My Top 10 Most Influential Games: #2, “Pokemon Silver”.

No game listed in my “Top 10 Most Influential” evokes quite the sentimentality that Pokemon Silver does. This wasn’t just a game I played, enjoyed and replayed frequently despite frequent attempts from my peers to distract me. Embracing the introverted solitude of my bedroom and avoiding all unnecessary human contact that a game of such eminence permitted. I remember the day I bought it, where I purchased it, where I played it, what the weather was like that day (slightly drizzly if you’re interested) and how far into the game I got on day of purchase. In fact I’ve previously written effusively in another article about it. So having already articulated my affection for this seminal piece of art that so deftly exhibits how I feel about this game, and because I’m exceptionally lazy, here is that account. Enjoy.

Before the Pokemon’s series rapidly expanding ascendance had become an exhaustive manipulation of popularity and subsequent commercialised degradation, it was solely reliant on content of it games. It still surprises me just how many people aren’t aware that it was the games rather muffled arrival on the Gameboy that it inspired the relentless abuse of its name, rather than the excessive trading card aberrations or the seizure inducing animations. But at that age we were all heavily involved with it. Playgrounds had become communities that yielded to the deep analytical discussions concerning the rarity of certain Pokemon cards. You and your friends were hooked, whether you liked it or not. Everyday you’d bring a selection of your most prestigious acquisitions, bound by a double looped elastic band to formally boast about your shiny Charizard, much to the jealous scrutiny of your classmates. There was always that suspicious looking kid too that you never saw in class, who took up residents in that one part of the playground that seemed just a little too seedy, offering shiny cards like some delinquent drug dealer. “Got any shiny Dragonite’s mate? Come on man, just one more hit….. Point!”. I still have all of my accumulated cards, packets and those peculiar pebbles that I have no clue as to their use stored in my loft, awaiting the day that they can be sold for millions to the most discerning of collector’s.

But like all fads it slowly edged its way out of public consciousness through months of global saturation that no amount of savage marketing or celebrity endorsement could ever revitalise. Yet the games continued to flourish despite the economic brevity of its other branded products. Why? Because it was much more than just a fading trend. The trading cards were fun but limited whereas the games offered enhanced game-play, exploration in handheld form and the exultation of battling the Pokemon you had caught.

Despite the Gameboy’s advanced age – having been 6 or 7 years old by the time Pokemon Red and Blue was released, this lethargic device felt revolutionary because of Pokemon. I’d never played a game that exhibited the kind of mutually beneficial convenience that the Gameboy partnered with Pokemon had. It felt so right. To integrate a fully exploitative world into a device I’d almost forgotten I had, with black and white presentation that could be taken with was incredible. These games demonstrated the integrity that was never replicated by Pokemon’s other endeavours, nor the enduring appeal that has seen the series maintain a consistent stranglehold over the mobile gaming system for over 20 years.

My best friend and I had dedicated months to the accumulation of the original 151 Pokemon in Red, Blue and Yellow. Unfortunately I never quite reached that prestigious number, falling short by a mere 8 Pokemon. Though my best friend did and expressed great relish in my failing. I was however the more accomplished combatant having bested him in 6 of our 9 encounters. We bonded over our delusions of being the single greatest Pokemon trainers in the world, simply because we had bested all the automated trainers in the game. We considered ourselves tactical geniuses because we utilised the rudimentary system of type advantage, which was and always has been the basic principle of the games. Having completed Red, Blue and the slightly superior Yellow between us our appetite for more banquet filled Pokemon titles could not be sated. And it was Silver and Gold that promised to be the main course in this tortured metaphor.

