Miyoo Mini Plus 2026: 5,819 Games, Not 28,000

The Miyoo Mini Plus is sold on the promise of a number. Depending on which storefront you land on, that number is 25,000 games, or 28,000 games, or some reseller's spreadsheet total of 27,549, or 25,966, or a suspiciously round "over 25,000." It is printed in bold on the product page, baked into the microSD card, and repeated in every drop-shipped listing from the official store down to a marketplace clone that costs twenty-five dollars and is not actually a Miyoo. The number is the pitch. The number is also, in the strict sense that a copyright attorney or a working emulator would care about, a piece of fiction.

This is a review of that fiction. Not a review of a single game with a start screen and a credits roll, but of the thing the Miyoo Mini Plus is genuinely selling in 2026: a preloaded library, a curated-then-uncurated pile of ROMs that the box treats as the product. So the question is not "is this game good." The question is "how many of these 28,000 games exist, how many run, and how many are the same game three times under two spellings and one bad dump." The answer, once you stop reading the marketing and start counting rows, is smaller and more honest and — this is the part the number-people never tell you — better than the pitch deserves.

The Pitch: 28,000 Games That Aren't There

What a "game list" review even is

A game-list review is an autopsy of a bundle. The Miyoo Mini Plus is a competent little emulation handheld — we will get to its silicon — but nobody buys it for the silicon. They buy it because a listing told them it contains more games than any human will play across three lifetimes, and that abundance is the emotional hook. The list is the feature. So the list is what gets reviewed: its size, its accuracy, its runnability, and the gap between what the seller typed into the description field and what the SD card can actually boot.

That gap is the whole story here, and it is not a small one. A 2026 retail listing for the 128 GB version advertises a flat "28,000 games built-in." The official store's own 2025 listings prefer "over 25,000 games" across its 32 GB, 64 GB, and 128 GB variants. We have documented this exact accounting before in our breakdown of how the 28,000-game claim collapses into a PS1 ceiling, and nothing about it has improved with age. If anything, the resellers have gotten bolder.

The number that will not sit still

Here is a tell that should end the conversation on its own: the number changes depending on who is selling. If a device genuinely shipped a fixed, curated firmware library, that library would have a fixed count. Instead the count wanders — 25,000-plus here, 28,000 there, 27,549 and 25,966 and 13,056 and 11,000 on various reseller SD images, each one a different person's ROM folder zipped and cloned. A stable product does not have five different totals. A ROM dump that every seller re-pads with their own junk does.

The Machine's rule of thumb, refined over too many of these listings: whenever a preloaded count ends in three zeros, subtract the zeros and start counting for real. "28,000" is not a library. It is a vibe expressed as an integer. The real library — the one a reviewer can actually enumerate — lives underneath it, and it is roughly one-fifth the size.

How we counted

You cannot fact-check a marketing number by trusting the marketer, so the count here leans on the one source that actually opened the categories and tallied them: the GBAtemp hardware review, which reports the stock Mini Plus image as 16 categories holding about 5,819 games — a number that includes Arcade, MAME, Famicom, and GameBoy as named buckets. Cross-reference that against the systems the SoC can physically emulate, subtract the region duplicates and the bad dumps and the titles that belong to consoles this chip has never once booted, and the 28,000 evaporates on contact. We break the same catalogue down system-by-system in our companion game-list teardown; the short version is that the honest figure starts with a five.

What You Actually Get: ~5,819 Games

The GBAtemp stock count

Strip the pitch and you are left with the GBAtemp figure: ~5,819 games across 16 categories. That is not a disappointment. Five thousand eight hundred curated retro titles is more than enough to bury a person for a decade, and it is delivered on a device that fits in a coin pocket. The disappointment is purely the arithmetic of the lie — you were promised 28,000 and handed 5,819, which is an 80% haircut, and you should know that going in so the box cannot surprise you later.

The categorized breakdown is where the device earns back its credibility, because those categories are real, boot-able, and — for the 8- and 16-bit systems — flawless. Here is GBAtemp's published tally for the marquee buckets:

16 categories, honestly labeled

Sixteen categories is the correct number to have printed on the box, and it maps cleanly onto the hardware. The Game Boy and Game Boy Color library at 715 titles is essentially the complete curated canon; the same is true for the Famicom bucket at 692. These are systems the SSD202D emulates in its sleep — the chip could run them at ten times speed and still have cycles to spare — so the count here is limited by curation, not capability. When the list says 715 Game Boy games, you can believe all 715 boot, run, and save. That is the honest core of the product, and it is genuinely good.

