Rollerball

Rollerball is a pinball simulator released for the Nintendo Entertainment System in 1988. It is not a video game adaptation of the 1975 film Rollerball directed by Norman Jewison. Had it been, Rollerball (1988) might have been better off—indeed, the game is a fairly bland virtual rendition of pinball, divorced from the smells and bells of the arcade that made pinball salvageable. Moreover, Rollerball the film would have translated deliciously to the video game format, as it depicts a futuristic sport for which the rules are indeterminate, if even existent. Irregardless, Rollerball manages to incorporate roller-skates, metal balls, and motorbikes, all on an ovular track. While the rules are unclear, the bloodshed is plainly obvious. Ultimately, the toll of the game is death to the opposition. The movie inspired numerous game designers, and several companies attempted to put forward similar futuristic imaginings of sport; among these titles are Speedball, Powerball, Rageball, and Deathrow. And while some of these games are great, no single one succeeded in capturing the sheer brutality and insanity of the movie that inspired them. It's still not too late for a virtual adaptation of Rollerball the movie—even a semi-competent rendering would far surpass a new and improved version of Rollerball, the pinball game for NES.

Team USA Basketball

The story of the Dream Team begins not in 1992 but in 1988. That year, at the Olympic Games in Seoul, South Korea, the United States men's basketball team suffered a disheartening defeat to the Soviet Union in the semi-finals and went on to settle for a bronze medal. It seemed unfair. Players from communist countries like the USSR were grizzled vets who had balled as teammates for years, yet maintained their amateur status due to dubious day-jobs they’d been assigned by their governments. For all intents and purposes, they were de facto professional basketball players. The USA squads, meanwhile, consisted of college players, legitimate amateurs who were thrown together every four years with very little opportunity to gel as a team. Even with that being the case, USA teams had only lost 2 games in all the years since basketball was incepted as an Olympic event in 1936 (the 1972 final marking their other defeat), but that wasn’t good enough for America, which of course demands total domination. Eventually, the FIBA, the basketball equivalent of soccer’s FIFA, came to see how unfair America was being treated, and permitted the United States to field a team of professionals for the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona.

This wasn't exactly fair, either. What resulted from this allowance was the Dream Team, a collection of eleven of the greatest basketball players of all-time...and Christian Laettner. The team featured Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, David Robinson, Larry Bird, Karl Malone, Clyde Drexler, Charles Barkley, and Magic Johnson, among others. To say they dominated would be both an understatement and redundant. They won all their games at the 1992 Olympics by blowouts, the closest decision coming in the gold medal final, in which they squeaked past Croatia by 32 points. It would also be a redundant understatement to say that so mighty an ensemble of luminaries was a marketing force of unlimited potential. To be sure, a worldwide tide of Dream Team tie-ins washed over the consuming classes in the summer of 1992.

Laettner, relegated to the back row (and frowning)

One of these tie-ins was Team USA Basketball for the Sega Genesis. Published by Electronic Arts, the game was patterned after EA's NBA Playoffs series, and is nearly identical to the earlier release Bulls vs Lakers and the NBA Playoffs save for changes vis-à-vis timekeeping and court dimensions to accord with international basketball rules. And though the USA basketball team of 1992 was undoubtedly the best ever, the same cannot be said for its eponymous game. Team USA Basketball is, on the whole, more like Christian Laettner, the Duke Blue Devils' mercurial standout who found his way onto the Dream Team as the singular college player. Laettner, like early EA basketball games, seemed promising at the time, but would age terribly and be largely forgotten. Plugging in Team USA Basketball for present-day play, one embarks upon an extremely slow-paced rendering of international hoops. Team USA Basketball can be called immersive insofar as it is like being immersed in molasses. Nor is it easy to pick up and play. Having selected the Dream Team and proceeding on medium difficulty, your correspondent lost convincingly to Team Canada, which shot 95% from the floor. Keep in mind, this was Canada pre-Steve Nash. When you shell out cash for the Dream Team, you expect total American dominance, or at least some blissful sliver of it. Even the most casual gamer should be able to win by ten or more when playing as the Dream Team, especially against Canada pre-Nash. That’s what the Dream Team was (and what America is) all about—casual domination—and Team USA Basketball fails to deliver it.

As awe-inspiring as the Dream Team may have been, it didn't make for a good on-court product, and neither does its tie-in video game. If you want to play as the Dream Team in style, check out NBA 2K13—it's got the 1992 and 2012 USA Olympic basketball teams, and the former has all the speed, ease, and domination you'd expect of Jordan, Pippen, and Robinson (if not Laettner). 

Blast Lacrosse

In 2001, lacrosse was at its absolute pinnacle—that is to say, it had reached the outer periphery of the mainstream sports world. The National Lacrosse League (NLL) was flourishing, going nine teams strong in major markets like Philadelphia, New York and Toronto, with no fewer than four more expansion teams slated for the 2002 season. The season was also expanded from 12 to 14 games. There was none bigger, though, than the 2001 NLL championship game, which drew the largest crowd in league history, with nearly 20,000 packing into Toronto's Air Canada Centre to see the hometown Rock lose to the Philadelphia Wings. Everything was clear sailing for the NLL in the spring of 2001, and, as is often the case when even the most tenuous commercial potential presents itself to the American marketplace, a video game was in order.

What God sees when He/She watches lacrosse.