For months we’d been researching every conceivable detail we could from magazines. We’d dissect previews, analyse every image (which had now advanced to a colour screen!) and speculate to the novelty of the proposed night and day cycle that was to be the games intrinsic new feature. I had saved every penny I could, bolstered by birthday money I’d hoarded in preparation for Gold and Silvers release a month later. Between us we had decided which version to buy; he chose Gold while I was more than happy with Silver. It was a brisk Saturday morning when I headed into town. We had met at a designated spot and endeavoured to buy our copies together to commemorate this momentous occasion with mutual solidarity. This was a game we knew would change our lives, because we were 13 and at that tender age a new flavoured bubble gum would’ve been life altering. We went to the till tentatively clutching our respective games, paid and left swiftly back to my mates house. I remember just sitting in his room just staring at the shimmering box art, glimmering like some kind of ornate jewel. Eventually we both moved to open them, remove the shiny cartridges from their corrugated sleeves and play them. One of the things I remember most is my mate showing me that “Karl” was one of the default names you could choose for your character! I remember thinking that it was in recognition of me and my greatness. It was fate. Karl was even spelt correctly which is extraordinary considering there were family members who couldn’t do that! And the game itself was nothing short of perfection. Pokemon Silver is still one of the few games that exceeded my high expectations. On that day alone I had already amassed 30 or so Pokemon in my Pokedex and defeated the first 3 gym leaders.

To me the game defied belief. How could such an expansive world, with such embellished themes and dramatic battling system not only be conceived but facilitated by such a compact device? The essence of the game was really in its simplicity. You’re a kid from a small town that catches stray creatures in tiny prison balls and forces them to fight against other incarcerated beasts. It sounds cruel and I’m sure animal welfare organisations have their work cut out for them in Kanto and Johto, but it was fun. Besides Pokemon don’t die, they just faint. Basically your goal was to become the very best, like no one ever was. You just travel from town to town battling your way through the gyms, receiving the respective badges until it was time to face the Elite Four – which oddly required you to defeat five resilient trainers but whose counting, while also engaging with other compelling tangents along the way. Whether it was defeating a resurgent Team Rocket, displacing anthropomorphic trees that obstruct your route, staying in on Friday nights with the express purpose of catching an illusive Lapras, quelling the aberrant behaviour of a shiny Gyrados, taking rides on the S.S Aqua on a sedate Sunday Afternoon, winning bug contests, visiting the day specific children for unique rewards, spending cash gambling at the casino (which is particularly age appropriate), visit the daycare centre to breed yet another Eevee with Ditto or defeating the grossly overpowered character you portrayed in Red, Blue and Yellow.

Gold and Silver were bigger bolder and more expressive with the kind of identity it was trying to create. It made my friend and I feel like we were on an adventure for ourselves, in a self-contained world that didn’t force us to compete against online players or fight some omnipotent being that threatens to destroy the earth. We weren’t heroes ordained with some great purpose to preserve the world from total annihilation, but kids who had dreams of winning a contest and eventually achieving those dreams. I’ve played various iterations in the series since; Ruby & Sapphire. Diamond & Pearl. Black & White. X & Y. Ant & Dec (I may have made the last one up?!). Yet most felt like diminishing returns that merely expanded on the number of Pokemon rather than core of the game. For me nothing before or since has ever captured my imagination to the extent that this did, generating almost euphoric anticipation as well as delivering on the promises it made. By today’s standards it may seem sub par, but on that day in 2001 (when it was finally released in the UK) I was part of that world. And that’s why Pokemon Silver is and continues to be the most influential game I’ve ever experienced.

Why Pokemon Silver Is Still The Most Memorable Game I’ve Ever Experienced.

Before the Pokemon’s series rapidly expanding ascendance had become an exhaustive manipulation of popularity and subsequent commercialised degradation, it was solely reliant on content of it games. It still surprises me just how many people aren’t aware that it was the games rather muffled arrival on the Gameboy that it inspired the relentless abuse of its name, rather than the excessive trading card aberrations or the seizure inducing animations. But at that age we were all heavily involved with it. Playgrounds had become communities that yielded to the deep analytical discussions concerning the rarity of certain Pokemon cards. You and your friends were hooked, whether you liked it or not. Everyday you’d bring a selection of your most prestigious acquisitions, bound by double looped elastic band to formally boast about your shiny Charizard, much to the jealous scrutiny of your classmates. There was always that suspicious looking kid too who you never saw in class, who took up residents in that one part of the playground that seemed just a little too seedy, offering shiny cards like some delinquent drug dealer. “Got any shiny Dragonite’s mate? Come on man, just one more hit….. Point!”. I still have all of my accumulated cards, packets and those peculiar pebbles that I have no clue as to their use stored in my loft, awaiting the day that they can be sold for millions to the most discerning of collector’s. But like all fads it slowly edged its way out of public consciousness through months of global saturation that no amount of savage marketing or celebrity endorsement could ever revitalise. Yet the games continued to flourish despite the economic brevity of its other branded products. Why? Because it was much more than just a fading trend. The trading cards were fun but limited whereas the games offered enhanced game-play, exploration in handheld form and the exultation of battling the Pokemon you had caught.

