Games that Influenced me: Dragon Warrior

I think I was four years old when we got our Nintendo Entertainment System. I should say rather that my brother got his Nintendo Entertainment System, and I simply reaped the benefits. That would make him eleven at the time, and old enough to regularly receive games; this meant I regularly received games. We received two games originally if memory serves; the all star duo of Super Mario Bros/Duck Hunt, and some other game. Mario was a game I could get my noggin around. The little man had to get to the other side of the screen without running into any little monsters. there were only two buttons and a directional pad on the controller, I couldn't screw it up. I have distinct memories of breaking my arm, and holding the duck hunt gun directly touching the TV in order to cheat, and having that not work due to...physics.

That other game though ended up really doing something. My brother apparently discarded the game quickly after he saw it, but ironically my Dad was the one that latched on to it. The story goes that one day when he was too sick to go to work, he fired up the Nintendo to see what all the buzz was about. He tried Mario, but he couldn't keep up; he kept dying on the first level. He wanted to try another game, but the only game we had was Dragon Warrior. For those that don't know, Dragon Warrior is a story of a hero that needs to save the princess, kill the dragon, and save the world. The game might as well have been called Dungeon of the Bad Guy Quest Heroes for how generic it was, but c'est la vie. The gameplay involved you, traversing the world, and occasionally fighting monsters. When you were presented with a battle, you were given a menu, with the options of Fight, Spell, Flee, and Item; pretty self explanatory. As threatening as the monster was in front of you, he was considerate enough to allow you to choose what you wanted to do for an indefinite amount of time before using his own move; it was all very chivalrous. In Mario Bros, the killer Goombas did not wait for you. They walked right into your indecisive behind and punted you right back to the beginning of the level.

My dad was hooked. He could spend as much time as he wanted doing anything he wanted. There was no time limit, no immediate threat, no points. The bad guys were going to kill everyone, but they weren't on a set schedule. You could pound away on the local brigands until you were the greatest fighter in the universe, and they'd still be tapping their feet in their castle, waiting for you to come to them. It was great. When I started playing Dragon Warrior, it was mesmerizing. I could do anything I wanted. I didn't have to follow just this set path or risk dying. Andy could do anything he wanted. You see, in Mario Bros, you play Mario; there's no mistaking who the hero is. In Dragon Warrior, you get to name the hero. My Dad always just picked a name that he liked (I think he used Arnold for a long time for whatever reason,) but my hero was always named Andy. I wanted to be the one who saved the princess, became the strongest, and killed the dragon. Andy was a legend.

Andy could do anything he wanted. If he wanted to spend three hours killing Magidrakees (don't ask) in the mountains without fear of the sun ever going down, he could, and if he wanted to run away from every single battle, he could. I spent more time playing that game than was probably healthy, since with so little direction, I never got anywhere. It took me forever to get through that game, since I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do, where I was supposed to go, or what the heck a princess even was. As you can see by the picture, I couldn't even remember to sleep apparently.

Video games tell stories, yes, but they also draw you in. Just as much as you are controlling a man on screen, you are the man on the screen. That man does nothing without you as the impetus, and you are the one choosing to make the story go forward. Dragon Warrior was amazing as it didn't need grandiose storylines to make it work; as long as the gameplay was fun I could fill in all the details myself. I think my imagination really grew from playing that game; I spent a good chunk of my later childhood writing stories and playing games based off of games like this, since they needed details for the story to work. I hope that I'm taking my life in a similar fashion. I hope I'm doing what it takes to be worthy of being "That guy" rather than just another random talking head on the street. Time will tell I guess.

Renters Keepers

I don't think I got an allowance when I was a kid. Every now and then I'd get the itch for something, and I'd ask my parents for it. They'd most of the time tell me, no son, you can't have that random thing which costs a bunch of money and will end up just sitting in the garage two days after you buy it. Sometimes I would get a little cash for doing chores, but I didn't really have much to spend it on; I could get free food at the Sea Cloud Snack Shack because my Dad umpired up more store credit than he could ever use. I didn't need video games because my brother would get them, or I'd rent them. Let me tell you about my childhood of renting games.

