Trombone Champ Is a Perfect Game
It’s late in the evening, and I am watching along on my computer as a jovial-looking cartoon man named Beezerly lives out many peoples’ worst nightmare, confidently honking for a crowd on a brass instrument he cannot play.
The moment the song picks up its tempo, Beezerly is outmatched. The bass marches in perfect time to relentless drums, inviting our young hero to toot out the intricate melody of “Hava Nagila” at lightning speed. What comes out of Beezerly’s golden instrument is an atonal buffet of flatulence-adjacent moaning. At one point, the cartoon musician triumphantly holds a note too long and nearly passes out. Visibly in pain, he gasps for air, leaving an awkward hole in the classic tune.
I can’t help but feel bad for Beezerly because I am Beezerly (or at least playing as him). His pain is my pain—quite literally, as my attempt to gamely honk out 20,000 musical notes in under three minutes has left a searing pain in my mouse-clicking hand and forearm. But, like Beezerly, I’m undeterred by the momentary
