Versus Mode

When my personall video game whipping boy Isenberg asked me to moderate a  history of sports video games, my hands got cold. My hands get cold when I play, ice cold. Colder than using Bo Jackson in Tecmo Bowl. It was destiny; I never asked to be a legend. Yet sometimes greatness is thrust upon those who least expect it. Yes, I’m talking about sports video games, so if you’ve never considered the geopolitical implications of Punch-Out, please put down this book and resume being the sucker-ass punk that you are. In this day and age, men use video games to separate out the weak, to show one’s own greatness, and to get the bitches. Ladies, if your boyfriend can’t win with the Houston Rockets in NBA Live 95, dump that fool!!! Trust me, you can really tell a lot about a person from how they play a sports video game. Plutarch once said, “Put a joystick in a man’s hands and his truest essence will shine through.” I can’t say that there was any one secret to my overwhelming dominance; it was more of a philosophical inclination towards the realness. Don’t steal third base with Steve Balboni (or Ken Phelps). Don’t throw a Hail Mary on every play to Rod Woodson. Don’t put Rony Seikaly at point guard. Simply put, man up and play.

DOUBLE DRIBBLE

His name was Terry, and he was my master. He would go to the arcade with 2 quarters, one for Punch-Out, one for Double Dribble. He never lost. He also liked Church’s Chicken. He also used to utterly annihilate me. Double Dribble was our battleground, and he showed me first hand the pain that one day I would inflict on others. He would win by obscene margins, taking advantage of my innocence by using the hotspot (shooting a baseline three as you jumped out of bounds) and stealing the ball every time without informing me that there was a steal button. Morals aside, I got my mulatto ass beat down. No matter if he was NY, CHI, or LA, I was AO (assed-out). Graphically, this game had ill cutaways to in-yo-face dunks that would make Larry Nance proud. I’ve also never seen so many white people dunking in my life… Konami must be on some Aryan shit.

TECMO BOWL

Achilles vs. Hector, Rome vs. Carthage, Bo Jackson vs. LT. This game allowed you to momentarily enter the realm of the Gods. In video game terms, the epic clash between two players with 99 ratings. I didn’t have too many friends willing to get served up at this point of my development, so I played dolo while listening to Stezo’s first album. For some reason I remember using Warren Moon to bust dat ass (the CPU’s ass of course) on many an occasion. Some neophytes say that Madden was a better game, but did it have Dexter Manley at the height of his illiteracy? No.  Plus, can you beat the sensation of running off-tackle with Walter Payton, evading Carl Banks, and wiggling your d-pad to shake off the last defender before you enter the Tecmo emblazoned end zone? Claro que no!

ONE ON ONE DR J VS LARRY BIRD

A racist’s delight, but the genesis of it all....this was EA Sports’ first use of black/white race baiting... ironic since the game’s graphics were in that weird shade of green famous on the Apple 2 ... 20 years before Eminem, it allowed white kids to pretend they had some soul. Plus, given the black community’s hatred of Larry Bird, it also gave to us a chance to take whitey to the proverbial hoop. No self-respecting black man would ever accept having to play as LB. I don’t remember if LB could throw down in the game, but Dr. J definitely had a weak-ass jumper. As if that weren’t enough, when you managed to shatter the backboard, the game paused while a janitor (race unknown, but surely an immigrant of some sort) swept the floor... just like the real thing.

NBA LIVE 95

The modern era of my greatness started with this bad boy. The key was that EA finally got the running game right. When EA changed the axis on the court, they unleashed the monster. The formula: Rodney Rodgers from the baseline for 3, Abdul-Rauf from the top of the key,  LaPhonso Ellis on the break, and Mt. Mutombo on the boards. Understand, my Nuggets from Denver were a running lot; a perfectly oiled, balanced, unselfish unit that I still consider it an honor to have coached. We never ignored the fundamentals, even when other players brought in a rougher style of play that changed the league. Not to be sentimental, but my connection to this team goes deeper than the Golden Joystick that we won in ’95. I chose this squad due to the fact that my college girlfriend was from Denver and they happened to have upset the Sonics that year. A little known fact is that Dikembe Mutombo signed my mortarboard at my graduation, ordaining my triumph, seriously.