I lived near Foster City Video, which had a fairly decent selection of video games in the Super Nintendo/Sega Genesis era. When Friday rolled around, my friends who lived in the same complex and I would race immediately to the store after school to rent the game du jour. The typical foursome we had was Zach, Kevin, Joe, and myself. Zach, Kevin and I rode our bikes to school, so we were typically at an advantage over the kids who were driven home from school, thanks to being able to take shortcuts and leave immediately after school. The reason we had to race there was that I was convinced there were at least three other groups of kids in the area that also wanted to rent that game every weekend. If we didn't get there first, we ran the risk of losing it for the weekend. Of even greater concern was the fact that, as a rental, those mystery kids could do anything they liked with it for the weekend, including deleting our save (this was back when save games were kept on the game itself.)

Assuming we successfully got the game in time (which we almost always did, pick your favorite reason why) we'd then race even faster to Zach's house to play. Zach's room was made for entertaining; he and his brother had bunk beds which allowed for more room to spread out. He had a couch, bean bags, and the TV in the room itself. We could comfortably fit up to eight kids in there if we wanted to, but it was usually no more than five. We typically rented Role Playing Games when we had a choice. This way we were able to play the game as a unit, and just have one person decide basically by committee which actions to take (though most of the games were very linear.) With Zach at the helm, we'd all form a peanut gallery watching the entire game unfold, and thus play vicariously

When we'd get a game for the first time, we'd have to name the characters. The hero was always introduced first, and that was always Zach, since it was his house. After that, it was first come first serve. If you happened to be in the room at the time, you'd get a character. I have a distinct memory of Chrono Trigger exhibiting the ruthlessness that followed. Zach got the hero, the frog knight was named after Joe, the Robot was named after me, and Kevin...well, Kevin didn't get a character. I think he was on vacation that week, and we ran out of guy characters. He came back the next weekend only to find us having super awesome fun time with no Kevin characters. At that precise moment, though, we did obtain an airship which could be named, and thus the phrase "Board the Kevin?" was born.

We had many such inside jokes. In fact, I think we probably had more inside jokes than any other circle of friends on the planet. My friends and I were able to turn video games into an inherently social experience through rentals. Instead of fighting over it, we formed a sort of video game rental gang; we'd unite against the mystery others outside our immediate housing circle. Even single player role playing games became a party, as the man at the helm might have seven other people in the room telling him what he should do next. Rental stores aren't really a thing much any more; the age of Netflix, Gamefly and Goozex have put down what little market was there. Unfortunately the group that suffers is my generation. We didn't appreciate rental stores, and now we won't be able to fall back onto the rental when our kids start asking every day for a new game. Let's just keep hoping that our kids are satisfied with OnLive.

Talking is Disruptive

When I was a kid, I talked a lot. My mom tells stories about what a great baby I was; I was fat and slept all the time. I never cried, even when I got my first hair cut. That said, it didn't last long. The moment I was able to talk, I didn't stop. Even now its fairly obvious that storytelling is one of my great passions, and I'm more able to practice it in appropriate places (like a blog.) It wasn't so at the age of four. I pretty much only had my family to talk to, and talk I did. The funny thing was that I didn't really have anything to talk about. When you're four years old and you want to tell stories, its a rather rough spot to be in, since you don't actually have stories. I hadn't lived at all to tell stories from experience, so I did a few things.

1) I recounted comics I had read. I pored over my brother's tomes of Calvin and Hobbes comics, since they seemed relatively well received by the whole family, and I could just tell Watterson's stories without the advantage of art. Too many of my conversations would begin with "Did you read the Calvin and Hobbes where..." and obviously my sister hadn't read it, and would get frustrated as it just wasn't funny to hear from a four year old's mouth. I still have this problem I think, but in this day of age I can just google the thing I want to hear and annoy people with visual aid. This unique experience lead me to a few scant successes here and there, when my tale would get a raucous reception, which spurred me to the next step.

2) I developed schticks. Once I had stumbled upon things that made people laugh, I stuck with them. The one that sticks in my mind was my Sean Connery impression. I actually had little idea who Connery was when I was 8, but the Celebrity Jeopardy sketch with Darrell Hammond impersonating him was silly enough, and I really just impersonated the impersonation. Regardless, I was decent enough at it that my whole family enjoyed it. I reveled in it for a while, until I noticed that it suddenly became the only thing that was funny. Whenever I had worn out my welcome telling bad stories, someone would suggest I do Connery, as a way to redeem myself and end on a good note. Unfortunately it got to the point that it was all I did, and I got bitter whenever people asked me for it, since I felt like it was all anyone ever wanted to hear. This lead on.

