One of the games I played most in my youth was Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater. When Activision released a remake of THPS 1 + 2 I bought it immediately. Inject that sweet nostalgia straight into my eyeballs.

It’s a dynamite revival. Gameplay is buttery smooth, the park creator massively improves the one I remember, and the soundtrack (all the songs from the originals minus three) is killer.

THPS was my introduction to punk rock. Growing up in rural Ontario with only a few radio stations and dial-up Internet, I heard little music outside your standard mainstream fare. Then I got a taste of Bad Religion and wanted more.

Likewise, Superman by Goldfinger was my first exposure to ska music. Ska has become a punchline in the years since but I don’t care; throw horns on a punchy guitar riff and you have my attention. The most fun I had as a teenager was skanking in decrepit clubs to Reel Big Fish and Catch 22. I might not have known they exist if THPS hadn’t clued me in.

This might sound odd for a game that blasts Cyco Vision and which results in a sickening fleshy crunch when you lose your balance,¹ but playing THPS is meditative. Nothing aligns the chakras like landing the perfect combo. Alto’s Adventure trades exclusively in this feeling. It’s the ultimate wellness.

Playing again reawakens a phenomenon where I constantly evaluate the skateboardability of my surroundings. I judge parks not by their landscaping but on their rail placement. I get bummed when I see “no skateboarding” signs, despite not owning a skateboard and having difficulty even balancing on one. I also become a harsh critic of those who skateboard in real life. Landed a kickflip? Boring. Call me when you pull off a 900.

I sympathize with the modern gripe of repaying for games you’ve already bought,² but when they’re done as well as THPS 1 + 2, here’s my wallet.