Despite the Gameboy’s advanced age – having been 6 or 7 years old by the time Pokemon Red and Blue was released, this lethargic device felt revolutionary because of Pokemon. I’d never played a game that exhibited the kind of mutually beneficial convenience that the Gameboy partnered with Pokemon had. It felt so right. To integrate a fully exploitative world into a device I’d almost forgotten I had, with black and white presentation that could be taken with was incredible. These games demonstrated the integrity that was never replicated by Pokemon’s other endeavours, nor the enduring appeal that has seen the series maintain a consistent stranglehold over the mobile gaming system for over 20 years. My best friend and I had dedicated months to the accumulation of the original 151 Pokemon in Red, Blue and Yellow. Unfortunately I never quite reached that prestigious number, falling short by a mere 8 Pokemon. Though my best friend did and expressed great relish in my failing. I was however the more accomplished combatant having bested him in 6 of our 9 encounters. We bonded over our delusions of being the single greatest Pokemon trainers in the world, simply because we had bested all the automated trainers in the game. We considered ourselves tactical geniuses because we utilised the rudimentary system of type advantage, which was and always has been the basic principle of the games. Having completed Red, Blue and the slightly superior Yellow between us our appetite for more banquet filled Pokemon titles could not be sated. And it was Silver and Gold that promised to be the main course in this tortured metaphor.

“I still own the same game I purchased over 15 years ago….over half a life time ago!”

For months we’d been researching every conceivable detail we could from magazines. We’d dissect previews, analyse every image (which had now advanced to a colour screen!) and speculate to the novelty of the proposed night and day cycle that was to be the games intrinsic new feature. I had saved every penny I could, bolstered by birthday money I’d hoarded in preparation for Gold and Silvers release a month later. Between us we had decided which version to buy; he chose Gold while I was more than happy with Silver. It was a brisk Saturday morning when I headed into town. We had met at a designated spot and endeavoured to buy our copies together to commemorate this momentous occasion with mutual solidarity. This was a game we knew would change our lives, because we were 13 and at that tender age a new flavoured bubble gum would’ve been life altering. We went to the till tentatively clutching our respective games, paid and left swiftly back to my mates house. I remember just sitting in his room just staring at the shimmering box art, glimmering like some kind of ornate jewel. Eventually we both moved to open them, remove the shiny cartridges from their corrugated sleeves and play them. One of the things I remember most is my mate showing me that “Karl” was one of the default names you could choose for your character! I remember thinking that it was in recognition of me and my greatness. It was fate. Karl was even spelt correctly which is extraordinary considering there were family members who couldn’t do that! And the game itself was nothing short of perfection. Pokemon Silver is still one of the few games that exceeded my high expectations. On that day alone I had already amassed 30 or so Pokemon in my Pokedex and defeated the first 3 gym leaders.

To me the game defied belief. How could such an expansive world, with such embellished themes and dramatic battling system not only be conceived but facilitated by such a compact device? The essence of the game was really in its simplicity. You’re a kid from a small town that catches stray creatures in tiny prison balls and forces them to fight against other incarcerated beasts. It sounds cruel and I’m sure animal welfare organisations have their work cut out for them in Kanto and Johto, but it was fun. Besides Pokemon don’t die, they just faint. Basically your goal was to become the very best, like no one ever was. You just travel from town to town battling your way through the gyms, receiving the respective badges until it was time to face the Elite Four – which oddly required you to defeat five resilient trainers but whose counting, while also engaging with other compelling tangents along the way. Whether it was defeating a resurgent Team Rocket, displacing anthropomorphic trees that obstruct your route, staying in on Friday nights with the express purpose of catching an illusive Lapras, quelling the aberrant behaviour of a shiny Gyrados, taking rides on the S.S Aqua on a sedate Sunday Afternoon, winning bug contests, visiting the day specific children for unique rewards, spend cash gambling at the casino (which is particularly age appropriate), visit the daycare centre to breed yet another Eevee with Ditto or defeating the grossly overpowered character you portrayed in Red, Blue and Yellow.

