Are War Games Disrespectful?

On June 6th 1944, the allied invasion of Normandy was launched. Operation Neptune, or D-day was one of the most ruthless amphibious offensives in maritime history, resulting in a decisive victory for the allies and at the same time inflicting a critical blow to the Nazis consolidation of occupied territories abroad. It was also responsible for the deaths of over 425000 allied and German troops, including wounded and those that simply went missing. It’s difficult to conceive or even visualise such a devastating loss of life, in fact one of the most accurate portrayals you’re likely to see is the opening of Steven Spielberg’s 1998 war epic “Saving Private Ryan”, which recreated the sorrowful brutality of that morning with detailed authenticity. If you’re like me however then you may have been introduced to this historic conflict in “Medal Of Honour: Frontline”. Though lacking the theatrical refinement of the cinematic equivalent, “Frontline” did an admirable job of presenting a vicarious depiction of this notorious invasion. WWII was never a subject I personally regarded with much interest. I respected the significance and admired the sacrifices consummated by all involved, but never felt a great deal of effusion for an event – that to my adolescent mind occurred such a long time ago. So being provided with an endearing stimulation, that of a game yields a much more persuasive connection to such a vile, yet crucial atrocity. You can’t accurately depict the inherent terror facing soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy with any legitimacy, nor the profound sense of personal isolation they must have experienced in knowing they were unlikely to leave those shores alive. Especially when your character has been resurrected thanks to an auto-save. Of course applying such logistical inhibitions would severely compromise the immersion of the game. But should war games portray such enduring cultural events at all? Are war games disrespectful? Do they really compromise the integrity and severity of the conflicts they portray?

Education is an invaluable asset and I believe you learn more by doing than by saying. It’s all repetition. I’m not saying reading or studying isn’t an important resource, but that shouldn’t undermine the benefits of such a robust medium that I feel adds context to a sustained war we could never comprehend without visual or auditory stimulants. A textbook is indispensable for distributing statistical knowledge and the intricacies that characterises the war, but doesn’t competently evoke the ambience or feel. Gaming is a new educational format that teaches kids about significant historical events, providing interaction rather than talking at them. The prosperity of games and it’s inevitable decadence means that there are certain inalienable liberties taken and events such as D-day are embellished. They are also inhibited by the interventions of a games procedural restraints, which can never accurately reflect the events with any cathartic recognition without reminding you it’s just a game. They are more a simulated interpretation of events that has to be won to progress. Hence the ability to heal, collect ammunition and to re-spawn. Some may argue that games such as Call of Duty, which has been heavily focused on modern conflicts emphasises the decorative veneer of violence. Objectifying or exploiting a period in history or interpretations of them, and glamorising them for the purposes of generating money. And that’s true, to a point.
There’s a potential to capture the authenticity so accurately to promote immersion and to earnestly portray the intolerable conditions suffered by soldiers that you’re never really sure if it should. You can’t depict the psychological trauma sustained by a solider in Afghanistan, or the profound isolation sustained from the killing. That would be crass and inappropriate. In games like Cod killing comes with reward, as you generate points for kills, which appears grossly insensitive. The problem that fluctuates in lambasting Cod as dismissive or even callous towards the death of soldiers is that it’s really just a fictitious representation of modern warfare. An exaggerated calibration of current events. Neither specific enough to be a legitimate incident nor vague enough to be entirely fabricated. Inspiration for levels and tone is evidently liberated from real life incidences, but aren’t definitive enough to be truly insensitive. If a specific terrorist incident that you’re forced to participate in was based on an actual event then things may become easier to criticise, but if it isn’t you can’t necessarily conclude that a game is utilising distressing events for the purposes of commerce rather than craft?

“Saving Private Ryan successfully depicted the horror’s of war in all of its horrid detail.”

There’s more of an effort to elevate the intensity of conflict, not the subtle nuances of trench life. Not people left huddled in the cold dank trenches, squalled in mud and faeces. Staving off starvation by eating the vermin that feast on the necrotic remnants of fallen comrades that are decomposing just metres from you. Wondering if they will ever see their loved ones again. That’s not fun. A more earnest account sure, but perhaps facilitating too much realism that would verge on disrespectful. A game – as hard as it tries to recreate the pure savagery of the trenches, can never fully convey the experience with the same intensity. These are the limitations of relating legitimate accounts to a generation that have lived through moderate civility of peace, or at least the inactive perception of it. We can’t relate to these grotesque events in any comprehensive way because we haven’t endured extended periods of conflict ourselves. You can watch news coverage where reporters, attired in military garbs and protective clothing are relaying the turmoil of some middle eastern population you’ve never heard of, detailing the famine that has beset some ravaged community from a safe distance and feel empathy for the afflicted, but not enough extensive consideration that it effects our lives. The only ones that can are those people directly affected, who have lost love ones during war. Survivors who can still recant the heinous acts perpetrated by individuals that probably didn’t want to be there either, and do so with succinct clarity. You can’t truly fathom or value the extent of the situation without being there, and trying to depict it too realistically would be futile and largely redundant.

