Play Fighting

Play Fighting
First-Person Gaming

Nick Halme | 15 Jun 2009 17:00
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In one of my first columns here on The Escapist, a reader suggested that the gaming generation(s) will grow up telling different stories than other generations. I think everyone can think of a relative that just won't shut up about something they did ten years ago, how they caught the biggest fish or walked uphill both ways in the snow with no shoes. Perhaps as we grow up with videogames we will begin relating our in-game experiences in the same way - and why not? If you're anything like me, you spend a significant amount of your time in different worlds (most of the time shooting people, or blowing things up, or both).

So I took the idea and ran with it. I rounded up a few keen industry folks and asked for their best gaming anecdotes. But I'd be a hack if I didn't throw in one of my most memorable gaming moments as well.

Age: Twelve. Locale: Parents' basement (classy). The game was a clan skirmish in Call of Duty 2. TeamSpeak fell silent as I checked the scoreboard to see that I - the youngest player in the clan - was the last one alive, in the deciding round of the skirmish. My rifle was nearly empty, and I certainly wasn't the best player on our team. I proceeded to stalk the map, my "trigger finger" at the ready. My pre-teen heart skipped a beat; at the other end of the dusty desert street my counterpart on the British team emerged. Both teams waited with baited breath.

We exchanged hasty rifle shots and as we closed ground, we traded our empty rifles for pistols. A deadly dance of close-quarters hopping and circle-strafing ensued. I'm certain that in that hurricane of movement and gunfire my mental faculties escaped me, only to return with the final bang of a pistol. The bloody Call of Duty damage vignette pulsed around my screen, and at my feet was the British player, now a British corpse. TeamSpeak erupted in surprised cheers of glee, and I struggled to contain the adrenaline pumping through my pasty suburban veins.

The following contributions were put together specifically for this article, to share with all of you. Enjoy!


"Instead of trading charlie horses until one of us conceded, Cory and I talked incessant streams of seriously inane crap. Our intent: distract one another during serial Mortal Kombat II matches.

Ordinarily, this occurred in a dorm room without witnesses and where the stakes were purely psychological. 'You can't win with that crap, you cheating cheap ass. Why try? Hang your head, you despicable little dirt.' And on it went.

He'd win. I'd win. It worked because we could count on streaks and the alternating license they afforded to utter aggravating and unspeakable stupidities. The danger was always that, one day, neither the streak nor the shit talking would exhaust itself before they obliterated the loser's ego, as they eventually did in a San Diego arcade where an audience and dwindling dollars magnified the growing insult. I wasn't going to win.

I walked out and drove off - a bitch maneuver by itself, but more so considering that he'd have to call his parents to come and pick him up."

-- Shawn Elliott, Associate Producer at 2K Boston

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