This game was the NLL licensed Blast Lacrosse published by Acclaim Sports in 2001, which is actually something of a treasure. Gameplay proceeds from a top-down perspective, sort of like NHL 94, but on a green surface with players running instead of skating. In fact, as per NHL 94, Blast Lacrosse even has its own version of "The Move"—that is, being able to score consistently by proceeding out from the corner parallel to the goal-line and then depositing the pill into the cage. For a sports game, comparisons to NHL 94 usually bode well, and this proves to be the case for Blast Lacrosse. The game is for the most part fun, which is aided by the intractably arcadey approach. Big hits, for instance, send players flying up in the air and often leave them writhing on the floor, even after play has stopped and the rest of their team is lining up for the ensuing faceoff. There are no penalties, and, as per arcade sports fare like NBA Jam or NFL Blitz, consecutive scoring plays cause players to "heat up" and then go "on fire". All told, Blast Lacrosse doesn't take itself too seriously, which is perhaps most obvious when you hear the play-by-play announcer crooning "Goodnight Irene" multiple times in course of the same contest. The voice-work is provided by Scott Ferrall, who, with his croupy, half-wit quipping sounds sort of like he's semi-feral. It's worth repeating that he’s repetitive. Regardless, sound is hardly a problem compared to the graphics. The Blast Lacrosse character models are awful, pixel-faced triangles with lacrosse sticks.

The issues of presentation do not take away, however, from Blast Lacrosse, which, on the whole nicely commemorates the three or four months in 2001 when the NLL was reaching previously uncharted heights of popularity on after-hours ESPN 8. Now the NLL has sunk considerably in profile, if it ever had a profile, and has even resorted to putting teams in exotic locales like Saskatchewan, which your correspondent thinks is located somewhere in Jamaica. Regardless, Blast Lacrosse reminds us of a time when professional “Lax” (as the initiated call it) flirted with relevance. The game might just be the most exciting lacrosse experience available, more memorable than much of what takes place in NLL arenas past and present.

NHL Stanley Cup

If you'll indulge him, your correspondent will begin this review with an autobiographical sketch. The year was 1993. Your late-adolescent correspondent was in Wal-Mart (perhaps it was Wool-co at that point), and in the aisle leading to the electronics section, a promotional booth had been set up. The booth had a large TV screen and a Super Nintendo under the giant cardboard logo with the blown-up title and box-art of a game: NHL Stanley Cup. The store employee running the display booth called me over and suggested I take a turn what she described as the "best hockey video game," or something to that effect.

"But I already have NHL 94," your correspondent remarked, not as a crack-back but rather in that innocent, matter-of-fact way that incorrigibly earnest children have.

"Oh no," said the store-appointed spokes-lady. "NHL Stanley Cup is much better."

Your correspondent was unconvinced but not un-intrigued. The demo clips from NHL Stanley Cup that played on the giant screen drew the eye. The sprites were big, and, more jarringly, the game was played at ice-level in what appeared to be 3D. This was completely unlike NHL 94. But could it possibly be better?

In hopes of answering this question, your correspondent waited by the booth as the god-bless-her-she's-trying spokes-lady attempted to flag down another customer. Eventually, she commandeered an older boy—a taller boy—who was red-faced and trim, who looked like he might even play some hockey himself. Smilingly, he picked up the controller, and we started into a game.

Your correspondent and the older boy played through one period of arduous lumbering and puck-chasing. They each had a few good scoring chances in front of the net, but neither could put the puck home. The goalies were too good. The period ended scoreless.

The spokes-lady took the liberty of declaring the older boy the winner. She based this on the fact that he had had more shots on goal. Your correspondent drifted away the loser, but not exactly feeling like he had lost. He only felt like he wanted to play NHL 94.

In retrospect, your correspondent is not convinced that that compulsion to play NHL 94 was the sour grapes of a child who had been "defeated." It was more likely the nascent discrimination of a discerning gamer in the making. That said, one does not have to be particularly discerning to realize that NHL Stanley Cup is inferior to NHL 94. In retrospect, your correspondent feels a measure of pity for that Wal-Mart (or Wool-co) spokes-lady. She'd been saddled with the ultimate tough sell: pitting the mediocre NHL Stanley Cup against NHL 94, widely agreed to be the greatest sports game of ever released.

If judged by the cover, which formed the backdrop of the display booth in that aisle, NHL Stanley Cup promises exhilaration. In a scene that could have been taken from the 1993 Stanley Cup Finals, the cover drawing depicts a generic blond member of the Los Angeles Kings skating in on the Montreal Canadiens’ goalie. The subtext is that the latter is Patrick Roy, though it's not really Patrick Roy because NHL Stanley Cup did not have an NHLPA license. Sweat is beading on the brow of the Kings' attacker (too blond and handsome to be Gretzky) as he follows through with a snap-shot, which has already been kicked away by the twine-minder.

Unfortunately, this cover drawing is more exciting than anything that ever happens in NHL Stanley Cup itself. The game is based entirely around dump-and-chase, the boring style of hockey that became more commonplace in the NHL post-1993. In that sense, NHL Stanley Cup was ahead of its time, but not in a positive way. Indeed, it's full of the boring 1-0 and 2-1 games that defined pro hockey for the next decade. And as per that scoreless period played between your correspondent and the older, taller, red-faced boy, the game is irredeemably boring. The Mode 7, pseudo-3D graphics catch the eye at first, but they quickly grow tiresome and bewildering. 3D scaling may have worked for NCAA Final Four, on the grounds that changes of possession in basketball are generally tied to scoring plays, but it renders the game of hockey, where possession-changes are fluid and constant, almost unplayable. As such, the camera is constantly flipping around. NHL '94's top-down style is far superior in this regard; indeed, even with all the camera angles available on present-day systems, the rooftop view is simply how video game hockey has to be played.