Movies based on war aren’t generally criticised for glamorising it’s narrative, unless inaccurate or unnecessarily elaborated. In fact many have been lauded for their portrayals, reminding audiences of humanities perpetual fallibility and our inherent lust for sovereignty. Though games lack the substance afforded by cinema’s illustrious polish or the authenticity of documented accounts published in textbooks, they can furbish the environments complexities and tone with detailed, analytical preservation. Recreate historically accurate armaments or events. They may not be an all encompassing history lesson, and they seldom contain anything more than mere snippets of information concerning that specific conflict in a loading screen, but that can at least spark some affinity for history and perhaps encourage some humility by reminding us just how lucky we have been.

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What do you guys think. Have you ever felt compelled to read up on an incident or story because of a game? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

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Isn’t Every Game An RPG?

The term role-playing game has always confused me, especially in the way it’s regarded by the gaming community.
Your vicarious assimilation, however inured is a participation attributed to a specific role. Whether that’s a footballer or an intrepid adventurer. So why is there such a neglected recognition for anything that isn’t steeped amid extrapolated mysticism? For me the interpretive definition, commonly applied to anything with wizards dragons and other variants on asinine mythology is one made through convenience. I’m sure there are many that consider the term “RPG” a succinct appellation of the abbreviation, an aberration that meekly defines a specific game, but there’s such an exponent variation on what constitutes as an RPG that it’s difficult to accurately extract it’s specifics. If you’re simulating the role of Batman, Lara Croft, Nathan Drake or even a pixellated Hedgehog, are you not by the systemic rule of interaction playing the role of a character? An acquaintance of mine was telling me recently that he doesn’t play RPG’s as “that kind of thing is boring” he suggested. He is evidently more infatuated with a generic FPS in all of its asinine persuasions. Not that I’m criticising (much), but isn’t something like Battlefield or Call of duty a composite of both FPS and RPG? Isn’t every first or third person, racing, sport or any other abbreviation that categorises a genre, canopied under the governing prelude of an RPG?

“Oh those crazy, “nerdy” kids and their role-playing, first person shooters.”

Can you define an RPG by its merits, stature or size? Whether by its limited linearity or expansive setting? It seems a socially acceptable exclusion to anything that doesn’t depict imposing lands replete in swords and dragons, with ideologies specifically reserved for knights of valour as being the pictorial aggregation of a genre loosely defined. You’d think that amid the swell of secularised platforms that someone could recognise the clear parallel that most genres fraternised with role-playing?! An FPS for instance by its very definition is neutrally identifiable, evidenced in the banal troupes and indentured servitude. (Again I’m not having a go, honest!) If the game represents a first person perspective and you shoot things, then it’s probably an FPS. If your goal is to, well score goals in a game of football, then that’s sports. If you’re driving a car round a track, then that’s racing. But all of these types of games are emblematic depictions of an RPG. Aren’t they? Of course many gamers would resist the proposal to refer to anything outside of Tolkien or featuring spaceships as an RPG, which is rebellious in a conformists kind of way, that only conflate’s the negative association with this parlous conduit.

The dimensions that are proportionate to RPG such as size, themes and scale indicates the constitutions of what a contemporary RPG’S are supposed to be. I understand this is a very broad acquaintance and that games need to be regulated into condensed categories, but to me signifying something that conjures so much expansive connotations, the arbitrary RPG description facilitates a multitude of attributes. I may be misguided in my reasoning, it’s been known to happen on occasion, or perhaps Cod fans are just as geeky as the kids that dress up as their favourite gaming characters. So just admit that your cool, blowey uppy world war simulator is a role-playing game! Ugh. Nerds!

Are all games RPG’s? Leave a comment that agrees me entirely……by which I mean leave an impartial suggestions. Cheers.

I’m Really Bad At Gaming!

“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.

“By the power of greyskull! The quality of the picture doesn’t do justice to the scale of this screen!”

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.

