I grew up in an age where the
best thing you could hear on a Tuesday night was the cracking of a can of
gone-off Tennant’s while James was calling Alex a sap because he beat him three
times in a row in Facility with Proximity Mines only on. If that sentence means
anything to you then you were a winner. You had mates who would call
round to your gaff to slag you. Someone would have a lump of the soapiest of
soap bar and someone else had an older brother who would go to Deveney’s to
grab the aforementioned fermented beverages. But these days, what do you have?
A 2.2 in a useless degree because you sat up till 4am every weeknight playing
online against Annyong, the 14 year old Korean, at the latest Call of Duty
which you bought for 60e despite the only difference from the last one being
that “occasionally my AK turns a slightly darker gun-metal grey when I have
exactly 47 bullets left”. What did I get in my degree? Well, eh, a 2.2…but
that’s different! Everyone remembers the night where we hooked up the N64 in Luke’s
tree house and nobody realised that the trapdoor in the floor opened
downwards…what do you have, online gamer?
“Remember when, like,
the headshot was, eh…”
“No! Only Annyong remembers that you anti-social buffoon!”
“No! Only Annyong remembers that you anti-social buffoon!”
It’s not that I can’t
game alone, I most certainly can. I’m the kind of person who has forged
Tournesol in Final Fantasy X, unlocked 00 Agent mode in Goldeneye, played till
2026 in Football Manager. I play Skyrim. I completely understand wasting many,
many hours in front of a screen alone. But the latest batch of online
multiplayer shooters, football sims and racers just leave me cold. The new Fifa
is better than the new Pro Evo? Sure, but I’d still rather invite the lads
round and play the far superior Pro Evo 6. Want to meet online to play
Battlefield 3? No, why don’t I call over and look you in the eye when I
monkey-gun your sorry ass in Timesplitters 2. Ever played 8 player Mario Party
4 in a tiny room with a load of cans? There is no better Thursday afternoon to
be had. I hate that gamers have forsaken each other for lifeless, robotic stat
building. And that’s all online gaming is, there’s no story, no characters, no
surprises, no…spirit! The latest gaming buzz-verb “prestiging” is basically an
admission of failure. Prestiging 3 times is failing to realise 3 times that you
are a mindless drone looking for acceptance in a community that doesn’t
physically exist.
I’m not arguing that
it shouldn’t exist. The idea of online gaming is brilliant. Play your mates and
don’t leave the gaff? Chalk it down, I’m in. But then the Fear comes on
strong…when did I last leave this house…this room...this chair?
In the end, it’s the standard of games and the people that play them that turns me into a Larry David-esque, cynical grump. If there was a multiplayer game up to the standard of Mario Kart or Perfect Dark, I probably wouldn’t leave my house. But there’s not. Unfortunately, the online community doesn’t stand for n00bs that didn’t buy the game on release day and devote a week of learning how to count the frame rate of Dhalsim’s Yoga Flame either.
In the end, it’s the standard of games and the people that play them that turns me into a Larry David-esque, cynical grump. If there was a multiplayer game up to the standard of Mario Kart or Perfect Dark, I probably wouldn’t leave my house. But there’s not. Unfortunately, the online community doesn’t stand for n00bs that didn’t buy the game on release day and devote a week of learning how to count the frame rate of Dhalsim’s Yoga Flame either.
I really can’t implore people to spend more time
with older games, cheaper beer and actual people enough. There’s
better ways to pretend to study and if you’re not a student, far better excuses
for not having a job.
As an aside, a lot of promoters, musicians, DJs and generally great people that I've worked with or had the pleasure of knowing are really quite angry about Una Mullally and her bland typing position at the Irish Times. While I agree that, yes, the article in question could have been dribbled onto a page by a four year old on a trampoline, it really isn't overly offensive. I'm surprised there's been such a reaction to the piece because, frankly, I'm surprised people care at all. Of course, it is disappointing that the paper that has housed O'Brien, Banville and Humphries (not you, Binchy) should print such tripe but how and ever, the readership and target demographic of the Irish Times Weekend Review is not that fit girl you were dancing with beside the Stage at Maya Jane Coles (who were you, fit girl??). Its not your mate who's just done an E.P. made entirely of kick drums, or even that DJ you booked once who wanted a hot cup of tea walked through the crowd when they were on stage. The Irish Times unfortunately didn't take the people who the article was about into consideration, just who they wanted to read it. So what's changed as a result of the article? Nothing. People still think Una's a twit and everyone's continuing to make music, DJ, create, be brilliant and go completely unnoticed to the masses. I wouldn't have it any other way.
And the original can be read here too :
Una Mullally - Irish Times
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