Gold and Silver were bigger bolder and more expressive with the kind of identity it was trying to create. It made my friend and I feel like we were on an adventure for ourselves, in a self-contained world that didn’t force us to compete against online players or fight some omnipotent being that threatens to destroy the earth. We weren’t heroes ordained with some great purpose to preserve the world from total annihilation, but kids who had dreams of winning a contest and eventually achieving those dreams. I’ve played various iterations in the series since; Ruby & Sapphire. Diamond & Pearl. Black & White. X & Y. Ant & Dec (I may have made the last one up?!). Yet most felt like diminishing returns that merely expanded on the number of Pokemon rather than core of the game. For me nothing before or since has ever captured my imagination to the extent that this did, generating almost euphoric anticipation as well as delivering on the promises it made. By today’s standards it may seem sub par, but on that day in 2001 (when it was finally released in the UK) I was part of that world. And that’s why Pokemon Silver is and continues to be the most influential game I’ve ever experienced.

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What games have had the most profound effect on you? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

Bronze, But No Sheen

Anyone who has attempted to acquire a Platinum trophy, will testify to how exceedingly exhausting the process can be. The Patrick Jane like acuity needed to determine the most proficient means of gaining these prizes with the minimum of repetition, adopting a hermit persuasion to snare the more resilient accolades, and the necessary skill and the ability to deter cognitive deterioration caused by the seemingly unobtainable trophies, that persistently elude you like the digesting of processed horse meat in your local Tesco’s beef burger (other proprietors are available). But on occasion it’s not the difficulty of the trophy that prevents you from amassing an extended collection of Platinums, but the ludicrous absurdity of some of the less apprised possessions.

Bronze trophies are the natural result of progression of a game, the simplest of tasks are rewarded with that little chime and meager the possession of the top, right side of the screen. Ding! You discovered this destination. Ding! You acquired a hidden treasure. Ding! You pressed a button on your Playstation, and well you get the idea. Many of the Bronze trophies serve as a distraction to assure you that you are making progress with your chosen exploits and ensure safe, progressive passage through. Their hardly difficult acquisitions, they should be readily obtainable, most without prior consensual digressions, or through randomly occurring events. But sometimes these insignificant panderings require incredulous patience, and in my case, the manipulation of a glitch to obtain.

Recently, in nostalgic fascination, I purchased the Ratchet & Clank HD collection, which to my surprise has aged like a Helen Mirren wine, encased in the arctic ice, preserved with unblemished results (in other words well, if you’re a little confused by this admittedly, misleading analogy), but the one figurative obstruction that prevented that Ding of satisfied credibility, that can only be obtained from acquisition of a platinum (or sexual congress with Kat Denning’s) was the arbitrary, and distinctly malicious Bronze, that was necessary for the above confirmation. This one, seemingly modest trophy required a glitch to achieve. The defendant in question required me to accumulate 1,000,000 bolts, which for those unaffiliated with R&C, is the fictional currency used to purchase numerous, elaborate destructive weaponry. Which is ultimately achieved with a suitably resilient Playstation capable of enduring an extended, 7 hour application, a suitable controller resistant to repetitive strains by continued diligence from an exceedingly weighty dinosaur cereal bowel, acquired from a museum specifically constructed for the education of paleontology, that could evenly distribute pressure to the appropriate button, all whilst I slumbered, presumably dreaming of more consequential use of my time/life.

 Without elaborating further (for your own benefit you understand), it was a gratuitous and tedious expenditure of time, electricity and my sanity, but seemingly the only justification to avoid unnecessarily tedious repetition of a game I love. I verbalised many baffled expletives, all expressed because of a bronze that seems superfluously difficult in the context of your objectives, there just seems to be little logistical continuity?! Many trophies are dependant on your own tolerances, and the perpetual reluctance you’ll likely encounter as you progress. With Silver’s, you expect to achieve with relative ease with only moderate inconveniences, Golds by their very definition require more meticulous command to obtain, integrated to challenge your resolve with standardised pressure. So why is it some bronze trophies, much like the one I’ve referenced with numerous displays of folly, and particularly in regards to online trophies which are equally restrictive in design, requiring a level of dedication few possess, are so masochistic to retain?

Have you had trouble with trophies/achievements that felt harsh? Or do you skip such accolades in favour of gameplay? Let me know what you guys think.