Familiarity Is Good. Isn’t It?

Everybody possess “that” friend, or social acquaintance in my case. The extroverted one that’s not consigned by the fundamental principles of common banality readily capitulated by many, but regulated by the provocation of others regardless of the passive intent. Some are more direct with their correspondence, others literate (hello!), while others seek the sanctity of subversion to ventilate their beliefs, but one common denominator is the unifying candour of their exerted stipulations. Their notions–affable or notably contracted–are often cordial, with no underlining altercation intended. Their non-complicit in feeling abashed for their declarations, eager to disperse honest salient views, even if inquiries were never affirmed, and prepared for any vocal derision firmly directed at them with suitably intuitive contingencies, which is ordinarily the profanity equivalent of go away! Projecting arrogant approximations when imparting philosophical appraisals on my concerted habitation, with all the subtle acumen of a Christopher Nolan Movie, such as berating my perceived, attenuating masculinity due to my current domestic duties (“Wait, hold on. Shouldn’t your missus be cooking for you?!”) “Yeah. Sure. Right before I club her and drag her unconscious body back to my cave.” But also they are courageous enough to declare their admiration for a typically regarded chick flick like Pitch Perfect, which makes his judicial rebuke of my meek furtive virility rather muted. Despite the often divisive interactions between ourselves, the similar opinionated stances admitted with implicit impassioned credulity, much to the grievance of respective our betrothals, startlingly the conflicting disparaging consolidates our friendship, as does our mutual enmity for sobriety. That is until First Person Shooters are mentioned.

Much like the 99% consensus of the gaming community, he loves FPS’s. Where as I fall comfortably into the minor 1% bracket. I’m not opposed to the genre, I’m generally an advocate of simplicity which is a common malady with the first person perspective. Outlast for instance demonstrated an abdication from artillery could be just as emotionally jarring as any misogynistic conflict. But why should I care about a character who’s only distinguishing feature are his hands that are constantly extruded outwards, as though he spends every waking hour anticipating retaliation and likely subjected to massive artery failure due to the lack of blood flow to his outstretched limbs? But I’ve discussed this bleated lamentation enough in laborious detail before. Last week during a modest gathering of friends that quickly accelerated into a resistance against sobriety, “the” acquaintance and myself decided to abscond from the prohibitory of subjugated femininity and demonstrate the capacity of the PS4. Killzone: Shadow Fall was the immediate title that cajoled him, and being the distinguished host that I was duly obliged. Adopting the role of surrogate tutor, briefly describing the button configuration and their corresponding actions, there was a discernible look of affinity from him. But my hesitant tuition was abruptly severed as he began to govern me, directing the reticle in synergistic accordance to his vocal exactions.

“Killzone: Shadow Fall. Currently being used a coaster for my alcoholic beverage. See, It has its uses.”

His garish gestures chastised my proficiency, and my capitulation to every enemy combatant only fortified my diminished resilience. So prior to conceding to numerous defeat’s and allowed him to commandeer. Despite the lack of intimacy with Killzone, he was instantly able to intuit the precise button structure: shooting, reloading, alternating ballistics, even inverting and altering the sensitivity to accommodate his intimate specifications. “It’s just like Call of Duty really” was his retort to his intuitive efficiency. And he was right. Despite the robotic sentries that generate pockets of resilient shielding for protective purposes and the differing weaponry appellation, there’s no real distinguishing feature that differentiates itself from other FPS’s. Generic assailants, arbitrary environments with a penchant for desolation and all as provocative as a baboon in a negligee. But that’s the point. He doesn’t enjoy them because it perfectly represents sculptured realism, or because it demonstrates poignant or salient cultural observations that perpetuates the growing anonymity of morality in society (if that’s a thing?). But the sense of familiarity is comforting and when competing against on of the most popular and lucrative games of its genre, should it really differ?

Should FPS’s really differ? Let me know what you think. Cheers.

Gaming; Man Style

AAAHHH! *flips table* It’s tough attempting to abate my outwardly valiant masculinity so as not to diminish the inclusion of other males from feeling diminutive in my manly presence. Such as watching all 6 Rocky movies in unison, whilst eating a bowl of glass that buoyant empathetically on a pool of nitrogen peroxide and devoured with an irradiated utensil. Yes the suppression of such hereditary gallantry is palpable and requires some clandestine aperture to ease the predatory intensity and impede the caustic testosterone that effuses through my herculean physique, that can provoke me to repeatedly pummel kittens. Gaming however, certainly stifles these combative exasperation’s. Gaming is very much geared towards the ordained perception that contemporary games solitary utility, stimulates the regressed primeval of Neanderthals that play them. Omitting liberal conventions of compassion and analytical diplomacy, for pestilent annihilation of civilians in the middle East and liberating our rights as men to project our own repressed need for explosions, thus reducing the docile feminine to the supportive damsels that urgently require domestication. Now this may seem like misogynistic exposition that categorizes our nihilistic presumptions, but games certainly perpetuate and promote the ideology of male chauvinism as commercially acceptable, which falsely contradicts the overlaying fact that female gamers are ruthless!

