Nothing Like Healthy Competition, Provided I Win

A dream of mine became reality last night. It has nothing to do with the power of flight, a city built of chocolate or an offer to write professionally (though if you want to help me work on that dream next, I’m all for it). It was much simpler, yet oh so beautiful.

Several months ago, I exposed my sons to 8-bit gaming at its best when I discovered a website on which they could play old NES games (see: Page Our Kind Might Enjoy). Shortly after seeing how much they enjoyed these games, I contacted my father, located my old NES and saved it from antiquity by removing it from its place in storage, dusting it off and bringing it to my home. It has been welcomed and treated with respect here.

Since then, I have had the opportunity to watch them experience Mario as I first met him. I’ve also had the chance to play Mega Man 3 from start to finish for the first time in about twenty years. For those of you who still may have doubted, this quite obviously proves that I do still, in fact, got it. Thank you very much.

Another retro experience was playing a full season of the greatest video football game ever made, Tecmo Bowl. While this was a lot of fun, I thought a simple sports video game would be the window to getting my sons to play sports games. No dice. They didn’t want to play with me. Now, this might be because they saw how easily I defeated the computer time and time again as my team rolled its way through the regular season and into the Tecmo Bowl itself where I won a whopping 72-0. Hey, I wouldn’t want to play me either.

So, when it came to sports games, I was still flying solo. I expected this with more recent titles, seeing as there are so very many buttons and a remedial understanding of the sport is necessary to play. My sons know you have to avoid getting tackled but have yet to see the problem with running backwards to achieve this yet.

Resigned to my lack of sports game interaction with them, I called my cousin to see if I could snag his old NES games from him. He wasn’t using them (funny how it seems I’m the only one who is) and was more than happy to send them my way.

Knee deep in Stanley Cup fever, I decided to show my sons Blades of Steel. I don’t know if they have been paying attention to the NHL playoffs as well or if it’s because they’ve played floor hockey in gym class, but they took to it immediately. They began playing one another and really having fun with it. After a short time, I was allowed to jump in.

It was really happening. I was playing a video game against one of my sons. It was a day I thought may never arrive, but here it was. I was overjoyed.

Of course, the elation didn't last as the whole dream came crashing down. My seven-year-old spanked me. Six goals in the first period? Really? Apparently he needs a little lesson on sportsmanship and its correlation to not running up the score on your old man.

His technique revolved around slap shots from center ice. While he had no way of knowing where the red aiming arrow would be on my goal, neither did I, so my goalie reaction time was crucial. It’s difficult to block a shot when your goalie just came on screen and the puck is already rocketing towards him.

Sadly, the physical game didn’t play to my strength either. He’s got such damn quick little thumbs. I don’t think I got a single punch in on any fights. And those same quick thumbs kept me from winning any face-offs.

But I suppose I’m just rusty. Nothing a little practice until three in the morning while they're in bed won’t cure. His next lesson will be learning to deal with defeat. Then comes trash-talking 101.