5. Why am I doing this?

There comes a point when the button-mashing to restart mutates into an irrational desire to hurl the joypad at the TV, followed by the console, and then possibly the lot out of the nearest window. It could be as you get shot for the umpteenth time as you grapple with the GTA gun-aiming system. Or it could be as you negotiate an absurd nonsensical jumping puzzle in an unwieldy RPG, sick of the sight of the same restart point. Or it could be as you tumble into the abyss off the same fucking platform again and again and again. Yes – Super Mario Sunshine made me see red.

It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I shouldn’t have bought a game that in my heart I knew would drive me to the point of drop-kicking my Gamecube into the wall. No amount of pretty graphics can sweeten the experience. No matter how much of a Nintendo fanboy I might be, it still had me inventing new swear words once I’d worn out all the regulars.

Don’t look down…

Sometimes, I honestly have no idea why I am playing videogames. I fire up the console on instinct, become vaguely dissatisfied with what I’m playing and switch it off before boredom or frustration kick in. Perhaps the problem is that sometimes I just don’t NEED videogames.

Other times, I do.

There’s this idea that videogames are there to challenge us, to test us, and, ultimately, to beat us. Presumably, this is to make up for the lack of proper hunting and gathering in our cosy little lives. A quick burst of Unreal Tournament keeps our survival instincts ticking over. Burnout hones our road hazard awareness. There are also times when having your face ground into the dirt by a supposed source of entertainment is the last thing in the world you need.

Eighteen months ago, I had a breakdown. A real suicide-baiting, bawling-in-public breakdown. It’s nothing special. People have them all the time. It was to do with work and it was to do with me trying to be something that, I now realise, I am not. When it happened, I was lost. I found myself out of a job and experiencing a strange paralysis – a black hole of confidence. I quite literally could not do anything.

In a desperate attempt to brighten my mood, I bought an Xbox with Halo. If I was going to spend the rest of my days in a darkened room waiting for the roof to cave in then I may as well transfer my directionless anger from the furniture to a £20 joypad. The fact that the game involved shooting things certainly helped. I wanted to hurt things – mainly myself, but the Covenant would do for now.

My previously empty days began to take on a structure. I would try to get up when Tina left for work. By 8:30, I would have a strong mug of coffee in one hand and the chunky Xbox controller in the other, ready for the day’s battle. This was my work, my nine to five.

Sweet Halo…

I became Master Chief for that dark month. Halo is a gloomy, shadowy game and that suited me fine – curtains drawn, cut off from the harsh, bright world outside. In the confines of the game I could succeed and progress in a way that I was utterly incapable of in real life. Any obstacle that was placed before me, I could find a route around. The simplicity of the two-gun system was my saviour. I didn’t want a vast armoury to choose from. Making choices was one of the things that was broken in me. I took comfort from the repetition of the scenery. It felt good to have my bearings at a time when I could barely walk in a straight line. The controls were perfect and consistent, and how I needed that. I didn’t have enough strength to fight the game as well as the Flood.

Most of all, I had a story – a plot and a path to my transposed life. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and each comfortingly frequent save-point pulled me a tiny step closer to health. When I emerged on the other side, Covenant and Flood defeated (at least for the moment), the sense of achievement was overwhelming. I cried. And then I drew back the curtains.

I suppose I should admit now to playing through on the easiest difficulty setting. Does that make me less of a hardcore gamer? Yes – probably. Does it make Halo any less of a game to me? Far, far from it. The journey was a beautiful one – full of small victories that didn’t prove my value as a gamer but proved to me my value as a person. And that was something I needed far more than a high score.

FUSEBALL, December 2003

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Halo 2 mini documentary
Super Mario Sunshine making someone happy
Super Mario Sunshine – conquer it forever

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