The Arcade and MAME buckets are where honesty gets complicated. Arcade at 254 and MAME at 412 sound generous, and many of them play, but arcade emulation is a driver lottery: a CPS1 fighter runs beautifully while a late-90s board that leaned on custom silicon either chugs or refuses. The count is real; the uniform playability is not. This is not Miyoo lying, exactly — it is the difference between "present in the folder" and "plays like the arcade," a distinction the number 28,000 exists specifically to blur.

Where the other 22,000 "games" come from

So where do the missing twenty-two thousand entries live? Four places, all of them uninteresting once you name them. First, region duplicates: the same title as (USA), (Europe), (Japan), (World), and (USA, Europe) counts as five "games" in a raw dump and one game to a human. Second, ROM hacks and translations: every fan retranslation and difficulty hack of a popular RPG is its own line. Third, bad dumps and revisions: (Rev A), (Rev 1), (Beta), (Proto), [!], [b1] — each a separate row. Fourth, and most cynically, titles for systems the device cannot run, padded into the list to inflate the count. A dump that adds a full PSP set to a device that cannot emulate PSP is not offering you 28,000 games. It is offering you 5,819 games and 22,000 rows.

The PS1 Ceiling: Where the List Lies

What the SSD202D can actually do

Every claim this device makes eventually collides with one piece of silicon: the SigmaStar SSD202D, a dual-core ARM Cortex-A7 with 128 MB of RAM and a 2D-only GPU. That is a capable little chip for its price and it defines a hard, non-negotiable ceiling. Game Boy through Game Boy Advance: flawless. NES, SNES, Genesis, Neo Geo: flawless. PlayStation 1: broadly playable, with the caveats every A7-class handheld carries — the occasional load hitch, the heavier 3D title that dips. A 2026 capability guide puts the runnable spread exactly there, from Game Boy and GBC up through NES, SNES, Genesis, Neo Geo, and PS1, naming Pokémon, Zelda, Chrono Trigger, Sonic, Metal Slug, and Final Fantasy VII as representative of what plays. That is a superb spread for the money. It is also the ceiling, and the list is written as though the ceiling does not exist. If you want the full system-by-system map, we walked it in our piece on the ten systems that resolve to a PS1 wall.

The PSP titles that simply do not run

Now watch the list step over that ceiling and keep walking. The same 2026 game-list listing that advertises 28,000 titles cheerfully includes Castlevania: The Dracula X Chronicles, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Blaze Union: Story to Reach the Future, and Brandish: The Dark Revenant. Every one of those is a PSP game. The SSD202D cannot emulate PSP. It is not slow at PSP; it does not do PSP at all — no PPSSPP core runs on this class of chip in any usable state. So those four marquee entries, printed to make the library look deep, are box art attached to nothing.

This matters because they are not obscure filler. Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII is one of the most sought-after PSP action-RPGs ever made; Castlevania: The Dracula X Chronicles is the definitive packaging of Rondo of Blood. Putting those names in the list is choosing the games most likely to make a buyer click, knowing the buyer's device will never load them. That is not a curation error. That is the pitch working as designed.

N64 and Dreamcast: technically, barely

Above PS1 the list makes a second, subtler overreach. The 2026 guide is honest enough to note that N64 and Dreamcast are limited to the lightest possible titles — Super Mario 64, Mario Kart 64, Crazy Taxi, Sonic Adventure — and even those come with asterisks around frame rate and, on this device, controls. Which brings up the quiet structural problem nobody in the listing mentions: the Mini Plus has no analog stick. Super Mario 64 is a game built entirely around an analog stick. You can bind it to the D-pad and shuffle Mario around like a chess piece, but calling that "runs Super Mario 64" is the same species of claim as "runs 28,000 games." Technically a photon of truth; practically, no.

