Skillz
Let's be honest: It's tough to appreciate a truly hard-fought Counter-Strike victory when you're on the losing side. It's even harder when you've got no affiliation whatsoever. A good team will regularly employ a lot of ducking, hiding, and "tactical retreating," for the payoff of a couple of seconds of frantic gunplay. Then one or more combatants will fall down, becoming numbers on the scoreboard. The best CS units are terrifyingly well-oiled machines, brutally efficient squads of accurate-clickers - but you'd never know it from looking at them.
There are no physical feats of excellence, a distinct lack of razzle-dazzle. The finale to a number of these televised matches is as muted as a silenced M4A1, sputtering bullets against the brickwork on de_dust.
Yet again, it doesn't have to be like this. We don't have to know the intricacies of a game to enjoy watching it. An entire country stands as testament to this statement - South Korean networks dedicate countless hours of airtime to gaming. The best, the most determined, those capable of superhuman feats of skill and endurance are fêted as idols. The mouse click becomes the slam-dunk; the scroll, the full-court sprint. These are things that mere mortals cannot pick up and manage "on a good day." They shock and amaze, even for those unversed in the concept of the Zerg rush.
And while South Korea is undeniably a product of unique circumstances, the desire to be thrilled and entertained is universal. YouTube is clogged with comments on the videos of guitar gods who can tap out DragonForce without missing a note without ever having touched a real instrument. We are enthralled by wunderkinds from across the oceans, hammering impossible rhythms on incomprehensible arcade machines; feats of perseverance and pure ability that have the power to captivate and enthrall thousands.
Videogame speed-running is another heretofore missed opportunity for broadcasters. Players commit themselves to busting a game open, approaching it in a non-traditional manner that can de-mystify even the most complex titles. These determined few set out to beat the game at its own game. Highlighting these skills on television would no doubt attract a legion of fans; it's certainly easy to get caught up in the drama of a five-minute Super Mario Bros. play-through, judging from the YouTube view counts.
Unfortunately, despite the global hunger for entertainment, televised gaming still hasn't been able to inspire and provoke in the ways it could. Hopefully, as both television and videogames mature and develop, they will put aside their differences and come together to offer the fantastic visual experience gaming is uniquely capable of: moments when you realize that your mouth is agape, your nervous system flooded with adrenaline, your hands twitching with imagined controller motions.
Richard McCormick is a freelance contributor to The Escapist. He occasionally adds to (extreme) work-in-progress www.dead-pixels.net, and can be reached for a chat at a8armccormick@hotmail.com