3) I stopped telling stories. I still talked, but it was mostly to myself. This was the period when I became a lot more introspective and secluded (read: depressed.) I started to wonder why I didn't have any stories to tell, and it was because I wasn't making any. I was stuck inside the high-school Simple Plan/Blink 182/Etc. mindset of "Why doesn't anyone invite me to anything?" The reality was that I was shutting myself down in order to pity myself. It was a terrible cycle of self inflicted, Godless deprecation, but it was the product of a mindset that wanted experience without experiencing it. God pulled me out of it, and it still evolved.

4) I lived. Its a going concern, but I began doing things which begat the telling of stories. I tried new things; I began playing Dungeons and Dragons; I auditioned for a play; I got a job. I was better at some things than others, but fortunately they had all produced stories. They also allowed me to meet people who had their own stories, and I could learn what they did that let them have such great stories. I'll always remember the ride home in Coach T's car with Joe and Jamil where we did nothing but tell stories of our families and laugh for two hours. Since God has taken over my life, I've begun relying more on the unpredictable, and I've started to become a more tale-worthy man. Obviously I'm not ready for the Autobiography (it'll be short, "First I sucked, then God fixed it") but I feel like I'm getting closer.

Go try something new today. Even if you totally stink, at least you'll get a good story out of it.

Motoichi Matsuo

I recently joined a baseball simulation league. Its like fantasy baseball, except absolutely everything is fake. All the players are fake, the league is fake, the teams are fake, the games are fake. We simulate 10 games of the 162 season three times a week, and post stories about how are team was developing. This week was the sim for opening day of the 2028 season, and I noticed that the computer brought in my closer to play shortstop in a long game after I ran out of infielders. Here's a little piece I wrote about the fake experience:

The game on Friday, April 7th, 2028 was filled with buzz. It was the first Friday night game of the year, and the Mexico City fans were eager to see their boys trounce the schmucks from the Far East. Los Diablos Rojos had just suffered a humiliating three game sweep at the hands of the growingly powerful Taipei Tigers, and after a day of rest, were hungry to show their Far East brethren what they could do. The Samurai had just been drubbed three games to none by the defending champion Bogota Toros, including a 6 hit shutout at the hands of Jose Gonzalez. The flight from Bogota felt like it took days, with Joe Mitchell complaining about his back. He'd like everyone to think he was spiked at a play at a base, but the doctor said he hurt a herniated disc. "Great, the new guy can't last one week," they all mumbled. Beleaguered, they sloshed into the visitor's dugout and got ready for their game.

With Mitchell out, the lineup seemed to be without much hassle. Defensive whiz Victor Flores took over at short, and everyone else took their usual spots around the diamond. Miguel Colon took his seat on the bench as the lone utility infielder, but he was never without company, as the Samurai struggled to put runs on the board in the early going. Going into the 7th, the score was 3-1 Mexico City, and the Samurai had struggled to convert what few opportunities they had. The air seemed more damp; it was like the team was already saddling up for a long season, and we were only on game 4. Granho lead off with a long flyball that had promise, but died when it hit the depression layer that had settled over the stadium from Tokyo's hopes.

Without warning though, third baseman Mario Sanchez put an end to that, and roped a single up the middle on the first pitch. Sanchez wasn't known for his baserunning by any means, and almost by instinct, Tony Bickford sprinted out to take his place. The red hot Miguel Martinez, who tore through Spring Training and kept his heat alive through the opening days ballista'd a 2-2 pitch to left center, which left the speedy Bickford with little trouble scoring. Suddenly it was 3-2, and Mexico city starter Andres Ramirez was kicking the dirt a lot more than usual. Jack Hamilton worked a six pitch walk, and suddenly the Samurai were down 1, had men on 1st and 2nd, and one out. This was the closest they could get. Without hesitation, Flores was called back to the dugout, and the career minor leaguer Vincent Rice was sent forward. The Samurai couldn't afford to blow this chance.