But NHL Stanley Cup is not entirely forgettable. It bears repeating that the goalies are just too good, both defensively and on offense. Indeed, it is distressingly easy to score a goal as the goalie, and not just with the other team's net empty (as per the real-life Ron Hextall, the goalie who scored two empty-net goals). Rather, when your goalie has the puck, you can skate him out of the crease for an inordinate amount of time and space before drawing a whistle. If you get to the red line and then dump the puck, you can score on the other team with some consistency. It's easier, then, to score as the goalie than with the average attacker. If only your correspondent had known about the goalies’ scoring touch while he was playing against the older boy. Perhaps this is the real thesis of NHL Stanley Cup—that one day the goalies will rise and come unshackled from their creases, taking back the ice from their free-skating oppressors. Perhaps this is the reason why the pseudo-Patrick Roy on the cover of NHL Stanley Cup is making the save rather than giving up the goal. Its status as a radical, pro-goalie manifesto, then, is the one reason (and one reason only) NHL Stanley Cup remains noteworthy.

Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball

In 1992, Nintendo revolutionized a game. This did not happen with respect with video games, but rather involved a move in the sports world: namely, Nintendo's purchase of the Seattle Mariners. With this purchase, the Mariners became the first Major League Baseball team owned by foreign investors. Now the game that purported to be as American as apple-pie and gun violence had Japanese ownership woven into its fabric. So revolutionary was the move that not all major league owners were on board with it. In fact, the final vote among the owners to approve the sale went 25-1, with the Cleveland Indians ownership backing out. Should we surprised, though, that a team named after and marketed around a racial caricature would be xenophobic with respect to welcoming East Asian proprietors into America's pastime?

One person who was definitely not unenthused with the move was Hiroshi Yamauchi, the venerable then-president of Nintendo. In fact, the usually inscrutable Yamauchi was over the moon at the idea of being part-owner of an MLB team. So excited was he at the Makuharu Messe convention in Tokyo in 1992 that, during his keynote address in which he detailed future prospects for the Super NES, he spontaneously announced that he had not only bought the Mariners, but that Nintendo was in the process of making the greatest baseball video game ever made. This was news to the various development ingénues in attendance, including none other than Shigeru Miyamoto. The announcement also confused Tony Harman, Nintendo's director of development and acquisitions, a former college soccer star who had parlayed a baccalaureate of engineering and a master's degree in business into a job as game reviewer for Nintendo Power. Not the least of his difficulties was the fact he didn't speak Japanese. Sitting in the presence of Nintendo's virtuosos, Harman turned to Miyamoto and asked him to dispel some of his confusion by translating. With his limited English, Miyamoto explained that the baseball game Mr. Yamauchi had reference was not only not in development, but that none of the old masters, including Miyamoto himself, had even heard of the game. Over and above that, none of the development doyennes wanted to tell Yamauchi that there was no such game in development, as they would likely be the ones entrusted with rushing the game into production. Harman asked who would be overseeing this game. And then, if the account in Blake J. Harris's Console Wars is to be believed, Miyamoto turned to Harman and said, altogether jokingly, "you." This occasioned laughter from Nintendo’s mavens, but it spurred Harman into action. Harman was going to design the greatest baseball game ever made.

That quest led to the development of Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball, released for the SNES in 1994. The reins were taken up by Software Creations, a developer based in Manchester, England, a curious choice given that baseball is a cultural non-entity in Britain. The baseball game that resulted unmistakably shows its British—or at least non-American—influences. America's pastime as depicted in this game looks and plays like a funhouse simulacra of itself. Many a hitter has a massive upper-torso, all bicep and chest, with a bony lower half, making for an excessively cartoonish look that may have been an attempt to satire steroid fueled baseball of the 1990s (and beyond). More egregiously, pitches can be controlled after they are thrown, making pitching an excursion into magical realism. The pitcher-batter encounter, then, is essentially reduced to a showdown between a muscle-bound monstrosity of human growth hormone and a horsehide-hucking wizard. In this version of baseball, everything is turned up to eleven. Gum-chewing batters blow bubbles insouciantly. Strike out victims break bats over their knees, shouting churlish complaints to the umpire. Every fly-ball springs off the bat, soaring high over the vast green tundra of the outfield, from which every single throw returns to the infield without a bounce. Given its international origins, the game must inevitably be read as a commentary on America. Through the combined efforts of the Japanese inceptors and British developers, what has resulted is a counter-Orientalist—or better yet intra-Occidentalist—parody of baseball. It is definitely a vision of baseball inflected with Anglo-European sensibilities of the absurd. As a result, it makes baseball look absurd. Apparently, for Nintendo's Japanese development brass, the laughs just wouldn't stop.

Bizarre aesthetics aside, Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball is simple enough to pick up and play, and even the baseball neophyte—your average Britisher, perhaps—will be jacking warning-track blasts right from the very outset. The game is not, however, easy, and the computer is a more than formidable opponent who can readily put a crooked number on the scoreboard if your pitches are imprecisely maneuvered after they’ve left your hurler's hand. Be prepared: you will more than occasionally lose by double digits.

