Why Online Play Will Never Be Local Play (A trip down memory lane)

Sometime in the late 90s it seemed like everybody I knew had a Nintendo 64. Every time I went somewhere there was a room full of kids all huddled around this gray console with its oddly shaped controllers. I did not have a Nintendo 64. Instead, I had a PlayStation. The PlayStation was of course a wonderful system in its own right. It had its own amazing games, and it even shared some popular titles with Nintendo. I of course had fun playing with it, but it seemed like many of the games for the system were really geared toward single player options. A quest you went on alone. This was always fine for a time, the story immersion, and the gameplay would keep you going for a while, but there was something undeniably missing.

When it came to community play the Nintendo 64 was the undisputed champion of the 90s. If you've never played Super Smash Bros in a room full of people all yelling at the television while frantically pressing buttons you've missed out my friend. In those days I was always Pikachu. He was small and agile. He could zip in and out of the fray, and if you were bounced off the stage a quick attack was always a reliable way to get you back on solid ground. This was especially useful when you were playing with three other people. A hit here, a hit there, all while your friends were focused on other targets. That is until they got wise to me, and then it was suddenly a three verses one run for survival.

To be honest, a lot of my gaming nostalgia comes from a system that I never actually owned myself, though I played it extensively. My cousins had a Nintendo 64, and every other weekend more or less I'd be there with them playing it. It became a ritual of sorts for us. The weekdays dragged on and on, and then the weekend would come around, and it was like magic had happened. Being a kid comes with this wonderful ability to let go of everything, and to completely engross yourself in your activities, and so we did. We would be gathered in the living room for as much time as would be allotted to us. Every controller port happily transmitted our frantic button mashing to the system in front of us as we worked diligently to outsmart the others in our game of choice.

Sometimes that meant waiting for the perfect moment to fling an opponent off the screen into the abyss of Super Smash Bros. or maybe it meant clutching tightly to a red shell in Mario Kart; gleefully waiting for the right time to send a frustrated racer to the end of the line. When it came to Mario Party, arguably our favorite party game, the competition was cut throat. Or about as cut throat as children can be. There would be threats. There would be anger. Tempers would flair. Some controllers might even be thrown when somebody landed on Bowser, and their heart sank as he robbed them of all their coins. We also shared our victories. A new character unlocked, a new level beaten, a valuable item gained. This comradery was the foundation that we had built our house of memories upon.

Do you know what made a 90s kid happier than you could imagine? An adult saying "we're going to blockbuster". Future generations will never know the joy of going to this magical land and suddenly having access to tons of games you could browse. Maybe rich kids can still go to the store and get any game they want, but we couldn't. We would be limited to getting games on holidays most of the time if not for the gaming Oasis of Blockbuster.

Of course we could only pick one or two, and we'd try desperately to convince each other what games we should get. Some strange form of childhood politics would take hold as we debated the pros and cons of each game. More often than not the number of people who could play was the deciding factor as nobody ever wanted to wait for their turn. I admit, my memories shed a tiny tear when Blockbuster vanished. Yes, there are Steam sales, and I can buy all the games I want there now, but it's not the same feeling. It's lacking in excitement. It's not something you can hold in your hand. It's weird how something as simple as a trip to the video store could become a favorite memory. I guess everything is just way more special and exciting as a kid. Where does that enthusiasm for small things run off to in adult hood?

The years came and went, and we made attempts in vain to hold on to this small piece of our childhood. As a child you don't really have a schedule. You just have this mass of free time you're allowed to devote to whatever you want. As an adult that time is fleeting, and you must be more careful with it. There's college, there's work, and the ever present pressure of trying to keep everything from falling down around you. This worked for a while, but as we got busier the time evaporated still. Sometimes we'd play on holidays when we had the time, but we all worked more and more. Even the time we could manage to spend together on holidays grew smaller. Our schedules conflicted, and slowly this sliver of happiness vanished completely.

Now a days it seems every game is online. In a matter of seconds it's possible for your console or PC to connect to a server and drop you into a game with anyone in the world. Everyone in the entire world literally has the potential to be your Player 2, and for a time, I tried to rekindle the tiny flame of these memories in online games. A good MMO can be a great team experience, but it is not the same. Is it the lack of energy? Is it the lack of human contact? Or am I just missing the people that formed those original memories? It's hard to say, but I can say that online play, no matter how challenging has not filled this gap.

Fast forward a few years, now I live with my best friend. The games have changed, but the feelings have not. Sometimes he rants and yells. Sometimes I get frustrated and rage quit, but I have back a feeling I've not had for many years. Something that the internet can never provide. We have a chemistry. We're a team. Maybe everything is not exactly how I remember it. How can it be? Technology changes, people change, but none of that matters. In the blink of an eye new becomes old, and then old becomes new again when it strikes just the right nerve. When it evokes just the right feeling. Then you're home again.