Specs, Silicon, and the Legal Question

The device under the library

Before we go further into the list, the box it ships on deserves a straight accounting. This is the same SSD202D platform we dissected when we established that the Mini and the Mini Plus share one chip and differ mostly by screen — the Plus is the ergonomic upgrade, not the performance one. Here is the full sheet, framed around the library rather than the marketing:

Controls, saves, and the missing stick

The control layout is the original Mini's, widened for adult hands: a genuinely good D-pad, four face buttons, and two shoulders per side. It is superb for the systems that matter most here — 2D platformers, fighters, JRPGs, shmups — because none of those needed a stick in the first place. The Game Boy library does not care. Chrono Trigger does not care. The moment the list points you at anything from the 3D era, though, the missing stick turns "playable" into "technically inputtable," and the marketing never once mentions it.

Saves are the quiet good-news story. You get native battery-backed SRAM the way the original cartridges intended, plus RetroArch's save states once you are on custom firmware, which means suspend-anywhere play on a commute — the single most important feature a pocket handheld can have. In practice you will lean on save states constantly, and they work.

The legal question the box ignores

Now the part the listings are structurally silent about. The Machine reads the law as well as the lore, so here it is without varnish: a preloaded library of thousands of copyrighted ROMs is, in the United States and the European Union, straightforward copyright infringement to distribute. Owning the original cartridge does not launder it — there is no recognized legal right to a "backup" you downloaded, and "abandonware" is a community norm, not a statute. The device is perfectly legal; emulation itself is settled and lawful. The bundled 28,000-game SD card is not. That is a distinction worth understanding before you hand money to a reseller whose entire value proposition is the illegal part. The Digital Antiquarian's long-running work on how games are preserved, sold, and re-sold across decades is a good, sober place to calibrate on why this stuff is murkier than a marketplace star rating suggests. Buy the hardware; understand what the SD card actually is.

Onion OS: The Real Reason to Buy

What Onion actually changes

Here is the pivot the whole review turns on: the best thing about the Miyoo Mini Plus is not on the list at all. It is Onion OS, the community custom firmware, and a 2026 review from HandheldPicker puts it flatly — Onion OS is "the best reason" to choose the Mini Plus over the wall of cheap clones that share its chip. That is the correct read. The stock firmware is serviceable; Onion is what turns this from a novelty into a device you keep in a jacket for two years.

Onion replaces the whole experience: a clean box-art frontend, per-game save states, a proper sleep-and-resume that survives days on standby, RetroArch under the hood with configurable cores and shaders, and a scraping system so your 5,819 real games arrive with cover art instead of file names. The junk 22,000 do not magically start working — nothing can make an A7 run PSP — but the library you do have stops feeling like a file dump and starts feeling curated, which is the experience the box was charging you for and failing to deliver on stock.

The seven-folder install

Installing Onion is not a soldering job; it is a copy-paste. The RetroCompass setup guide for 2026 documents the whole flow, and at its core is a single, memorable step — extract the release and drop seven folders onto the root of a freshly formatted (FAT32) microSD:

/ (microSD root)
├── .tmp_update/
├── BIOS/
├── Media/
├── miyoo/
├── miyoo354/
├── RetroArch/
└── Themes/

Insert the card, boot the Mini Plus once, and Onion self-installs on first launch. That is the entire technical barrier between the stock experience and the good one. If you want to go further and tune the emulator layer itself — swap cores, chase accuracy, add shaders — our walkthrough on getting a clean RetroArch core set running in about thirty minutes maps directly onto the RetroArch that Onion ships.

HandheldPicker's verdict, and why it is right

The reason HandheldPicker's "best reason" line lands is that it identifies the actual product. The clones cannot be meaningfully distinguished from the Mini Plus on silicon — same SSD202D, same ceiling, same 128 MB — so hardware is not the moat. Software is. Onion's maturity, its active development, and the community that scrapes and themes and patches around it are the difference between a device that gets supported into 2027 and a plastic rectangle that gets abandoned the week after it ships. You are not buying 28,000 games. You are buying a well-supported firmware and a genuinely excellent D-pad, and those are worth the money the games were supposed to justify.

