Nobody's sinned more than Toby McCasker, and here he shows you why.
By Toby McCasker on November 21, 2012 at 7:16 pm
When our own esteemed editor Tim Colwill recently took it to ACL bullhorn Dan Flynn on the unending topic of an Australian R18+ rating for garmz via SYN FM, not only did he completely demolish that guy but the whole thing got me thinking about which shooters have inspired in me which deadly sin. Happily, the currently recognised order of these bad human vibes starts with the one that’s arguably the most appropriate to the genre: wrath.
Ah, yes. “I want to kill you, so badly.” Surely a multiplayer game is responsible for this most reactionary of illin’ feelings, and that it is: Call of Duty: Black Ops. I’m not a twitchy shooter kinda guy, but I was hooked on this game. I was hooked on it because it filled me with murderous rage and I just had to show those assholes. Whereas in Battlefield I rarely find myself annoyed post-death (quite the opposite, I usually admire the way in which I was dispatched), CoD: BLOPS kills you for the stupidest reasons ever and then your game crashes right when you’re about to take horrid revenge. Just thinking about it makes my bottom lip disappear under my teeth.
Greed is good. It’s good and also especially prevalent in Borderlands. How I must have everything. I must. I don’t even care what it is, give it to me, I’ll sell it and amass all the coinage. Of all the sins I have committed in shootersville, Greed is the one that has punished me the most in return. One time some hackers dropped into my game, hosed the area down with a bunch of obviously hacked-up super weapons that were each worth billions, and left. I picked ‘em all up and sold ‘em and my game was completely challenge-less and gimped from then on. Atonement is ongoing (I cried).
If ever there was an FPS that encouraged extreme bouts of laziness, it’d be the precious, Battlefield 3. Some of the crew I play with regularly are really good and frequently go on to win this thing utterly without my participation. Naturally I then take the opportunity to behave like a complete jackass, beeping around the warzone in a jeep (or: rad wagon) before settling my sniper into an obscure part of the map and maybe occasionally spotting someone with the MAV I’m attempting to ram people in the balls with. A K/D of 0-0 is common. No one is amused at my Snorlax-like inability to do my goddamn job.
Doom 2 on Nightmare mode, zero question. The apex of crapping difficult. Just staying alive long enough to choke a low-level demon-bitch filled me with the kind of thunderously girthy pride that expands a man’s moobs. Or that could be these mad bags of Dorries I have. Regardless, this was a mountain I just had to climb. Which is to say, I did it all for you, pride. The only way I did it was because of insane slow-down, a fact I still won’t acknowledge internally. It nags. I will never be whole.
Extremely appropriately, SiN stirred in my corduroy something resembling embarrassment had anyone entered the room at that exact moment. I was very much alone at the time and maybe naked, but I don’t think I’m alone now even though I’m still naked when I say: Elexis Sinclaire. Oh what’s that, some of you have to excuse yourself to the nearest bathroom for five minutes? I completely understand. Wait your turn. I’m sweating because I was watching Cops on my iPhone.
While all the cool kids with their ninja PCs back in the day were having the times of their stupid-excellent-hate-you lives playing the original Crysis, I could barely run Word. How I envied them and their fun, those harlots of the Crytek morning, noon, night. I sank into a deep, dark depression; an unwellness of the soul so cold as to be warmed only by the glow of my best friend’s mother’s liquor cabinet. I became a drunkard, then; no more a dignified man than the anonymous filth gushing ever onwards down the pipes of those serviced apartments as inhabited by Crysis players taking rare toilet-breaks in between sheer, unadulterated hi-res merriment.
Speaking of mad bags of Dorries, there is but one game that heretically welded me to thine gaming throne for days with only foul, delicious convenience store produce for nourishment: Duke Nukem 3D. “Obsession” does not begin to describe it. I grew an extra fat roll in a matter of seconds and I did not care, look at me, my bullets make holes in the walls. For me this was the single greatest revelation (!) in gaming at the time. It’s a simple something that I’d always wanted to see and by god (!!) did I stand there for hours at a time, just shooting walls. And eating.