The most notorious unreleased SNES game was, for a long time, the completed-but-never-released Star Fox 2. Cancelled due to the impending release of the Nintendo 64 - with Nintendo fearing it would compare unfavourably to the better-looking N64 3D games - it went on to achieve legendary status in the intervening years. And then they put it out as part of the Super NES Mini bundle, and everyone realised it hadn't been worth the wait.

But what other SNES games might still languish in an unreleased state? Imagine there was a listicle which revealed some of them... Now imagine no longer, child: for that listicle shall unfurl itself below. 

Oh - and one more thing. Also included in this list are several dogs who appear to be saying "No!". It seemed like a funny idea when I started doing it yesterday, but now that I look again... I'm not entirely sure what I was going for. Enjoy! Very cool.

Inside is not a new game. It has been around a couple of years, but it has just draped itself onto the Nintendo Switch - and feels like a perfect fit for the system's handheld qualities.

I've been diving deep into the Switch's indie game crannies over the past couple of weeks. A lot of it has seen me catching up on games which have been available on other formats for a while, but also it has been about countering a degree of fatigue I've been feeling towards triple-A games.

I've had Detroit: Become Human sat next to my PS4 for ages now, and not been able to muster sufficient enthusiasm to play it. The joy of Indie games is that they're cheaper and shorter, but tend to be more authored, more personal - and stuffed with more ideas than most blockbusters.

Frequently, they offer as much worth, and similar gameplay values, to the best games I grew up playing. Albeit with the benefit of everything we've learned since. 

To be fair, Inside is not a tiny-budgeted game - it was created with the help of a $1 million grant from the Danish Film Institute (which also assisted Lars von Triers' controversial Nymphomaniac) - but it nevertheless feels like a singular vision. As, indeed, did its thematic predecessor Limbo.

The two games are similar in a lot of ways; they both have a dark, almost monochromatic, art style, both are physics-based platform/puzzle games, and both are unremittingly bleak. In many ways, they're an extension of games like Flashback and Another World; a mute protagonist finds himself in a strange and mysterious environment, where progress is made via repeated deaths, and the buildings are full of power buttons.

Inside, however, builds on everything that made Limbo so feted, while also pushing video game storytelling forwards in an incredibly brave fashion.

I don't know much about football, but I know slightly more than I generally let on. I've no real interest in it whatsoever, but having grown up in a family that's obsessed with the game, I've sort of picked up stuff by osmosis. Indeed, football - for better or worse - has been a massive part of my life. 

I tried so hard to like it as a kid, mainly in a fumbled attempt to fit in, and find a way to bond with my dad. I went to Watford and Wealdstone matches with my him, including the 1984 FA Cup Final between Watford and Everton. Alas, my favourite part of that was a display of remote controlled planes at half time. 

Of course, I collected the Panini stickers - I especially liked the shiny ones - and even tried playing football, but was never much good at it. It was a choice of either wearing glasses (which I soon stopped after they got knocked off my face), or being forced to play half-blind.

Generally, I was always far happier drawing, or playing Dungeons & Dragons, than having to suffer the ritual indignation and abuse that would come from fumbling the ball, or letting in a goal. Simply, football never appealed to my over-active imagination. There were never enough aliens or robots involved, and it was rarely funny.

Inevitably, I'd be picked last at school when they were choosing teams, and then shoved into defence where it was felt I posed the least risk to their insignificant victory.

Seemingly, it didn't matter to the other players on my team that I was crap, because a) I couldn't see, and b) My mind was generally on other things that I thought were more important, and c) I have no physical co-ordination; if I did something rubbish, it was the most terrible transgression.

At school, it felt to me that sporting ability was valued above everything else, and teachers would tolerate name-calling (and sometimes join in) so long as it was in that environment. 

I do love a good 2D platformer. The best ones manage to lob new ideas at you with every stage, but even then (with - admittedly - a fistful of exceptions) there are certain tropes and conceits which seem to appear in every single one of them.

I've never understood this about games; why - just because a game has a certain style - do they insist on adopting ideas, visual cues, and gameplay from all the other games which came before? Yeah, alright, they generally do their own thing too... but from Donkey Kong, through Pitfall, Miner 49er, Pac-Land and the watershed that was Super Mario Bros., ideas were introduced which were - and there's no less accusatory way of saying this - stolen by all which followed. 

Of course, there have been exceptions - typically, when the aesthetic is more realistic than cartoon animal - but, for what it's worth, here are the 10 biggest cliches in platform game design.  

Please, uncle... what is a logo? It is this: a graphic mark, emblem or symbol designed to be easily identifiable to the public. Take Coca-Cola for example; it doesn't matter what language it's written in, if it uses the company's typeface... it's instantly identifiable. 