Unfortunately, Rice proved his skill. He went down swinging on four pitches, and despite a single to left by Tomas Moreno which couldn't slow molasses-footed Martinez, the Samurai failed to score, asJuan Herrera grounded out to end the inning.

"Uhh, Coach?"

"Get out there Vince, we got baseball goin on!"

"I don't have an infielder's glove."

Suddenly panic lurched up the spine of manager Ralph Tsuyoii. Without thinking, the Samurai were without infielders. Mitchell was in no shape to play, and Rice hadn't played the infield since he was 10.

"Get on the horn, tell him to get in there."

"Sir, you don't mean...?"

"Yeah, he's our only shot."

"But sir, you promised his mother..."

"I KNOW WHAT I PROMISED JENKINS. If this team is going to get anywhere, people are going to have to step up. His father would've wanted it this way."

Slowly the bullpen gate opened. The audio team scrambled to find music for a pitching change, but there wasn't a report of a pitching change. The cameras panned in to figure out what was going on. Apparently Tokyo was bringing in their closer, Motoichi Matsuo down by one in the bottom of the 7th. The club scrambled to play his usual entrance music but he wasn't sprinting as quickly as he usually did. He seemed to be taking long strides, like he was stretching out. Even the infielders seemed to be confused. Then it all became clear.

Motoichi Matsuo was brought in to play Shortstop.

With Colon playing 2nd base for Hamilton, the Samurai needed someone to fill in. Matsuo, a pitcher known for his glovework, was taking grounders at short with relative ease. The Mexico City fans and announcers were ruthless. They seemed to laugh in unison at him, until they saw him play. The Samurai hopeful were cringing at first, but then grew comfortable with the situation. They slowly forgot that their closer was playing shortstop and tiring himself out, and the game dragged on. And on. And on. Suddenly it was the 13th inning and Matsuo was still in. He was awful at the plate, but the guy could pick.

The Samurai ended up losing that game. It was a long drawn out affair, and the Samurai finished 0-7 on the week; Matsuo himself 0/2, though with zero errors and one double play. As he left the park, Matsuo trotted back out to shortstop one last time. He picked up some of the dirt, and put it in his pocket. He looked skyward and smiled. He seemed to utter something as a single tear streamed down his cheek.

"I'm sorry."

Geek-Wakening?

When I was a kid, I think I was always a geek to some degree, but I never really realized it. I played a ton of video games, dabbled in arcane stuff like VHS Boardgames, and often wrote stories about stuff like Knights and Dragons. That said, I was also involved in sports nearly year round, I had plenty of friends, and so the geek stereotype never really connected with me. I do have a distinct memory of when it did dawn on me that, perhaps, I was a little more involved with such things than the average kid.

I was in 7th grade. Final Fantasy VIII had just been released and everyone was playing it. Unless you werethe super-jock, then you were playing this game at least because of how hype it was. Day in and day out for the first two weeks or so all the guys would go home, play for an indeterminate amount of time, then come back and talk about how far they had gone in the game. I was always ahead of the guys I talked to, and took some sense of pride in that. For me, I was the most skilled of the normal kids.

One day though, one of the guys brought up Obviously Nerdy Kid A, lets call him Winston. From what I had heard, Winston went home precisely at three o clock, shut himself into his mother's basement, picked up his Cheeto infested controller, and played until he fell asleep. Winston, it was told that day by my friend, was already on Disc Two. Final Fantasy VIII was such an epic tale that it spanned the entirety of four CD-Roms. It was a masterpiece. Winston, that clod, had already plowed his way past Disc One without a care in the world. I scoffed at him. How could he have so few other activities in his life as to already be that far in the game? What a philistine. I went home puffed up on my self righteousness and sat down and played.

And I reached Disc Two within five minutes.

I had to put down the controller for a moment. Should I be proud of this? Ashamed? Did I care? The answer, as you may have guessed by now, was no. I didn't care. I was a little embarrassed that I had made fun of Winston so much, but I was having too much fun to care. I just kept playing the game. Isn't that the defining characteristic of geekdom? When one actively chooses to forsake some cognizance of political correctness and/or public recognition for the sake of personal satisfaction in an activity, they are a geek. I had certainly done that, and the biggest sign of that was how little I cared. I stopped talking about how far I had progressed at school; mostly because we had reached the point when everyone else had stopped playing out of boredom. Clearly, though, that aspect only invigorated my passion for talking, as I sit here writing about geekiness on my blog. Oh, the irony?