“And here’s some football. Why? Because its manly that’s why!”

Woman posses some incredibly abundance of residual concentration, as opposed to men who demonstrate vocalised antagonism, with some of the most formidable female adversaries, audit cordial greetings and exhibit tones of submissive docility that deceptively shroud their introverted ferocity, before unleashing apocalyptic defilement with simulated castration of my genitalia. To experience such a pronounced violation certainly sedate’s the attenuated premise that a very masculine endorsed industry conveys. A man considers a console control to emulate as an extension of his genitalia, which in most instances is a grossly falsified exaggeration to its anatomically inferior contemporary. The vanity of a male mind is to bask in adulation of our achievements, and to suffer the indignity of defeat with humility and magnanimous grace (by which I mean biting the controller). You get the immediate impression that some advertisers would be dumbfounded by the discovery that…*stifles a choke* woman play games?! “Wait a minute; you have boobs, where trousers and posses a vaginal cavity, and you play games? What an absurd notion!” The notion of gaming being dominated by a largely masculine audience is a falsity, as is our unifying reason for indulging in simulated adventures.

“Your living room is located in the ditch, the fridge is the wrong way up and there is no access to your upstairs bathroom. But there is off-road parking.”

I’ve always believed that gaming is a promotion of emulation, encouraging us to manipulate characters we wish we could be, experiencing adventures we wish we could imitate as though games represent a more attractive distraction from the banality of life. While there is an element of truth to the consensus of distracting escapism–one to which I have accredited to my own involvement–it’s also a broadened definition. Sure you want to portray the courageous hero, saving the world from imminent destruction from some villainous antagonist, but I doubt that anyone, of any physiological specificity has played Call of Duty has stated “Wow, I’d love to be involved in this conflict.” Or scoured the wastes of Washington DC in Fallout 3 and thought “What a great place this would be to live in.” No, that inanimate device is our best friend we covet, not for a greater sense of importance or the solace of antipathy for social confrontations, but a perpetual friend that preserves your sanity from the platitude of boredom. It’s that manly, man, grr thing we do. Generally being a male gamer is much like this protracted article; incoherent, permeated with contradictory statements that are wholly dependant on our own frenetic supposition to inform our conclusions. There’s an entire market geared towards naivety and suggestion, which are–let’s face it lads–perfect narration for the male psychosis.

What does gaming mean to you? Let me know. Cheers.

Trailer Trash

Trailers you would presume are concise visual stimulants that present a reflection of our own perceived estimations, glorifying our assumptions to a game by adding credence to our pre ordained specificities. The fraternity of caricatures presented in trailers is supposed to loosely represent a games entirety with varied depicted content, providing subverted context that enhance your anticipation for a hugely popular title. Of course the above statement is as legitimate as an imminent release of The Last Guardian, because for all the grandeurs representations, trailers only add further disparity to our cursory expectancy. They compose such a scattering of their most desirable elements that only partially emulate a games essence in to such modest longevity that you often feel you already participated, which causes you to lament at your own pilfered expectancy. Even the relative vagueness of stationary images have nomadic implications that really only intrigue, rather than expand on the published content.

“New Call Of Duty. You can tell it’s new and nothing like last years incarnation, because it has a dog.”

Most trailers are scrutinised because we anticipate a hugely riveting reveal, one that exposes a games exhilarating countenance only to discover the falsity of its depicted embellishment after purchase. Dead Island’s CGI trailer for instance–despite the relative monotony of apocalyptic masochism–professed a game brimming with emotive poignancy, perhaps not demonstrating metaphoric resonance but certainly diverting from the rigid conformity of its partition genre. Instead we received a game that resonated with all the passionate authenticity and demonstrating contradictions to the perceived trailer. The ambiguity of trailers can nullify the impact a of game once we’ve been introduced to them, distorted by our own assured conjecture. You firmly establish a nurtured perception of how a game will perform and look before you’ve even appropriated the game itself. Their deceiving, hindering our ability to make rationalised distinctions from we believe to be comparative to our assumptions. We estimate a games quality by the capitulating footage we’ve seen, with a commencement of symphonic acoustics that add deepening significance to the already deepening ambiance, most evident in game-play trailers. Game-play footage is a mute punctuation to a games advertisement; yes you can observe how a game will likely perform under your tutelage, but you can’t interpret how it feels, whether the quick rotation that the character made was a graceful pirouette with only the subtle impression of your thumb required to perform the rotary transition, or whether your require the dexterous precision that only an irradiated spider bite could administer.

