacking as a complete package. It’s the gaming equivalent of a team that has one superstar player but no supporting cast—it might have moments of brilliance, but it can't consistently deliver a satisfying experience.

I looked back at the TV. The half-time buzzer had sounded, and the score was 58-54. A combined 112 points. Slightly above that 224-point average for a full game, but it had felt like a grind. That's the thing about averages; they smooth everything out. They don't capture the frustration of a stagnant offense or the sheer exhilaration of a fast-break dunk. They don't capture the disappointment of a game that fails its core fantasy or the joy of one that exceeds every expectation. As the third quarter started, I made a decision. I was going to go home, forget about perfectly executed drifts on boring tracks, and fire up Mario Kart World. I needed a guaranteed good time, a game that understood that every part of the experience, from the first lap to the last, needs to sing in harmony. Because sometimes, you don't want a specialist that does one thing well and everything else poorly. You want the whole orchestra.