I recently woke my Nintendo from its long, secluded hibernation in a cardboard box. I hooked it up to my semi-modern T.V and, with nothing more than Super Mario World or Paperboy to choose from, I immediately went for that old-time favorite ? everybody's beloved, little Italian plumber in red overalls and a bushy mustache.

Can you guess what happened when I hit power? First the red light just blinked and, after adjusting the television to channel three, I realized the TV screen was blinking too. So, I took out the cartridge and gave it a good, fire-starting breath of diaphragm-pushed air that ripped through that little gray box like a tornado. I then gave the same treatment to the console. I popped the cartridge back in and, sure enough, it was still blinking.

Having worn several Nintendos into the grave, there was no question as to what I should do next. It was time for a little Nintendo magic. I took the game out again, made sure my lips were dry, and gave it another burst of air. I carefully put it back in and bounced it up and down on that little internal spring. I hit reset three times while talking quietly to the Nintendo and visualizing Mario on his quest to save the princess.

I envisioned Mario racing through a world where there is no return; a world where one must always go forward. I toggled the power button like a maniac, prayed to King Koopa and, finally, let go.

It worked. It has been probably 15 years since I last played a Nintendo and yet the magic was still there. Like Peter Pan's pixie dust, a little huffing, puffing and visualization got her purring like a classic Corvette and, oh yes, Mario came alive on the screen. The world, blessed with flagpoles, castles, menacing mushroom-shaped monsters and an endless supply of bottomless pits was once again at my fingertips.

Mario hasn't changed. There was once a time when my daring little plumber raced through the dungeons in search of the princess without even the slightest hint of fear in his heart and now, years later, he still charges through the land with that same zest for heroics. Years later, Mario still charges onward without the slightest sign of worry. He cares not that there's no turning back.

As I look to my future with hopes and aspirations as bright as an invincibility star, I realize there really is no turning back. Sure, I can go back a few paces and sniff around but, really, the past is nothing but a memory. There is no reset button. There is no continue. There are no green, one-up mushrooms. I've learned from Mario's fearless approach to the unseen future and his ability to ignore the unreachable past. I look to the future with the eyes of our heroic plumber.

I just hope there will be a little Nintendo magic along the way.