Wrong Reasons

After all the experiences I had the previous year, my Senior year I had learned not to put so much on myself. I dropped most of the difficult honor classes in favor of a less strenuous load which would ensure I would at least graduate on time and get a fresh start in Junior College. Unfortunately for my undeveloped priorities, this simply meant I focused even more of my attention on running; now there were simply fewer things to fail at in other parts of my life. The previous year I had nearly qualified for the State Championship meet, which would have been, needless to say, awesome. In a nutshell, the top 50 or so qualified (5 best teams + 15 best singles) and I ended up about 52nd. Having come so close my Junior year, I figured I was a shoo-in my Senior year provided I trained enough. So I trained.

I did a more strenuous summer program along with the rest of the team so that I wouldn't lose much during the summer months. During the Cross Country season, I distanced myself from my teammates because my goal was to win, and win only. Having failed so much the previous year in so many aspects, I wanted to be the best at something. I was constantly angry; snapping at everything. I remember one practice where I flipped out at another runner for not doing some laps after practice that for some reason I demanded he do (I think I justified it because I was the captain.) If you're reading this for some reason, Josh, I'm sorry, and I was wrong for thinking I had any authority.

Anyways, the week of the meet came, and I was ready. I had trained hard and long and I was ready to qualify. All I had to do was to do what was expected of me at the Sectional meet and I would qualify for the State meet. I was ready to hear my name over the school loudspeaker (which I always imagined everyone was intently listening to) that I was representing our school at the State meet. Everyone in the room would cheer for me, and people in the halls would wish me luck in the meet. I wouldn't win, but for a couple weeks I would be recognized as being awesome. That didn't happen. Two days before the meet I caught a terrible flu that had been going around and ended up in the Emergency Room for a brief stay. While I wasn't in terrible life threatening jeopardy, I was out of commission from long distance running just long enough that I couldn't compete in the Sectional meet. So obviously I didn't qualify, and nobody cared about the Cross Country team.

I was angry at God. I held him responsible for keeping me from my dreams. I thought over the subject endlessly and concluded that there was no logical reason for God to keep me from running in that meet. It doesn't say anywhere in the Bible that running is a sin, and God could've stopped this illness and chose not to. I went angrily into the Track season and ran the whole season angry. I blew a gasket one practice at my coach because I thought she was being unreasonable (again, if you're reading this Coach T, I'm sorry; I was being immature and selfish.) I was fed up with not being the best and my one shot at going to State was gone. I wasn't a good enough miler in Track to make it to State, so I was just running with bitterness and anger.

After the season, I quit running. I needed to figure out how to study, and at the time I hated running. I only did the sport because I was good at it; not because I enjoyed the activity itself. I liked running with friends, and I occasionally liked competition, but running itself...not so much.

It wasn't until years later I realized what was going on back then. God doesn't forbid running, but he does weed out things that keep us from him. When I broke down on my floor that night a year before and begged God to come into my life and fix everything, he did so. What I didn't realize at the time was that God was refining me like silver, and his first priority in that process was taking out the biggest hindrance in my life. God doesn't share his place in our hearts with anything else; if we ask for his love (which we should) we're going to get every part of it. We can not serve two masters.

Running was my idol. I served running because at my core I justified my place through it. I didn't need anything else to prove my worth, because I was a runner. On my own merit, I could achieve, and I didn't need help. God wanted to build me past that, and to do that, he had to remove the idols which I had built up to obscure his light from shining on me. It took me years to realize what God had done and was showing me all this time, and I'm thankful for it.

So that's why I stopped running for so long. My assumptions that you care about my history included, God is still working on the pride which I hold so dearly. He continuously strips me of the barricades I put up so that he can show me how he will defend me from the world. God loves me, protects me, and most importantly, saves me. I just hope that I can live a life some day that radiates his love to the rest of the world.