Nonetheless, there are ways in which Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball grows on you. All the MLB teams and logs are here, but the players are fictional, as the game does not have an MLBPA license. This is not entirely to the game's discredit, however, as the developers did not go with the usual generic renaming scheme as per other unlicensed sports titles. Rather, the developers provided each team with themed player names. Some of these are baseball related, as is the case for the New York Yankees, who have the sobriquets of famed Bronx Bombers, such as W. (Whitey ) Ford and T. (The) Bambino, as well as names of New York boroughs such as S. (Staten) Island. Other teams have names drawn from the world beyond baseball. The Colorado Rockies are all horror movie mainstays, including G. Romero, B. Lugosi and B. Karloff. Tom Savini takes the place of pitcher Bruce Ruffin; personally, your correspondent prefers a baseball game where practical effects genius Savini is pitching instead

Lux Interior trades his high heels for cleats

of Ruffin. Wouldn't that make for a more interesting major league? At least two teams are filled with the names of punk and rockabilly impresarios, including the Los Angeles Dodgers, which features members of The Dead Kennedys and The Cramps, among others. With the inclusion of an edit mode, the game allows the player to change these names, but why would you? Imagine the thrill of scratching out a hit with Cramps frontman Lux Interior, the man who, with jaw unhinged, performed the most profoundly surreal cover of the already psychotic Hasil Adkins classic "She Said." What other baseball game allows you to do that?

There is one player whose name cannot be changed, and that is, of course, cover-boy Ken Griffey Jr. of the Mariners, the only real baseball player in the game. Curiously enough, Griffey was not a lock to appear in the game, even after Nintendo had purchased the Mariners. Griffey was, in fact, in talks with Sega about appearing in a prospective baseball game for the Genesis right up until the verge of Nintendo's 1994 SNES release. We can only speculate as to what the effects would have been on the ongoing console wars had Griffey signed with Sega. Indeed, Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball would go on to sell well for the SNES, and the family-friendly, child-like "Junior" surely had much to do with that. A middling, cartoonish game of baseball by any other name would probably not have fared so well.

What resulted from Tony Harman's toil was certainly not the greatest baseball game ever made. Nintendo may have revolutionized baseball ownership, but Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball did not do the same for video game depictions of baseball. Nonetheless, the game is worth playing to experience a parallel universe ruled by comic-book physics and baseball players who are HGH-infused avatars of truly cool people: punk rockers, horror heroes and American presidents (see the Kansas City Royals). Now that is what revolutionary truly looks like.

Capcom Classics Collection

Compilation discs may evoke skepticism in the shrewd game-buyer, and with good cause. Such retrospectives are a dime a dozen and, in essence, rehashes, advertising a plurality of games from bygone eras, many of which are sheer rubbish. And with the Capcom Classics Collection (the first of two volumes for the PS2) there is indeed dross—top-down shooters like Vulgus, for instance, that have not aged favorably. But with that being said, the first of the Capcom Classics Collections is still eminently purchasable. In this essay, your correspondent will argue as much on account of Final Fight, Forgotten Worlds, and the plurality Street Fighter II iterations appearing on the disc.

We begin with the Street Fighters. Capcom Classics Collection (vol. 1) contains Street Fighter II: The World Warrior (1991) and its updates Street Fighter II: Champion Edition (1992), and Street Fighter II Turbo: Hyper Fighting (1992). There is, as one would expect with the Street Fighter titles, only a hair's breadth difference between the games, particularly the latter two. And indeed, we’ve seen these versions re-released before. However, on this compilation, the PS2's analog stick is a blessing, ensuring that the games play with high fidelity vis-a-vis their arcade versions, and certainly much better than the SNES and Genesis console versions of the 1990s. This disc's Street Fighter II: The World Warrior, in fact, is a much better translation than the stiff and pixelated port that appears on the SNES Classic, the control of which suffers from the comparably rigid Super Nintendo D-Pad. As a bonus, beating all three Street Fighter II games on Capcom Classics Collection opens up a fourth, of sorts, entitled "Deluxe Versus Mode". This mode allows two human opponents to compete against each other with a sampling of characters from all three installments of Street Fighter II series included on the disc. Essentially, Deluxe Versus Mode allows for matchups of fighting styles and costumes that couldn't otherwise be done on any previous game, which should be enough to warrant a purchase for Street Fighter diehards.

The inclusion of 1989's Final Fight, the famed arcade and multiplatform beat-em-up, renders the Capcom Classics Collection even more buyable. The game is, fundamentally, a side-scrolling Street Fighter, allowing the gamer to choose from a street brawler (Cody), karate guy (Guy) or pro wrestler/civic politician (Haggar) and then embark upon a series of hundreds of mini one-on-one (or one-on-two or one-on-three) showdowns; indeed, the boss battles are more formalized fights in the Capcom style. In fact, the first takes place in a wrestling ring against the unfortunately named Sodom—soon-to-be Street Fighter Alpha Samurai—for a no-holds-barred weapons match. The next takes place in a cage against “Andore”, a none-too-subtle Andre the Giant clone. In short, Final Fight's sensibilities are as much pro-wrestling as they are Street Fighter. You can turn these showdowns into handicap matches by enlisting friends, as Final Fight is of course, in the style of the Double Dragon which it was cloning, best enjoyed as a multiplayer game. Certainly, teaming up with a  friend makes dispatching the waves of antagonists much easier. In terms of difficulty, Capcom was gracious enough to afford the player(s) infinite continues in this version, a luxury one did not have on the arcade and Super NES releases. With this merciful concession, now everyone is able to enjoy the game from start to finish—even the not-so-quick of thumb—and so proceeding through Final Fight becomes akin to watching a movie or playing a vinyl, albeit one with which players can actually interact. And while Final Fight may not have the artistry of even a mediocre movie or album, its conclusion is not altogether non-compelling. After button-mashing your way through six levels of cityscapes and subways infested with hoods, hookers and transgender delinquents, the eponymous finishing battle puts you up against a crime-boss named Belger, who weaves all about the screen in his motorized wheelchair, leggy blond in tow. If there had ever been a Final Fight movie, Belger would have been played by Sid Haig. In that way, among others, beating Final Fight is kind of like playing through a B-movie. And, true to the (mean) spirit of most B-movies, you'll feel a certain satisfaction when you reach the game's climax—kicking the wheelchair-bound villain out of a top-floor window.

