Eoin Monaghan vs. The State of Gaming Today

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!”

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.

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.

Ian Maleney has written a superb response here :

Interstate 808

And the original can be read here too :
Una Mullally - Irish Times