Running Away

When I was in High School, I was decent at a lot of things. I was reasonably smart, reasonably athletic, reasonably well adjusted, etc. It wasn't until I tried distance running in High School that I thought I was really good at something. After quitting baseball because I sorta hurt my arm, I sorta never started, and sorta hit below the mendoza line, I needed to do a sport or my parents would make me get an after school job. My dad was a good distance runner, so I figured trickle down economics told me I'd benefit from that. It made sense to me, partially because my academics were so off kilter at that point in my life I just blended classes together (in this case Economics and Biology) if I could make the logic into a standing house of cards. Turns out that house of cards got me there, as I was a pretty good miler.

I kept at it with running as it finally felt good to be good at something. I didn't so much enjoy the act of running per se; I enjoyed the purist competition and I liked my teammates and friends, but running itself was a chore most of the time. The first year and a half were great. I loved being good at something, I loved being able to tap into ability more so than others seemed to be able to, and I loved hearing my name announced over the loudspeaker. I'd been playing baseball for 10 years and I never made an All-Star team once. That first medal was a long time coming in my mind. After just missing qualifying for the State meet my Junior year, I realized I might accomplish something that only a handful of athletes ever do; compete in the state finals for a sport. I knew that as a Senior, being bereft of any competition from those older and more seasoned than me, I was a shoo-in for the state meet.

After that though, things took a turn for the worse. At the halfway point in the year, I really collapsed into a brooding depression. Things had been spiraling downwards for a few years now at about this time of year perennially, but Junior year was when the floor caved in from under me. That third lap per se of the academic mile, like the regular mile, was always the toughest. I had always put sports and my social life above my academics, and until now had just barely skated at the edges of respectability. My grades would always drop to the athletic minimum, and I would be grounded, but I was allowed to stay in sports because they kept me out of trouble. Junior year was different though. Two F's in Spanish and Calculus combined with poor grades in other classes left me without a leg to stand on (I hope you like running jokes) and I couldn't run anymore. As I had built so much of my self esteem on running, I didn't know what to do.

My family was supportive, but I hadn't allowed myself to rely on them emotionally. I had built myself up so much as a great man of independence and personal accomplishment (totally unfounded, by the way) that I didn't know how to reach out for help. I just focused intently on how much I sucked; how worthless I was; how I kept telling myself I'd spite the world and prove my awesomeness but never did. I constantly had something to prove to everyone, except nobody actually was waiting for my proof. I kept looking inside myself for that super ability to just surge it out at the end like I did when I ran, but it wasn't there. Life isn't running. I couldn't just be awesome and get there anyway on natural talent; I needed help. I didn't know how to or want to get help, so really, I was pretty much doomed.

Fortunately, that's not how God operates. God came down and showed me how he had been helping me the whole time. He'd lead me through Church my whole life to give me a net for when I collapsed in shame. He lead the school to already have plans in place to lead me out of such academic rigor and ease back into a doable schedule for me. He already told my therapist that perhaps something else was afoot other than regular teen stress and anxiety. The night when I collapsed and prayed to God to fix everything I didn't even know how I had started, he already had plans in play. God swooped in and quieted my heart, separated the daunting from my horizon, and instead put his yoke upon me. Suddenly I found myself with a straight road in front of me instead of a windy, hill laden pass which I had picked out. I learned quickly that, on my own, I pick challenges out that I have no intention on actually completing. God only plans challenges for me that he equips me to deal with.

Everyone's got snow globes in their proverbial houses of life. If real life is a house which requires extensive upkeep, everyone has snow globes that they can shake up all they want with the knowledge that it doesn't matter. Some people shake up a sex snow globe; others a party snow globe; others a gaming snow globe. They have their sub-lives that they can experiment around with and jeopardize because it doesn't matter if they screw up; their real life is what matters. Somehow in high school, real life became my snow globe to my figurative running house. I focused all my efforts on being a great runner, and every now and then shook up my real life just to keep myself entertained. When the snow globe hit the ground, I forgot how much it really mattered, and God had to pull me out of it. I thank God every day that he put running back into its globe, reassembled himself as the house, and gave me a detailed guide on how he'd help me keep it up.

When God comes in and finds you crying on the floor over a snow globe, don't run away. Embrace his love and let him fix everything for you. For me, when the time came, I knew my choice. How could I deny the only thing that had the sole power to fix everything I had ruined, and yearned for me to allow him to do so?