By design trailers have to be deceiving in their context, only providing glimpses into a games direction, creating a commercial buzz for their product to attract the maximum number of participants to make it as commercially viable as possible. But regulating what consumers perceive is when a trailer truly succeeds, rather than deceiving the viewing enthusiast. The overt hindrances lie predominately in the divulging too much information or not enough, rather than demonstrating parity between the 2. Of course this is a subjective rationalisation because I know that my expectations for Dead Island were ruined by a trailer that from my perspective promised far more extensive opulence, but due to my negligent ignorance towards GTA V’s intensified trailers, doesn’t necessarily mean that my experience would have been negated by the trailers fastidious influence, does it?

Can game trailers ruin a game? Or do they enhance the experience you eventually receive? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.

Back In My Day…

Here I sit, resting my arthritic limbs after picking up my medicinal provisions from my local pharmaceutical for my catalogue of attenuate complaints and various lacerations incurred from vigorous pruning of the rose bushes. Returning home and reclining in my chair as I delicately caress the contours of fibres beautifully woven into my sculptured valour upholstery, before wistfully discharging a rooted moan of content for my impending lethargy and consolidating the scarcity of my existing energy, limply manipulating my motility functions. You begin to sip your double cask, matured whiskey like an orally distributed dialysis, hoping that the adhesive bonds that solidify your dentures remain assured in your gums as the worsening state of dementia slowly corrodes the collaborative sinews of your once assured mind. This pedantic assessment of graceful maturity inscribed so robustly, I feel is the perfect accompaniment for narrating the relevance of technology in regards to gaming, particularly when evaluating between the present state of technological prosperity, in contrast to compromising limitations of gaming 20 years ago.

“Looks like you’re doing the dishes tonight honey?”

You can’t digress your own faded adolescence with aplomb and fluidity to younger generation of gamers without sounding, well, old. Though I’ve yet to stagger into the predictable realms of maturity by beginning sentences by exclaiming “Back in my day”, which solicits the usual juvenile rotation of the retinas and diminished posture that derides the implication of another stilted anecdote, brimming with righteous indignation and condescension for their fortuitous circumstances. Because back in my day (damn it!) gamers were restricted by a conglomerate of issues; limited technology, encumbered imagination, diminutive television sets that were so weighted it required the swift removal of your living room window, a crane to hoist the lumbering, transmission device with several energetic and athletically capable individuals to manoeuvre the rigid apparatus into the appropriate alcove. We suffered with adverse controllers that accommodated 2 buttons and a directional toggle, attached to some slender cord which prevented gamers from moving more than meter from the television set, which in reflection was a beneficial impediment considering the negligible 14 inch screen, where high-definition resolution was upgrading from a monochromatic TV to Technicolor. But such restrictions didn’t burden us one bit.

“This was my Call Of Duty!”

We were genuinely content with the more rustic sensibilities of games consoles at the time; the more docile, family orientated nature of games, contented to manipulate 2 pixellated blobs that represented gallant mercenaries. These moments are so acutely ingrained in your memory that you can remember with vivid clarity almost every triumph or failure, with each of us retaining differing perspectives on what constitutes as endearing nostalgia. We all preserve purgative memories; collaborating with a relation in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and derive further social parity with your family, or observing your parents competing in a hostility sustained race in Daytona USA, to determine who would wash the dishes. Gaming was a compelling advocate for paternal disobedience too; as you attempt to continue your nocturnal gaming through furtive reticent, so as not to alert your parents to your extra curricular activities. There is something inherently endearing about gaming at such a juvenile age, something so ardently mythical about its enduring presence in your life even now. I can only speculate as to whether gamers of that same adolescent disposition, experience the same sensory piety from games like Call of Duty or FIFA, that I did from technically inferior titles of my youth.

What are your most vivid gaming memories? And do you believe that younger gamers will remember games with the same sentiments? Let me know what you guys think. Cheers.