The Headliners: Xenogears to Ace Combat

The PS1 JRPGs that deliver

Strip out the PSP fantasies and the list still has real headliners, and they cluster around the PlayStation 1 JRPG — exactly the genre the SSD202D handles well and the genre the resellers foreground. Xenogears is the crown jewel, and it actually runs. Squaresoft's 1998 mech-and-metaphysics epic is a landmark, and as Hardcore Gaming 101 documents at length, its famous second disc collapsed into a narrated slideshow when the project ran out of time and money — a piece of development lore that makes it the perfect ambassador for this whole device, a masterpiece that openly shows you where the budget stopped. Final Fantasy VII and Yu-Gi-Oh! Forbidden Memories round out the PS1 marquee; the former is a system-seller that plays cleanly here, the latter a card game whose notorious fusion mechanics reward exactly the pick-up-put-down rhythm a pocket handheld encourages.

Because the list mixes what runs with what does not, here is the same-genre comparison that the box refuses to print — five JRPG/SRPG headliners the listings dangle, sorted by whether the hardware honors the promise:

The Ace Combat problem

The flight sims are the list's other favorite flex, and they are a study in the same trap. The 2026 listing names Ace Combat, Ace Combat 2, and Ace Combat 3: Electrosphere — all PS1, all inside the ceiling, all technically runnable. But Ace Combat 3 is the sharpest example of a game the hardware can boot and the controls cannot honor: it is a flight game with analog roots on a device with no analog stick. You will fly it on a D-pad, which is a bit like reading a novel through a keyhole — the text is all there, the experience is not. It is also worth knowing, if you care about the lore, that the Western release of Electrosphere was infamously gutted, stripping the branching story and much of the FMV that made the Japanese version a cult object. The list gives you the diminished version, on a control scheme that diminishes it further.

The deep cuts that are genuinely nice

Not every headliner is a bait-and-switch. The list also surfaces real curiosities that do run and that most buyers would never have found on their own — Xenogears again, 40 Winks (a late-life PS1 platformer that barely shipped in its day), 007 Racing, and a spread of imports. For a certain kind of player, the value of a 5,819-game bundle is precisely this: stumbling onto the PS1 obscurity you would never have paid for individually. That is a real and underrated pleasure, and it is the honest heart of the "huge library" pitch — not the 28,000 number, but the serendipity of a curated few thousand you can shuffle through on a bus. Just keep a mental filter running: if the deep cut you got excited about is a PSP or DS game, the box lied to you again.

The Junk Drawer: Entry 2026 and Other Ghosts

Indexed dumps, not curation

To understand what the inflated list actually is, look at how it is indexed. GeekBuying's 2023-referenced catalogue page for the Mini Plus publishes long built-in lists for GB and GBA, and among the entries are numbered oddities like "2026 – Shikakui Atama wo Marukusuru Advance – Kokugo Sansu Rika Shakai" and "2027 – Bouken Yuuki Pluster World – Densetsu no Plust Gate EX." That leading number is not a release year. It is a row index — the 2,026th and 2,027th lines in an unfiltered dump — and the fact that it coincidentally reads like a future date tells you no human editor ever looked at this list. It is a directory listing wearing the costume of a catalogue.

This is the texture of the whole 22,000-row surplus: Japanese educational GBA carts, obscure kids' tie-ins, and region-locked oddities dumped en masse because dumping them costs nothing and inflates the count. There is a genuine documentary value in seeing how sellers present these indexed libraries — it is a window into the drop-ship ROM economy — which is part of why we keep cataloguing them. It is not, however, a window into 28,000 playable games.

Duplicates, hacks, and the (USA) (Europe) (Japan) tax

The single largest inflator is regional duplication. In a No-Intro-style dump, one game becomes many: (USA), (Europe), (Japan), (World), (USA, Europe), plus every revision and every verified-vs-unverified dump flag. A GBA library of, say, 1,200 distinct games can balloon past 3,000 rows without adding a single new experience. Layer on fan translations and difficulty hacks — each its own line — and you can see exactly how 5,819 real games becomes a 28,000 headline without anyone technically typing a false number. Every row exists. Almost none of the surplus rows are a game you have not already got.

The GB/GBA long tail

The GeekBuying list is at least useful as evidence of the long tail's shape. It runs from recognizable staples — The World Is Not Enough, 102 Dalmatians: Puppies to the Rescue, Frogger's Adventures: Temple of the Frog, Mega Man Battle Network — down through 10-Pin Bowling and the numbered ghosts at the bottom. That top slice is exactly the GBAtemp GameBoy bucket doing its job: 715 curated handheld titles, all of which run perfectly, because handheld-on-handheld is the one thing an SSD202D was born to do. The Mega Man Battle Network line alone justifies the GBA folder. The problem was never the good games. The problem is that the good games are buried under a decimal point's worth of index rows the seller counted as inventory.