The third reason for buying the Capcom Classics Collection is 1988's Forgotten Worlds, a game that, contra the modifier in its title, should not be disremembered. This side-scrolling shooter casts you (or you and a friend) into the role of airborne super-soldier with a punk rock haircut and a massive weapon. The screen scrolls slowly, and you can move anywhere on it, all the while shooting in 360 degrees. This feature was quite revolutionary for the time, and affords the player a sense of freedom not found in the majority of elderly games. Kudos to Capcom for delegating this ability to the right analog stick, making rotational shooting silky smooth. As you proceed through wave after wave of flying lizard men and other idiosyncratic baddies, you can collect "zenny" (Capcom's early in-house currency) to periodically purchase weapon upgrades from a shopkeep named Sylphie (whose name says it all, as the gamin blonde is certainly sylphlike.) What makes Forgotten Worlds so unforgettable is its hard-to-place aesthetic. The titular worlds consigned to oblivion seem to have been drawn with reference to the visual cultures of cyberpunk and orientalism, making for an art style that is a bricolage of sci-fi and fantasy, the latter both apocalyptic and intercultural. With the preponderance of Ancient Egyptian motifs, we might venture to label the visual style as "Scarab punk". The villains include dragons and mechanical arthropods, as well as an Egyptian-themed Galactus clone, and even an icicle man who looks like the original PlayStation mascot (and eventual PlayStation All-Stars Battle Royale boss). The player will also face-off with a giant zombie head—not unlike Bub from Day of the Dead—half-submerged at screen's bottom. In short, the aesthetic is eclectic. And sonically speaking, the soundtrack crawls on tarantula legs, technocratic and febrile, tinny and tinctured with downbeat valor. In sum, Forgotten Worlds is an action-packed, incomparably surreal tour through an uncannily memorable fantasy hellscape.

On account of the Street Fighters, Final Fight, and Forgotten Worlds, Capcom Classics Collection is a solid purchase that won't be regretted. If the aforementioned games aren't enough to convince the reader, consider that the disc also contains Ghouls 'n Ghosts and Super Ghouls'n Ghosts, the inclusion of which would most certainly justify a purchase for those masochist fans who like their games ultra-hard. Also, the WWII shooters 1942 and 1943 are on there, too, if that's your mise-en-scene. In sum, if you've felt any inkling for any Capcom game at any point in time, there's probably something on the Capcom Classics Collection disc warranting a purchase.

NCAA Football 2000

In the seventh chapter of his 2017 book ­­Bit by Bit, novelist Andrew Ervin sketches a compelling analogy between the history of video games and that of visual art. He parallels innovations made by Renaissance painters like da Vinci and Michelangelo with advancements made in video game development in the 32-bit era. While visual culture in the Middle Ages was characterized by a flatness of perspective and lack of dimensionality, Renaissance painters introduced depth of field, creating the impression of three dimensions on the canvass. Ervin submits that "one could say that Sony PlayStation and the Nintendo 64, successors to the SNES, accomplished something similar" (104). The PS1 and N64, then, in adding 3-dimensionality to video-gaming through the rotation of thousands of polygons per second, moved video games away from the flat, two dimensional imaginaries of the 8- and 16-bit eras and, in effect, ushered in something of a “renaissance” in their own right. Superficially, this comparison has a sort of intuitive momentum on account of the direct correspondence upon which it is founded: just like the Renaissance, game-designers of the 32/64-bit era added dimension to the visual representations they were creating. Adding dimension, however, does not a Renaissance make; truth be told, the 32- and 64-bit era was hardly a golden age for video games.

A fitting case in point is NCAA Football 2000. Among the most prominent selling points of the fin-du-millénaire edition of EA's popular college football franchise were its graphics. While its precursor NCAA 99 was the first in the series to feature three-dimensional polygonal graphics, NCAA 2000 updated the player models such that they came in varying sizes, and could be fully displayed in an array of camera angles during gameplay. Accordingly, wide receivers are lean and wiry, while linemen are Bunyanesque hosses. To the sports gamer of 1999, the year in which NCAA 2000 was released, this would have looked quite alluring. To the contemporary eye, however, NCAA 2000's graphics are abominable. Even when assuming the forgiving attitude the old-school gamer typically affords graphics from previous eras, NCAA 2000 is still an eye-sore. Especially problematic are those full-figured linemen, all of whom look like bloated quadrangular blobs. Of course, after the snap, it is nigh impossible to distinguish the bigger blobs from the littler ones, and play proceeds mostly in pixelated clumps. Animations, when discernible, are rigid and attenuated, and the gameplay is much the same, suffering from a damning combination of floaty movement and yet stiff articulation of actions. The game’s motion-captured sequences look passable in screen shots, but in-game they imbue the players with a jittery, cretinous manner of ambulation, a somewhat jarring break from their otherwise wooden movement patterns. In short, NCAA 2000 might have been better appreciated as a painting...in the Middle Ages. At present, NCAA looks and plays no more pleasingly than those vibrating motorized electric football games that were in currency (I hesitate to say "popular") in the 1960s and 70s.

