Then I realize that it’s all good, that it’s okay to play some video games every once in a while, in moderation, just like anything else. So, once I’ve gone to classes, done some homework, hit the gym and fulfilled all other obligations, I have no problem with plopping down on my futon with a controller in hand. And sports games are usually what I choose to play.
In high school, my best friend was a rock-climbing fanatic, and we’d often joke about how one could make a video game for his sport. The player’s game character would, naturally, try to ascend a mountain. When we realized how appallingly lame this game would be, we started to joke about how the game’s controls would be configured. The gamer would simply push the joystick upwards to elevate his climber. The X button would be a cheat code to “unlock” the Y button, which, upon being pressed, would allow the climber to yodel from his location on the mountain. There would be no pause menu, because there is no way to stop time during a real-life climb, but pushing the A button would cause the climber to cut his own rope. Game over, I guess.
As a triathlon guy, my biggest passions are swimming, biking and running — sports that, like rock climbing, do not provide good gaming material. So, when I’m up for some video games, I always turn to team sports.
In real life, I’m a huge baseball fan, but I don’t care a whole lot about any other sports. They’re all fun to play with friends, and I’ll watch their respective championship games on TV, but, most often, I’d rather lube the chain on my bicycle than chat about Tom Brady’s latest touchdown passes and stuff. But, miracle of miracles, I have a blast playing as Mr. Brady in a video game! Gears of War or NCAA Football ’09? The second one, please. Madden NFL tournament? Sign me up.
These games bring friends together (physically, because online gaming isn’t for me) and promote friendly competition. Buddies can snack, joke and trash talk each other while making fake people on a TV screen do strategic things. It’s pretty simple, but give the concept a thought.
The best sports game ever made is EA’s MVP Baseball 2005. Even though Manny Ramirez is showcased on the game’s cover, I have been a huge fan of MVP since my freshman year of high school. My friends and I regularly had MVP tournaments, and we’d stay up all night striving to reach the final round. Two of us would play one game and then enjoy 45 minutes of sleep while two other friends played theirs. As the dawn drew nearer, game scores would noticeably decrease as us weary gamers began to swing at every pitch thrown. When the sun came up, a winner was declared.
The games we played were pretty wild. Perfect games were thrown, blowouts were endured, and records were set. Each exciting play from these games is forever etched in my memory — no joke — and I know that my friends remember them as well. There was the time Vladimir Guerrero was sitting dead red on a fastball, got the pitch he wanted, swung from his heels, and launched a shot into center. Sprinting back to the wall, Randy Winn jumped into the air and made the catch, robbing Vlad of his walk-off bomb and ending the game in dramatic fashion. Animation Vlad seemed pretty indifferent to the incident, but Garner wasn’t. My friend slammed down his controller and began pummeling Randy Winn, er ... me.
A home run had been robbed in a video game, and all I had done was push a button. In the grand scheme of things, the whole thing meant nothing. But now I can set Garner off just by mentioning the name Randy Winn. He’ll curse me or punch a wall, and we’ll both end up laughing our heads off.
But there was so much more to these tournaments than just the in-game excitement. There was a culture, an etiquette and a quiet appreciation of the event and each participant. We’d plan these things out weeks in advance: How many people should be involved? Whose house (or rather, which gaming system — we had the game for three different platforms)? Then we’d think of nothing but the upcoming games all throughout school the day of the tournament. When Friday night finally rolled around, we’d grab the usual snacks (Famous Amos cookies at my house, oven-cooked CPK at Duncan’s, Sun Chips at Garner’s, Tootsie Pops at Ant’s) and begin. Rocks, papers and scissors determined the home teams. We’d adjust all the game settings: no umpire blown calls, no controller vibration (because it gives away pitch location), and always-automatic pickoff returns. Once a firm handshake was had and “best of luck” expressed, the game could begin. Nine innings later, I’d write the final score and notable incidents from the game in my notebook for future reference.
I know this all sounds so silly, but hey, it meant a lot to me. I’m not crazy for video games or anything; in fact, I don’t play them very often at all. But I know one thing for certain: competitive sports games bring friends together like no other video games can. First-graders love them and our generation certainly will for decades to come. They are ideal for high school guys who are much more comfortable catching up and getting deep with each other while staring at a screen than sitting around in a coffee shop.
And I’d rather make memories, have fun and grow closer to my friends than lube the chain on my bicycle.