Five Ways It Actually Plays

Casual and commuter

This is the device's home turf and where it earns a straight recommendation. For the casual player — twenty minutes on a train, a Game Boy RPG, a save state when your stop arrives — the Mini Plus is close to ideal. The 3.5-inch 640×480 screen is sharp, the D-pad is right, the 3000 mAh battery clears a workday of 8- and 16-bit play, and Onion's sleep/resume means you never lose your place. The 28,000 games are irrelevant here; you will rotate through maybe fifteen, and all fifteen will be in the honest 5,819. As a pocket time-killer loaded with the GB, NES, SNES, and Genesis canon, it is genuinely hard to beat at the price.

Completionist

The completionist gets a more complicated answer. If your definition of completion lives at or below the PS1 ceiling — 100%-ing Chrono Trigger, hunting every Materia in FF VII, grinding Forbidden Memories' fusion tables — the device is a faithful companion, with save states smoothing the tedium. But the completionist instinct to "own the whole set" runs straight into the junk drawer: you cannot complete a library that is 80% duplicates and unrunnable ROMs, and trying to will drive you slowly mad. The move is to ignore the count entirely, treat the 5,819 as the real set, and complete within it.

Speedrunner

Speedrunners should approach with clear eyes. Emulator play on an A7 handheld is fine for practice and casual runs, but it is not frame-accurate reference hardware, and the SSD202D's occasional load and audio hitching on heavier PS1 titles makes it unsuitable for serious timing. The 2D libraries fare better — an NES or SNES run is close enough for muscle memory — but any leaderboard that cares about emulator-vs-console will not accept a Mini Plus run. Use it to learn a route on the commute; do the real attempts elsewhere.

Co-op and couch

Here the honest answer is: mostly no, and the listing will not tell you that either. The Mini Plus is a single-screen, single-pad unit with no controller ports and no second stick. Local co-op means pass-the-handheld, which works for turn-based games and nothing else. Onion/RetroArch netplay over the Plus's 2.4 GHz Wi-Fi is technically possible between two units, but it is fiddly, latency-prone, and firmly a tinkerer's project rather than a couch feature. If two-player is your priority, this is the wrong shape of device — buy something with an HDMI-out and real ports.

Mobile and travel

As a pure travel object it is excellent, and this is the scenario where the giant library finally pays off in the intended way. On a long flight with no signal, the serendipity of a few thousand games — shuffle, discover a PS1 obscurity, save-state, sleep — is exactly the fantasy the box was selling, delivered honestly by the real 5,819. It is pocketable in a way a Steam Deck or a Retroid never will be, the battery lasts, and there is nothing to charge but the handheld itself. For a carry-everywhere retro machine, the Mini Plus's size-to-library ratio is its single strongest argument.

Pricing: $52 to €110 for One Box

The official store versus the third parties

Pricing on the Mini Plus is, like its game count, a moving target — the same hardware trades hands at wildly different numbers depending on who is selling and how much "library" they claim to have loaded onto the card. Here is the 2026 spread laid out:

What you are actually paying for

Read that table with the earlier sections in mind and the value proposition clarifies: you are not paying for games. Games are, legally and practically, near-free — they are a folder anyone can copy. You are paying for a good screen, an excellent D-pad, Wi-Fi, a 3000 mAh battery, and — most importantly — a device that Onion OS actively supports. At the $52–$66 third-party street price, that is a fair deal for competent hardware. At €109.90, you are paying a significant premium for the same box plus a color choice, and the extra euros buy you nothing the $56 version lacks. The price of the hardware should anchor your decision; the price of the "25,000 games" should anchor nothing, because that number is the same on every unit and worth the same on every unit: not much.

The $25 clone problem

The genuine trap in the 2026 market is the ~$25 marketplace "Mini Plus" that is not a Miyoo at all. It shares the name and the silhouette and often the same inflated game-count sticker, but it does not run Onion, may use inferior internals, and receives no community support. This is precisely why HandheldPicker's "best reason" line matters as a buying rule: the thing that separates a $56 Mini Plus from a $25 clone is not the hardware you can see in the photo, it is the firmware you cannot. Pay for the one Onion supports. The clone's savings evaporate the first time you want a feature the real device has and the fake one never will.