PUNCH OUT

Seen through the prism of American imperialism, Punch-Out is a geo-political masterpiece expressed through two buttons and a d-pad. First of all, Little Mac is a metaphor for American foreign policy and history. With the help of his trusty slave/sidekick/cornerman, he proceeds to beat up on the Germans (Von Kaiser), the Russians (Soda Popinski), the French (Glass Joe), Indians (Great Tiger), and whatever country King Hippo is from [ed. note: Hippo Island, S. Pacific]. All the while, Little Mac is an innocent underdog whitey (he had to jump to reach his opponents with his punches!!!) with no desire other than to ascend in the rankings. How convenient....What’s next?   Will the U.S. be referring Bald Bull and Mr. Sandman to the UN Security Council?

BASES LOADED

For those of you with no knowledge of history or history of knowledge, the single wish of every male child in the 1980s was to have the actual names of the real players in their games. We had to settle for made up teams and players with last names taken from the corny ass people at Jaleco or Epyx. But in Bases Loaded, it didn’t matter that Norkus was the last name of the programmer’s drycleaner, the game-play was all that mattered. Firstly, you could play a whole season. Secondly, about 20 players had about 70 homeruns (who doesn’t remember the famous summer of 88, when Bay and Prokop had us all marveling at their sheer power). Thirdly, it allowed you to dive, jump, and make errors (my friend Lee S. lost a lot of games due to his ham-fisted fielding). And fourthly, it had a black side-armer with grey hair (on Washington, I think) that would always send some chin music my direction.

NHL 93

In terms of sheer dominance, this game was my apex. My control of the Vancouver Canucks was the talk of the league. When my checking line took the ice, watch your nuggets!! It got to the point that I started to use scrub teams just to keep the matches with my friends interesting. The game had an unstoppable move in it, but the fact that you could drop the gloves and bash in your opponents grill made up for it. In fact, the speed and concentration needed to play this classic lead to several real-life confrontations over the use of the pause button, in some cases leaving friendships ruined. I take a certain pride in being one of the six black men who know who Geoff Courtnall is.

WINTER SUMMER GAMES

As a latchkey kid, at no time in my life would I consider myself an expert at the Triple Lutz or Alpine skiing, but this game made it close. You see, these games for the old Apple IIe taught my black ass all about biathlon, bobsled, ski jump, and luge. Not that I ever get a chance to bring up speed skating at the local herb spot. They used to let you choose between a lot of countries (I was always the USSR, for obvious reasons) and they had the real anthems. I still remember the deep seeded pride I felt when I got my first perfect score in the Hot Dog competition, or the rush that crept up my spine when I achieved that perfect joystick rhythm needed for cross country skiing. Classically corny.

MICRO LEAGUE BASEBALL

If you know this one, welcome to my world you nerdy motherfucker!!! The count was always 3-2, the plays took up to a fortnight to happen, it only had two sound FXs, and if you couldn’t read at grade level, you were dead. Let’s start from the beginning. There was only one screen in the game, you played by choosing between 1 and 9 on the keyboard (4 was Hit and Run, 7 was intentional bunt) and the ball moved slower than Willie Stargell after a rack of ribs. The lack of actual joystick warfare forced us to confine our shit-talking to phrases like, “Yo money, you press 6 like a bitch!” or “Son, even if you peek at my button selection, you still ain’t shit!” So why was it la bombazo? First of all, it had all the classic teams, the ’27 Yankees, ’55 Dodgers (my squad), ’75 Reds, and about forty others. It had all their stats and kept new stats (which was unheard of in those days). I am sure my mental toughness was enhanced by facing the ’73 Athletics.  Aside from all that, it introduced you to sports history and useful stats like what my leadoff hitter’s OBP against LHP is after the 7th inning on the road. Tell me, how is a kid today going to know who the fuck Chris Chambliss is? Luckily, I had this gem of a game to teach me how to be a true sports nerd.

LAKERS VS CELTICS

When I first saw this one I was in a state of shock. The sheer idea that I could combine my joystick wizardry with the Showtime Lakers was up to this point just a wet dream.  It was my freshman year of college when one fateful night I heard a rumor that another kid in the dorm had Sega. I was promptly confronted by my next obsession. We immediately bought a Sega solely for the privilege to play this legend (a phenomena later re-experienced with Golden Eye for N64).  Not only did they have my beloved pre-HIV Lakers in the game, but nine other squads with complete rosters!!! Suddenly the possibilities were endless, I could temporarily inhabit the body of my favorite whitey Bill Laimbeer, but I could also take a charge with Vlade Divac. The game itself was mega slow; and once you learned the “tip-in”, it got a little repetitive. I believe I used the Pistons to inflict optimal damage on an array of nerdy Midwesterners. Lakers vs. Celtics also cemented my beloved roommate’s second tier gamer status for the next four years.