His face was pock marked and behind his back we referred to him as ‘Uncle Frank’ (from Hellraiser) due to his very bad acne. Robert or Davo as he was ‘affectionately’ known was one of those who never attached himself to any group at school. He was a 6ft ACDC freak, was always spandexed and mo-haired to the hilt and openly spoke of having sex with his girlfriend, while the rest of us 16 year olds made do with the latest Razzle. He was never liked or disliked and had the mis-fortune to have the worst stutter I’d ever heard. I never could stop myself finishing sentences for him. He smoked out of his bedroom window, drank his Mums sherry and flirted with your Mum.

He was, essentially, an arsehole but there was something which drew us together for a brief time in 1984: Religious Education class.

Mrs Coulter with the large mole, realised at an early stage that the chance of educating a 30-strong class of council estate kids was next to nil. She found the easiest way to minimize disruption in class was to allow us to bring in our own books. I often chose my ‘How to get better at Arcade games’ book and Grant always took along one of his Star Trek photo-novellas.

"I like to take this one in to read in Mrs Coulter's - that Stephen is my
representative on Earth."

Davo was a floater, a hobo if you will. Possibly his stutter and facial appearance gave him a confidence depletion such that he never made friends or indeed ever tried. This had the counter effect of making him sarcastic, annoying and a Diet Coke Bully i.e. if challenged he backed off. He was as obnoxious as he was un-likeable.

‘Trouble with the Trimbles’ caught his attention one day and before I knew it he had integrated himself into Grant and my company. As the weeks wore on, he would make a bee line for us and despite Grant’s and my efforts to tell him to ‘fuck off’ he never took the hint. One RE class I mentioned in conversation that I had a Commodore 64 and that I had this fantastic Fruit Machine game for it called ‘Sooper Froot’. “Really”, he remarked “I would'nt mind a shot of that.” Not sure why, I arranged for him to pop down to mine to see it in action – that night his gangly, red and black striped, fluffy frame appeared at my front door. Coffee made we settled down to some ‘Sooper Froot’.

He insisted on smoking, something I hated but was always too polite to say so. The night wore on and we both became transfixed by the spinning reels. Hold, Nudge and start were the only buttons available and somehow the compulsion to win the virtual jackpot got stronger and stronger. One a.m. and Mum shouted that ‘my friend’ should go home now. Reluctantly, he left and shuffled off into the night, his frame cutting a rather pathetic and sad sight.

"Saved us all from actual Heroin did this stuff."

By day, Davo was this tosser no one wanted to befriend and any mention of my friendship was stringently denied. However, as the meet ups became more frequent a bond formed, the bond being the discovery of and obsession with video games. Gradually we moved over into International Soccer – the games became heated and the competitiveness and rivalry bordered on hatred but this drove us both on to reach the pinnacle of pixel soccer prowess. Invitations to play were no longer required, he would just turn up. Many an occasion, Gavin or Grant were there and the door was answered by my Mum with ‘Oh I don’t know where he is son’, our backs pinned to the wall in case he looked in the window and spotted us. He knew we were there, and we knew he knew we were there but nothing was said. We weren’t friends indeed – we didn’t really even like each other but this common addiction kept us together like a dealer and his client.

As school wore on, and RE and English becoming increasingly boring, Davo would taunt me with invitations to go to mine and play IS and drink coffee, with me usually succumbing to temptation. He was a bad tempered loser, something he got used to as I mastered the ‘run in one direction and quickly turn the other way while pressing fire button to run with the ball on your head’ routine.

Heavy defeats became common place and he wasn’t happy. After a particular successful piracy night, a new game emerged: ‘Hustler’ by Bubble Bus Software. The ‘Pot Black’ music grabbed you by the bollocks and the sheer delight of playing pool on the telly was firkin exquisite. Graphically, this was as simple as they came, 6 jagged ‘circles’ plus the white were the balls, with ball physics resembling a conker on a piece of elastic but this was cutting edge back then. This game quickly became our heroin – skipping school and sitting up until four a.m. became commonplace.

Mmmm, Commodore brown.

Best of 20, wasn’t enough anymore, so one night we embarked on a first to 100 frames. Despite his strong Hustler ability, he felt the need to ‘murmur ‘miss, miss’ while I played. He quickly established a commanding lead. As the time wore on the score was his high 70s to my 40-something. At two a.m. things changed – I locked into the zone and the fuckers started to drop, frame after frame was pulled back. As my prowess increased his confidence and ability fell. The 30 frame deficit was soon overturned and before he knew it, he was staring defeat in the face. As I increased my score to 90 odd, something strange happened – despite my loathing and dislike for this person, I felt an over whelming sadness for him. My apparent mastering of the game dwindled and I started missing a few. The score grew closer then I sensed a renewed arrogance in Davo. The sympathy however strong would not stretch to me allowing him victory. My touch was regained and I won an emphatic victory 100 to 97 or something. He was gutted and left.

Our ‘friendship’ grew thinner after the time I caught him stealing two of my computer games to sell for cash. He remained on the outskirts of my life for a few years afterwards but every request by him to come visit was always knocked back by me.

I have no idea of his whereabouts now – he may be dead for all I know. Last I heard he was a fruit machine engineer. Davo however, left an imprint – he nurtured and shared my passion for gaming, something that has never left even after 20 years. He showed me ACDC and early Chris De Burgh but most of all showed me that the unlikeliest of people can make a difference. We respected one another’s gaming prowess and, despite probably never liking each other, we shared something good for a while: an unhealthy, and unquestionable, powerful lust for gaming.

For that Davo, or Robert, I thank you

MAMEMEISTER, July 2004.

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