I’ve played an awful lot of games in my life. I’ve played fighting games, shooting games, racing games, 2D adventure games, 3D adventure games, massively multiplayer role-play games, massively solitary role-play games, games with music in them, games with movies in them, games with games in them, games that celebrate games, games that would spit in your face if you so much as suggested they were games…
I’ve played so many games, in fact, that I find myself thinking about them even when I’m not playing them. You know, simply observing life events in light of them. They’ve made a big impression on my comparatively bland world and so they influence my thoughts at the most inappropriate times.
One of my favourite such times is when I’m asked a markedly pointless or dull question to which I am expected to provide some sort of an answer. I mull over my potential offerings like Threepwood giving a press conference.
As fun as games are I can’t help but think that being part of one — actually being born into a videogame — would be more fun. Artillery wouldn’t be in short supply and nor would ammunition. (Why this appeals to me is the matter of an imminent therapy session rather than this blog). Okay, so I’d likely have a few aliens/demons/horrifyingly disfigured entities to deal with but I mean who doesn’t? My boss has a pair of eyeballs that would put a post G-Virus William Birkin to shame and I have to handle him every deadline.
My life would undoubtedly be simpler, too. Take locating misplaced belongings as an example. I’d simply look around the room to find the objects that were glinting in the dark (well I didn’t say games were lessons in physics). If it ain’t glowing then I ain’t picking it up — simple.
In effect, failure simply would not feature in my world. Even the most challenging situations would be softened by the encouraging protection offered by checkpoints. Just think how that could benefit me. The words ‘deadline shmeadline’ come to mind.
Repetitive boss-fight intros wouldn’t scare me anyhow; my mum begins all fresh warfare armed with the very same nag. It’s evolved into a sort of tribal war chant, in fact, and I’ve become impressively adept at tuning it out. Most of it seems to have something to do with mops.
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