For the Dorks: My Personal History of Videogame Obsession

I remember the exact moment that I fell in love with videogames.

It was 7th grade. My mother had finally acquiesced to buy me my own videogame, because I received straight "As" for the first time in several years. Before then, my interest in games was limited to my brother's discretion. Although I played Nintendo, Sega Genesis, and the like at earlier ages, my only taste of those systems was given to me by my older brother, who bought all the equipment himself and therefore chose his own games. The only previous game that I chose myself was Duke Nukem: Total Meltdown. A great game though it was (2D STRIPPER BOOBS!), I was looking for something with more depth.

I would discover the game that defines depth during the fall of 1999.

We entered Target shortly after noon on a Saturday, and I briskly worked my way towards the heretofore inaccessible (because it was locked, and I had no money) videogame section. I oogled the shiny jewel cases of the PS1-era classics. Names as ubiquitous as "Resident Evil" and "Twisted Metal" passed before me, all of which I had played, until my eyes were satiated by the most unique of the cover artworks. It was completely white - no real "artwork" to speak of, except a futuristic-looking red text that toyed with my curiousity and beckoned my interest. On closer observation, I discerned a phrase slightly above the title of the game that only further enticed a purchase: "Tactical Espionage Action." The game?

Metal Gear Solid.

Actually, I had played the game once before via a rental at Blockbuster. Believe it or don't, my first impression of Hideo Kojima's masterpiece was one marked by disappointment. Indeed, the incessant radio calls and tedious "tactical espionage action" were not exactly conducive to a shoot-'em-up game. Still, as soon as I was out of the car, I was manning a FAMAAS and mowing down Genome soldiers. I remained nonplussed for much of the game, but two moments in particular abated my disappointment and spurred a fanatical devotion that would, in retrospect, partly define my life to this very day.



***MGS1 SPOILERS AHEAD***

Before watching the DARPA Chief die, I was playing a game because I had bought it. But after watching an enigmatic character with secrets to hide collapse of a mysterious ailment right in front of Solid Snake, who seemed genuinely anxious for the first time in the game, I was back into it. And then, directly after that, you're treated to a clandestine meeting of baddies, who are discussing a way to discover the nuclear detonation code from a man who just admitted to you that he forfeited the code to those same baddies. So what gives?

The second moment was the moment that, for many people, made the game. "I AM PSYCHO MANTIS," he said, before he defied logic and told ME intimate secrets about my playing style, saving habits, and memory card files. He made my controller shake, turned my screen black for several seconds, rendered controller port 1 useless, and - in a very, very moving and profound way - he made me truly think about the fragile nature of the human condition. I walked away from Mantis knowing, with absolute certainty, that videogames were more fun and much more educational than anyone around me would have thought. But, by then, I was already late for dinner.