Playing NCAA 2000, then, is to hearken back even further than the end of the 90s, to a time before video games, and potentially even a time before electricity. Seeing the abstract, undifferentiated masses wrought by these developers eager to make forays into polygonal graphics, one has scant convincing evidence for characterizing the PS1/N64 epoch as a "renaissance" of video gaming. Playing NCAA Football 2000, one wonders if the 32- and 64-bit era isn't more accurately described as a Dark Age.

NCAA Football 2000 is not without its bright spots, however, especially when it comes to bells and whistles. The game includes, for instance, a "Create-a-School" mode, which delivers as advertised, allowing you to pick the logo, stadium and even enrollment numbers for a cow college-cum-contender. Also, NCAA 2000 features a thoughtful "Great Games" mode in which the player can jump straight into bowl games of bygone eras, among other classics, such as the 1946 "Game of the Century" between Notre Dame and Army, which ended in a thrilling 0-0 tie.

As bowl season swings around, one might see NCAA 2000 among the cheap PS1 refuse in their local game store and get tempted to purchase it, revisiting the game as they would revisit classic bowl games of the past. Isn't there, after all, an ineffable appeal in a dizzying plurality of over-hyped perfunctory one-off playoff games for arbitrary championships named for foodstuffs and B-grade corporate entities? For even the most acute sufferer of bowl mania, however, NCAA 2000 is not the prescription. Although NCAA 2000 may have serviced a yearning among contemporaneous college-football fans, it is anything but timeless. Quite unlike a good piece of art, NCAA 2000 does not stand the test of time, not only against present-day college football fare, but even compared to college football games released a couple years later (such as NCAA 2002 for PS2). Its concomitant competitor on PS1, NCAA Gamebreaker 2000 by 989 Sports, though not a great game in itself, has actually aged better, largely on account of the fact that the developers weren't so overambitious with their player models. So while NCAA Football 2000's developers and many, many others in the 32-/64-bit era attempted a dimensional innovation not unlike that of Renaissance painters, the comparison falters when we consider outcomes. Da Vinci and other Renaissance artists did the additional dimension well. It wouldn’t be until the PS2/X-Box/GameCube era that three dimensions worked with consistent efficacy in video games. Like so many other games released for PS1 and N64, NCAA 2000 attempts to expand dimensionality, but it does so at the expense of coherence.

Olympic Hockey Nagano 98

Olympic Hockey Nagano ‘98 for the N64 embodies unrepentant exploitation of the highest order, though with that being said, it is not particularly good exploitation. Publisher Midway took the middling N64 puck proffering Wayne Gretzky's 3D Hockey, re-skinned the teams with international vestments, but didn't bother to make any improvements to the game in the process, all in hopes of getting it out in time for the Nagano Olympics.

As such, the flaws of Olympic Hockey Nagano ‘98 are largely those of Gretzky's 3D. Most egregiously, the game defaults to manual player switching—that is to say, without turning this off, you're stuck with the player you choose at the start of the period, which makes passing or even following the puck-carrier up ice far more difficult than it should be. Hockey video games should always allow you to control the puck carrier; this is not a point of debate. As such, expect a lot of off-sides and icings until you finally toggle player switching to “on”. On the sonic side, Olympic Hockey also features the usual Midway announcer, a generic radio type paid to lend his jack-of-all-trades Stentorian voice to hockey. It is not commentary he offers, but rather stale chestnuts like "What goaltending!" and "Robin Hood and his merry men are up to it again", phrases respectively overused for great saves and turnovers in the previous Gretzky games. Graphically, Olympic Hockey retains Gretzky's jejune color palette, bright reds and yellows and greens, all atop bluish ice. Natural ice has a bluish hue, yes, but hockey ice is white, Midway, and it is painted as such. The teams, as you might imagine, are truly slapdash, their uniforms not corresponding to actual IIHF (International Ice Hockey Federation) logos of the time but instead consisting simply of the flag of the nation in question pasted over the attendant colors. The Canadian team even has white pants, an unprecedented uniform choice in men's hockey.

What would Gretzky have to do

To don to Kazakh greenish-blue?

Olympic Hockey Nagano ‘98 is not entirely devoid of merit. It features, for instance, an option for trading players, which may seem odd for a game in which players represent their countries of origin. Here, Midway did come through with an innovation, renaming "trades" as "defections." Now, instead of selecting the players you wish to trade, you select the country you wish to “defect” from, and then the nation to which you wish to "apply for asylum". This makes for some interesting ludo-narrative scenarios. What would Wayne Gretzky, a national icon of near demi-god status in the Great White North, have to do to have to defect from Canada and apply for asylum in some place like Kazakhstan? One would assume it would involve at least a #MeToo-related transgression, or more realistically some kind of pedophilia, perhaps. In this way, Olympic Hockey Nagano ‘98 raises some intriguing hypothetical questions.

Speculations about Wayne Gretzky's sexual proclivities are not enough to save Olympic Hockey Nagano ‘98, however, for the game fails on too many other levels. Midway tried to exploit the 1998 Nagano Olympics, but they wound up failing even in the art of exploitation. The fundamental maxim of exploitation is that you can judge a book (or a movie, or a video game) by its cover. Instead of gracing the cover with a Gretzky or a Hull—hockey standouts from the two countries representing the most viable markets for the game—Midway instead decided to go with a generic Russian goaltender for its box art. Sorry Midway, but that Cyrillic script written on that goalie's jersey—the authentic Russia jersey, I might add—branded your game as a write-off right from the get-go.

