Items are often the lifeblood of a multiplayer game. Without those bullets, that armor or that glowing green dot that gives some random gauge a momentary boost, youâre basically fucked. A key item-grab can turn the tide of battle in your favor, give you those few extra seconds of life, even revive your dead grandparents so you can tell them you love them one last time. Thatâs why itâs so excruciatingly painful to watch the item you just earned through cold-blooded murder get snapped up by some jerk who couldnât score a headshot if he were fighting an enemy made entirely of heads. It wasyou who caused that roasted leg of lamb to pop out of that orc by shooting it with an arrow, and by God, it should be you who walks over it, instantly absorbing it into your being as health.Getting your collision detection stripped, so that from now on you pass through all items like a tortured wraith, unable to pick up or interact with anything, wandering through player-created maps for all eternity.

6 Quitting Out (Envy)

Imagine It:

When you booted up Mario Strikers that evening, you never imagined youâd be in for the fight of your life. But when the lobby computer decided to pit you against a player with a 156 and 0 record, you knew there was no turning back. Let the Bagel Bites burn, you said. Itâs go time. After a scoreless first game spent slogging through quicksand, evading Thwomps, and running shrieking from a 50-foot Luigi, you cram some blackened Bagel Bites down your gullet and itâs back to the slaughter. Early in the second game, you tragically let a mega-strike by when the Wiimote slips out of your bagel-greased hands, leaving you down by two. Thatâs when you catch your second wind. Suddenly youâre unstoppable, making two goals in rapid succession by leaping the goalie with Toadstool. Finally, with ten seconds on the clock, you make your move, blasting your opponentâs goalie with a shock-shell. Totally paralyzed, the goalie can only watch in mute horror as Birdo nudges the ball past him. Your victory assured, you sit back and congratulate yourself on a job well done. Thatâs when youâre booted out to the lobby. A screen informs you that your opponent quit the game one fifth of a second before your victory could be counted. And you suddenly realize, you didnât beat a great player after all. You beat a flaming asshole.