“I used to be better, I’m sure I did. Didn’t I?” This lamented query originated from a night of gaming with my mates. Now this gathering isn’t as prevalent as it used to be due to the respective obligations we all adhere to in our varying degrees of maturity, but its a convergence we attempt to organise on convenient rotation. We normally get together and scrutinise the regressive state of our countries economic stability, recite excerpts from our favourite Plato verses and generally chuckle and guffaw as one of our friends jested suggestion that we should drink the room temperature Sauvignon, rather than the exquisite red wine we’d purchased?! Oh we did laugh. What? All right fine, we drank beer, cursed, scratched our balls and discussed the consistency of our bowel movements! You happy?! At any rate once the pleasantries of conversation had been exhausted we relocated to the sitting room where my infuriatingly smug friend unveiled his overhead projector! Suffice to say that it dwarfed my 42 inch television in the same way Peter Crouch surmounts Peter Dinklage! After his gloating had abated I lurched submissively into the chair in the corner (cushioned with leather upholstery no doubt) as democracy in all of its brazen diplomacy decided to rob me of all my surplus dignity, as an impromptu vote was cast to decide what game we’d be playing on the PS3 (encased in its own mahogany receptacle), which inevitably concluded 3 to 1 in favour of Call of Duty. I’m not sure how well sarcasm comes across in text but, yipee!
Ever the singular expatriate in the group I endeavoured to participate in their militarised aspirations, simply to appease their chastised derision’s and try to play Call of Duty: Modern Advanced Black Ghost Ops Warfare 3? 2?….something? Roused by my lulled sense of perfunctory determination to prove my capabilities as a competent and varied gamer, I brushed aside the FPS lethargy that clung to my shoulders like excess spiders web and collapsed immediately with a series of involuntary mistakes. I couldn’t work out how to calibrate the control configurations from its inverted sway, I blew myself up, I walked off the screen and voided the mission, and I died repeatedly much to my partners chagrin to the point that I was propositioned to partake in a helicopter soldier conflict thing, where my contributions could be monitored and pacified accordingly. I was as inept as a vegetarian butcher, concealing my inert attributes behind layers of consummate idiocy. Of course this kind of embarrassment is greatly personified when streaming on Twitch (thanks again guys), with the textual familiarities that criticise my assimilation with conventional gaming. I’m not normally this stupid! Every conceivable methodology was chastised too. You rashly run in, your deemed stupid! You take shelter behind a incinerated vehicle, you’re a coward. Honestly, you wouldn’t receive this kind of abuse online! Of course the localised discrimination continued unabated as attempting to aid a fallen comrade I, in the most slapstick manner fell right off the side of the building, impaling myself on an armoured vehicle, thus ending any chance of extraction.
Certainly my ability to perform was hindered by intoxicating beverages, as my stomach rabidly attempted to digest a mass of dough, cheese and veritable abattoir of meats that clustered together in my gut like suspected terrorists in an airport, derived from my eviscerated (Large!) pizza that now swelled with lethargic attrition. But it hadn’t effected anyone else?! Sure I don’t play these kinds of games as much as they do, but one of the most proficient members of our little battalion had downed enough vodka to bring down the Kremlin, and his visual recognition must have been as clear as Mr Magoo trying to read a condom wrappers instructions! Despite protestations to the contrary, for instance suggesting that my view was obscured or the buttons aren’t responsive enough to imitate what I had advised, I instead elected for a more administrative role. Interspersed between raucous moments of levity, normally at my amateurish expense, occasional snoozes and even moments of moderate triumph on my behalf; as time elapsed it became more and more evident that my proficiency, or lack thereof was unlikely to improve. I could quickly identify my blatant vulnerabilities, namely my participation. But resolving these inefficiencies was mute. In the end I deemed my self-imposed exclusion as the only repairable course to preserve any further embarrassment.
Of course my ineptitude was rendered negligible when assessed against the joviality and masculine boorishness of the evening. It was a fun night rounded off with some localised ribbing from people who can rebuke your ability and not sound repellent. Just like the good old days.
Have you been embarrassed by your gaming incompetence? Let me hear your examples, so I can at least feel better about myself. Cheers.