Evil Dead: Fistful of Boomstick

Ash Williams, the matchless main character of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead trilogy, never lacked for what the Spanish call duende. The renowned schlock-trouper Bruce Campbell played him brash and loud and yet blunderous, imbuing the character with a charm and magnetism that proves inexhaustible through repeated screenings of the films.

Could this charisma transfer from the cinema to the home console? What would it be like to take control of Campbell’s bumbling, iron-jawed quipster and maneuver him through the over-the-top gore and pandemonium wreaked so wantonly by the Deadites? Would it make for that peak horror experience—that sublime feeling of appalling delight—which the French call frisson? The developer/publisher combo of Heavy Iron Studios and THQ apparently thought so, releasing Evil Dead: Hail to the King for PlayStation and Dreamcast in the year 2000. Set in and around the archetypal cabin from the first two movies, the game took the survival-horror approach, complete with pre-rendered backdrops as per Resident Evil, and it did not impress.

The venerable Bruce Campbell 

THQ, as indefatigable as Ash himself, took another crack at the Evil Dead license, with VIS Entertainment assuming development duties for this second attempt. Evil Dead: A Fistful of Boomstick, released in 2003, shifted from survival horror to hack-and-slash, a genre hypothetically better-suited for the series' carnage and comedic stylings. Things look and sound promising from the outset. We are greeted by Bruce Campbell's familiar bluster, its cadence somehow both smooth and nervy, overtop some sleek graphics to boot, at least in the cut-scenes. The in-game graphics, however, rely on thick, cartoony character models that seem more befitting of, say, Backyard Wrestling: Don’t Try This At Home. The plot is not unforgivable, as it involves the infamous Necronomicon tape from the movies getting played on the airwaves of long-suffering Dearborn, Michigan, subsequently unleashing the dead upon the town. The enemy horde shambles around like zombies, however, giving said dead a vibe that is less Raimi and more Romero. The gamer may never get a good look at the enemy, however, as the camera is atrocious, swinging wildly about. You'll feel empowered, albeit briefly, by the fact you can fire your eponymous boomstick over your shoulder to get the dead slinking up behind you. Ash's chainsaw is also alluring, but once the enemies converge, you've got limited time and limited maneuvering. Maladroit though he may occasionally be, Ash could still wreak unequivocal havoc with the chainsaw in the movies, and we should expect nothing less, since the chainsaw is actually a part of his body. Be that as it may, the game has no sense of chainsaw, or what the Germans call kettensägen. You will die quickly, and you will die often. As such, A Fistful of Boomstick quickly becomes repetitive, restart after restart returning you to the same old waves of enemies, thereby establishing that the slapstick magnetism of Ash-cum-Campbell is indeed exhaustible, at least in terms of gaming.

All told, A Fistful of Boomstick is more than a little appalling, and not in a delightful way. Not even Ash's endless jests (including intermittent 4th wall-breakers) can save it. Nonetheless, those most dedicated to the series will still feel compelled to buy it and put it on their Halloween playlists, as they are, inexorably, what the English call neckbeards.

WCW/NWO Revenge

From 1996 to mid-1998, Ted Turner’s World Championship Wrestling (WCW) was the preeminent sports entertainment company in North America. For this brief period, WCW surpassed even Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation (WWF, now known as WWE), which had to that point been to pro wrestling what Kleenex is to tissue paper. The Atlanta-based WCW proved that its southern-inflected style of wrestling could hold its own on a national and even worldwide stage, and for a two year period, its flagship program Nitro outpaced WWF’s Monday Night Raw in ratings. Curiously enough, WCW’s success was largely predicated on WWF aesthetic elements. For instance, the NWO, a dissenting faction within WCW around which a number of ratings-friendly storylines developed, consisted for the most part of ex-WWF stars. These included Scott Hall (nee Razor Ramon), Kevin Nash (nee Diesel), and, most extraordinarily, an evil version of Hulk Hogan, the man who had, in his benevolent 80s iteration, defined the WWF. All of these personages assumed characters identical or in counterpoint to their WWF iterations, and WCW reaped the profits, as many fans naively thought, at least for a time, that the WWF was legitimately invading WCW.

But despite these liberal appropriations, WCW still had its own unique aesthetic, and it is in part for this reason that WCW video games from 1997 and 1998 also rated better than those of the WWF. WWF released the multiplatform offerings Raw is War (1998) and Attitude (1999) through license-loving publisher Acclaim, with gameplay based on button commands resembling those of versus fighters. Down-forwarding did little to capture the ebb and flow of the grappling and counter-grappling around which pro wrestling is structured, and while Acclaim’s WWF games had good graphics, they played choppily. WCW, by contrast, borrowed its engine from AKI’s Virtual Pro Wrestling 64, one of the premiere wrestling games from Japan. This system, based on weak and strong grapples, captured the balletic fluidity of professional wrestling, and made for a game that was highly playable, even for the wrestling non-enthusiast. The first game to fully utilize this engine stateside, 1997’s WCW vs. NWO World Tour for the N64, played exquisitely, though it suffered from blocky, clip-happy graphics and an overly Japanese feel. Many of the characters were renamed wrestlers from Japanese promotions like FMW.  This was a boon for the hard-core puroresu fan (who could now see FMW legend Hayabusa take on Sting), though it came at the expense of the WCW characters, who also feel like reskins of Japanese guys, with inauthentic looks and move-sets. Chris Benoit, for instance, comes off as a generic jobber. Ric Flair looks less like the Nature Boy we know and love and more like Donald Trump in a Speedo. Scott Hall’s trademark Outsider’s Edge, meanwhile, finishes in a sit-out pin, which wrestling fans will recognize immediately as anathema. WCW/NWO Revenge, its 1998 sequel, rectified these issues, depicting the WCW aesthetic in fine form.

