[img width=700 height=532]http://assets.vg247.com/current//2014/06/ds_eds_games_trash.jpg[/img] pic from vg247. I'd dive in there like Scrooge McDuck.
I remember when eBay was a new thing. In the wake of a fresh and burgeoning public internet, with dial-up squeals and stilted page updates, the world suddenly felt connected in a new and unprecedented way. It didn't take long for me to use this powerful collection of advanced tools to finally achieve a feat that had eluded me for what felt like forever:
I tracked down the import Final Fantasy IV soundtrack CD.
Spent way too much, in hind sight. Didn't we all, the first time we realized we could bid on objects that had tantalized our imaginations? Or replace that lost childhood toy? Or prove that yes, Song of the South really exists but only on withered VHS tapes? Before it became a store, in its infancy eBay felt like an untapped treasure trove, that fabled yard sale where everybody found something they were looking for.
But this isn't about eBay. It is about what that described moment represents; connecting with a lost treasure, or finding a new one. Few gamers over thirty wouldn't stop and look at a pristine collection of rare games from a few decades ago, if just to reminisce or wonder about what was never played. Games back then represented a thing to buy and savor, from mining every secret and technique to staying up with a buddy to beat each other's high scores. Before they were services, video games were products to own.