Who Should Actually Buy It

Clear yes

Some buyers should stop reading and order one. The recommendations, ranked by how well the device serves them:

• The commuter who wants 8- and 16-bit games in a pocket. This is the perfect use case. Buy the $56 version, install Onion, load the GB/NES/SNES/Genesis canon, and ignore the count entirely.
• The lapsed player returning for the classics. If your nostalgia lives on the SNES and PS1 — Chrono Trigger, Final Fantasy VII, Metal Slug — the Mini Plus hits every note within its ceiling and asks very little in setup.
• The tinkerer who enjoys the firmware as much as the games. Onion OS, themes, scraping, shader tuning, and a seven-folder install make this a rewarding little project device for someone who likes to configure.
• The gift-buyer on a budget. As a sub-$70 gift for someone who grew up on handhelds, it is close to ideal — provided you set expectations at "a few thousand great games," not "28,000."

Clear no

Other buyers should look elsewhere, and it is cheaper to learn that here than after the box arrives:

• Anyone who wants PSP, DS, PS2, or GameCube. The ceiling is PS1. Every listing implying otherwise is padding the count. Buy a Retroid or a Steam Deck and pay the size penalty.
• Anyone who bought it specifically for Crisis Core, Dracula X Chronicles, or another PSP headliner from the list. Those do not run. Full stop.
• The couch co-op crowd. No ports, one screen, no second pad. Wrong device.
• The N64/Dreamcast hopeful. "Runs Super Mario 64" plus "has no analog stick" is a sentence that cancels itself out.

The upgrade question

One more use case worth naming: the buyer deciding between the original Mini and the Plus. Because they share the SSD202D, the Plus is an ergonomics-and-Wi-Fi upgrade, not a power one — the ceiling is identical. If you value the bigger 3.5-inch screen, the 3000 mAh battery, and built-in Wi-Fi for scraping, pay for the Plus. If you already own a Mini and were hoping the Plus runs more of the list, save your money; the same 5,819 games run on both, and the same PSP fantasies run on neither.

The Verdict: 7.5/10

Pros

What the Miyoo Mini Plus gets right, it gets emphatically right:

• The real library is excellent. ~5,819 curated games across 16 categories, with the GB (715), Famicom (692), SNES, Genesis, and GBA sets running flawlessly.
• Onion OS is the best-in-class custom firmware for this hardware — HandheldPicker's "best reason to buy," and correctly so — installed by copying seven folders.
• Superb D-pad, sharp 640×480 IPS screen, all-day 3000 mAh battery, and Wi-Fi in a genuinely pocketable shell.
• PS1 is broadly playable, which is a remarkable ceiling for a $56 street-price device.
• Serendipity value is real: a few thousand games you would never have sought out individually, one shuffle away.

Cons

What it gets wrong, it gets wrong in the sales copy more than the silicon:

• The "28,000 games" claim is inflated by roughly 80%. The honest count starts with a five.
• The list advertises games the hardware cannot run — PSP titles like Crisis Core and Dracula X Chronicles are box art attached to nothing.
• No analog stick, which quietly voids every N64/Dreamcast title the list dangles.
• The bundled ROM library is legally infringing, a fact no listing acknowledges.
• Price chaos, from $52 third-party to €109.90 official, for identical hardware.

The Machine's ruling

Score the marketing and this device is a 3. Score the actual product — the hardware, the firmware, and the honest 5,819-game library — and it is close to a 9. The truth sits where those two meet. The Miyoo Mini Plus is a very good little emulation handheld wrapped in a genuinely dishonest number, and the number is the first thing you see and the last thing that matters. Buy it for what it is: a pocketable, Onion-powered, PS1-ceiling machine with a superb D-pad and a real library of a few thousand great games. Buy it at the $52–$66 street price, not the €109.90 one. Ignore the 28,000. Ignore the PSP box art. Understand what the SD card legally is. Do all that, and you will have paid a fair price for one of the best cheap ways to carry the 8-bit-through-PS1 canon in a jacket pocket in 2026. It lies about its size. It does not lie about being good.

Rating: 7.5 / 10 — a genuinely excellent little device, marked down a point and a half for a game list that is four-fifths marketing and a pitch that stops being true somewhere around the PSP.