WCW/NWO Revenge embodies everything WCW was at its peak. On account of having deep-pocketed Ted Turner as its owner, WCW didn’t have to spare any expenses on its confines, and so its sets were expansive, colorful and multifarious in a way that the relatively claustrophobic WWF environs were not. Available from the outset in Revenge is the galvanized metal set from Monday Nitro, as well as the sets from WCW’s themed pay-per-views. These include the summery Bash at the Beach set, complete with a wharf-like boardwalk leading to the ring, and the October staple Halloween Havoc, with its eerie green aura and headstones at the top of the entryway. Along with these sets, you also get over-elaborate costumes to match. While late 80s and early 90s WWF set the bar for outlandish gimmick characters, WCW took this even farther all throughout the duration of the 90s. Thus, Revenge contains the pinnacle (or perhaps the nadir) of these experiments—namely Glacier and Mortis, part of an attempt on WCW’s part to facsimile the Mortal Kombat vibe and transfer it to a WCW ring. Glacier, a purported martial arts expert, is basically an unmasked Sub-Zero who looks not unlike Vanilla Ice, and Mortis, meanwhile, is a zombie-styled striker with a skull mask of near-Tom Savini quality. To fit with this fighting game feel, Revenge adds a combo system whereby certain grapple commands initiate an opportunity to chain together strikes, a feature which would appear in the Japanese release Virtual Pro Wrestling 2 but would not carry forward to future American AKI wrestling games.

La Parka vs. Mortis: WCW loved its skeleton men.

Beyond these superficialities, you also get an expansive roster of WCW and NWO talent, which remains the most enduring appeal of this game. This lineup includes both iterations of the NWO, the Hogan-led black-and-white and the Nash-led red-and-black (a.k.a. the Wolfpac). You also get WCW’s truly original success stories, most notably the singular Goldberg, known for his inordinately long unbeaten streak which led him to the WCW World Title and, at the time of the game’s release, was still two months from its end. As could be expected, he’s virtually unbeatable in this game. WCW was also unique in its championing of cruiserweight talent, providing ample TV time to showcase Mexican, Japanese and American light heavyweights. Luchadores like Rey Mysterio, Psychosis, Juventud Guerrera, and the chair-wielding, skeleton-masked La Parka are all on the cartridge, allowing the retro gamer to revisit these fast-paced, acrobatic matches that set apart WCW’s skill-based pro wrestling from WWF’s story-based sports entertainment. Among other WCW-built superstars available in the game are the incomparable Sting (in face-paint styled after Brandon Lee in The Crow) and the lovable yogi-to-be Diamond Dallas Page (along with his valet/yogini Kimberly).

The laundry-list of talent doesn’t end there. If an appearance in an AKI wrestling games is taken as the standard of millennial-era wrestling celebrity, then there are more than a few who make their only such appearance Revenge. These include beloved multi-time WCW champion Booker T and his Harlem Heat tag partner/brother Stevie Ray, grungy former ECW champion Raven and his "Flock" of gothic tagalongs, 80s WWF mainstay motor-mouth Rowdy Roddy Piper, and Canadian legend Bret Hart. You even get classically insipid gimmick characters like the Disco Inferno. For many of these legends (or legendary flops), Revenge represents their most playable video game rendering. Undeniably, WCW had loads of talent, and though its booking staff may have under-utilized many of the above names, Revenge offers gamers the opportunity to match them up in dream bouts WCW’s bookers apparently never could have imagined.

Ultimately, massive mismanagement proved to be the demise of WCW. As WWF grew more compelling with McMahon intensifying his futile assaults on the irrepressible Steve Austin, WCW became more madcap and aimless, and lost much of its talent base to its rival. Eventually, even AKI switched over to the WWF, and soon it was WWF talent benefitting from that fluid, grapple-based engine. EA quickly swooped up the WCW license, only to make the abysmal WCW Mayhem and its nigh unplayable sequel WCW Backstage Assault. Could this have been another factor in WCW’s demise? Truth be told, more than a few gamers were drawn to WWF and WCW through the games, and became wrestling fans on that account. That WWF had the pick-up-and-play AKI grappling system at the core of WWF Wrestlemania 2000 and WWF No Mercy may very well have facilitated a smooth transition into wrestling fandom for some. Either way, by the start of 2001, wrestling fans had sided with the WWF, and had tuned out WCW. In March of 2001, WCW folded, bought out by none other than Vince McMahon.

In its interactive capacity, a video game is, to some extent, a text that is never finished. WCW Revenge, then, stands as a living record of World Championship Wrestling. The game epitomizes a crucial historical moment in a promotion that was soon to die out. In that sense, this game is an artifact of a lost institution, an enduring landmark of a unique professional wrestling micro-culture. Unlike, say, a text from an ancient civilization, we can actually interact with this record—even alter it, in fact, and update it, to some extent, given the costume and name editor—at least in the realm of play. If nothing else, WCW was a lot of possibilities, many of which didn’t go anywhere. Revenge retains these possibilities for posterity, and so is chock-full of what-ifs which you can realize every time you fire up the game. For this reason, your correspondent recommends you pick up a copy of WCW Revenge if you haven’t already. And if you already do own a copy, pick up a second. On one cartridge, update the names and costumes; on the other, keep the names and costumes at their default setting. This way, you can enjoy WCW for everything it was at its pinnacle, and also for everything its many mainstays became.