Will you do something for me, chums? If you get this game in your CD32 bundle, or if you somehow come by a copy in some other way (God forbid that you should actually go out and deliberately buy it), will you do me a favour? Will you IMMEDIATELY take the CD out of its case, make five or six big scratches on the surface with a nail or a Stanley knife, then take a hammer and smash it into lots of little pieces (it will break easier if you have scratched it, you see), then flush them down the toilet. Or preferably, burn them to little twisted melted lumps, then flush them down the toilet.
Whatever you do, DO NOT be tempted to play it first. Not even once. Because if you do, I will tell you what will happen.
First, you will laugh so hard that your brain will be starved of oxygen and you will lapse into a coma, but that is alright because medical technology is very advanced these days and they will probably be able to revive you without too much trouble.
After that, though, you will stick the game in the bottom of your game drawer (NO! BURN IT! BURN IT AND SMASH IT! DESTROY IT! NOW!) and forget about it. Then, one night weeks or months into the future, you will be out with some of your mates, maybe down the pub or at a party or something. You will get a bit drunk. You will bring a couple of your chums back to your house for a cup of coffee or a last couple of lagers or whatever.
Suddenly, in your alcohol-addled state, you will have a great idea. "Hey, I have got this really funny game," you will slur. "Get a load of this!". You will load up Dangerous Streets. You will start to play it, as you all giggle in that pathetic, hysterical way. After a minute or two it will dawn on you that no-one else is laughing anymore. Your friends, suddenly sober, will be gaping at your new state-of-the-art games machine with barely-concealed disgust. All at once they will remember that they have to be up early for work/college/school/washing their hair in the morning, making their excuses and hurriedly leave. They will never speak to you again. They will tell everybody they know. You will be shunned by society, lose your job, and probably your home. You will become a sad, lonely alcoholic. Finally, wasted and withered and unloved, you will die in a cold gutter, of shame. Do not let it happen to you. Just Say No.
I know what you are thinking. You think I am exaggerating, don't you? I am not. This game - and I am not joking - could single-handedly destroy the credibility of the CD32, beyond repair. It is the lead game in the bundle that most people will get their machine in (it is actually called the 'Dangerous Streets Pack' for God's sake), and hence probably the first one they will play. If they then tackle Oscar and the actually quite-good-ish-but-none-too-friendly Diggers, they will probably take the machine straight back to the shop there and then demand an SF2-pack SNES and two hundred quid back.
You are not going to believe how dreadful this is, but I am going to explain it to you.
You will become a sad, lonely alcoholic
The first thing that happens when you load up Dangerous Streets is that it gives you some instructions to read through. The first of these instructions tell you how to load the game. Jesus. The rest of the instructions reprise the ones printed in the manual, which is to say they give you not even the most elementary idea whatsoever of how to actually play the game. Which button punches? Which button kicks? Why does the blue button have the same effect as pressing 'down' on the pad, but only half of the time?
These, and any other questions you might have about the control of the game, remain unanswered. Then you start playing the game and you realise why. You don't need them.
GO ON - HIT ME
Pick a character, any character. Walk up to the computer opponent and press the punch button (hit them all, and you will discover that the yellow one is the one which actually appears to launch any kind of useful attacking move). You will score a hit, probably.
It is important that you try not to be distracted at this point by the spectacular dismal animation or the eye-wateringly poor backgrounds, as they will only make you lose concentration and forget which button the 'punch' one was again. Also, do not go wandering around the room looking for the badly-tuned crackly radio which appears to be broadcasting the sound of someone with really bad laryngitis hacking up a throatful of watery phlegm into a broken microphone from underneath some thick blankets. That is the game sound that is. (And simply try to ignore the dire 1970s Euro-pop background music).
Fix your attention firmly on the screen, and continue to hit the yellow button. Although there is no visible or audible difference between successful and unsuccessful hits, eventually your opponent will buckle and fall to the floor, seemingly arbitrarily. You have won a round. Repeat the process once more and you will have won a bout. Repeat the process again, but this time against a different character (there are eight, and you have to fight them all, including a bout against yourself, as is traditional. Although it is not quite as traditional for your clone to be dressed in exactly the same colours as you and hence completely indistinguishable, but hey, let us not be nit-picky).
Try to retain your suspension of disbelief as one of your computer opponents suddenly changes into a solid rectangular block of steel as a defence, or inflicts their 'hair Gel Attack' on you. Take a moment out to wipe the tears of mirth/disbelief/embarrassment from your eyes, in case you impair your vision in later years. Decide that now would be a good time to stop playing before you do yourself an injury of some sort, or have an accident in your trousers.
Go round to Flair's office. Laugh hysterically until they call the police.