Also: look at the Atari logo. There's a good reason it hasn't changed in 30-odd years; you don't need any letters to know which company it belongs to, even if its original concept - intended to recall two people high-fiving a packet of cigarillos - has been forgotten.

But... are games company logos better now... or when they began? Here are ten veteran games companies who have changed their logos over the years, for better... or worse?!?

Sequels. They should, in theory, build upon what has come before. They should be better, a consolidation of everything that made their predecessor great, with fresh takes, new ideas... but enough of what fans loved first time around.

That doesn't always happened. The history of gaming is littered with the husks of sequels which, for one reason or another, remain overshadowed by their forebears; they were just too similar, too different, or too bad. 

Here are ten of them. 

Prince of Persia... Another World... Flashback.... What do all these games have in common? That's right: all of them made me want to stab skewers into my brain.

Also: they formed the backbone of a weird sort of sub-genre in the late-80s/early-90s. To wit: flip-screen platformers with rotoscoped characters and really annoying controls 'em ups. Few of us who played these games got through them without polluting the air with the sort of language that would make a sailor blush. 

They were insanely demanding, the challenge coming from the weird weighting of the main character, who would plummet to his death if you didn't press the jump button at precisely the right moment. Each screen was a puzzle in itself, success stemming - essentially - from training yourself to remember when the correct time was to press which control. 

​1991's Another World from Delphine's software took Prince of Persia's basic idea, gave it a sci-fi make-over, and stirred into the mix what were - for the time - some truly cinematic, albeit heavily stylised, cut-scenes. A year later, Delphine released the not-a-sequel-but-could've-been Flashback, developed by one Paul "The Ball" Cuisset, who had previously frustrated players with his point-and-click adventure Future Wars. 

Understandably, Cuisset brought aspects of his point-and-click puzzle experience to the genre, along wth his baffling inclination to make important objects literally the size of a single pixel - thus driving players to distraction, as they scoured the levels looking for things they'd missed. But who cares about whether or not a game is actually functional, right? 

I mean, why don't we just hide the controls on our microwave ovens? Make them the size of a pinhead, so customers have to search for them, and then have to insert a needle into a hole in order to to program it. That'd be fun, right?

Anyway. Look now: Flashback is back - 25 years on from its debut - with a special anniversary edition.

Many, many, many years ago... I got myself into a right lather of anticipation for Sonic Spinball.

Remember dat? It was a - ha ha ha... ha ha ha - "spin-off" of the Sonic The Hedgehog franchise, which took that series' Casino Night Zone pinball-y bits, and built a whole game around them. At least, that's what it did in theory.

As ideas go; that's brilliant. A platformer that's also a pinball game. Except, Sonic Spinball wasn't terribly good. It was achingly mediocre, more pinball than platformer, and failed to live up to the expectations I'd built for it in my guilelessly optimistic mind.

23 years later... the game that I'd wanted Sonic Spinball to be has finally arrived, in the form of Yoku's Island Express. By way of a commentary on Sega's historic mismanagement of an open goal, it stars - rather appropriately - a dung beetle.

You know: a disgusting little creature that pushes poo around, and doesn't seemingly understand why nobody wants to eat it.

One of my favourite games of all time is Super Tennis on the Super Nintendo.

I played it again not so long ago, and got a bit hooked on it for a second time. I was pleased to discover that it remains every bit as good and addictive and challenging as I remembered it. There are no bells and whistles. It's just a decent little tennis game, with a deceptive level of depth.

Super Mario Tennis Aces is not a game lacking in bells and whistles. Indeed, there are bells, whistles, klaxons, rattles, people smashing cymbals together, eleven screaming goats, a lost child crying for its mummy, and being stuck in a sweat box for 36 hours with a hen party, that wacky bloke from your office, and a box of comedy photo props.

It is - in a number of important, fundamental ways - the single most irritating tennis game I have ever played. Heck, forget tennis; I think hit might be single most irritating game I've ever played, regardless of genre. 

GUEST ARTICLE BY SUPER BAD ADVICE
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They say you never miss the water until the well runs dry. Which may be true, but who are ‘they’ and why don’t they just use the tap like any normal person, or if thirsty just buy some Um Bongo? What are they, medieval peasants?
 
Of course, I’m joking – it’s just a figure of speech like “He who has rubber arms can’t lift a bag of spuds, but he’s a cracking bodypopper!” and “Stop touching that, it’s already bleeding”. In this case, it means people often take things for granted. And oh look, here’s a silly arse who did that coming along now: me.
 
To cut a long story short (because as you’ll soon realise, typing is literally and figuratively a right pain for me at the moment), a few weeks back I fell awkwardly on to some concrete and well and truly buggered up my right arm – which is my ‘doing’ arm, assuming I want to do whatever it is I’m doing with any level of accuracy and competence. Broken bone sticking out, an operation, pins in my wrist and everything.