A few days ago I popped on Destructoid to scan the blog selection and was greeted with a not unfamiliar sight: rows and rows of blogs with the same header. This month - "I suck at games". While usually this would not irk me, I could not help but feel unsettled at this. You see, I myself had been planning - indeed, penning - such a blog for a good deal of time. Only one fact could be drawn from the Dtoid staff's choice of topic for the month: my mental space is no longer safe. As such I have completed the blog wearing only a tinfoil cap. Who knows what secrets my clothing holds?

I think while every gamer has different tastes, we can all agree that we have a line of tolerance. For each of us, there's an exact difficulty that we find to be perfection. Below this line a game is too easy. Above it, it becomes frustrating. On the line we find the sweet spot: a point of difficulty that provides a rewarding challenge while not tearing down the moral fibre of our beings. Aside: Fuck you Firefox, I will spell fibre the British-Canadian way.

I have always been a Carebear when it comes to video games. For many years I played mainly JRPGs, a genre notable for the ability to let perseverance overcome skill with regularity. But occasionally I have fallen into a deep, dark mood the likes of which no man should ever delve. I have hit what I can only describe as a breaking point.

I remember the very first time I hit this wall. I was playing a game called Crash Bandicoot. After much practice, the child-me had managed to reach a point well into the regular progression of the game, garnering over 70 lives in the process. Indeed, it seemed nothing could stand in his way - nothing, that is, except the jump.



While I would normally discourage making excuses for oneself, I must make allowances for myself on this occasion. For, the child-me, after losing 70 lives on one jump, did not know how to deal with it. Never before had he been exposed to such a jarring denial of a goal. It was my first experience with abject failure and it taught me that perhaps skill based games were not for me. Suffice to say, I wasted hours in front of the television and screamed and ranted and was, as they say, grounded.

It did not stop there.

This first betrayal of video gaming had taught me to avoid genres that were not suited to my young and imbalanced temper. I played only RPGs and Final Fantasy IX had quickly become a favourite of mine. At a certain point in the game there comes a sequence of three boss fights which one must defeat in quick succession with no opportunity to heal or recover. In addition, the save point directly prior offered no chance to level. There was only forward - through the three bosses.

The child-me attempted to defeat the first. After several tries, he grew irritated. Finally, he won and with great jubilance.... lost to the second boss.

The child-me grew angry.



By the third boss, I not only coined the term rage-quit, but I also ensured that in every future video game, the future-child-me would keep multiple save games.

After this there was a long period of calm. I learned to play games for fun, not for challenge. I continued to play near-exclusively JRPGs. I got into the habit of progressing slowly such that I was over-levelled for every challenge that presented itself.

Around 2005 I started to take a passing interest in the rest of gaming again.

It took four years for the anger to return.

The year is 2009, and future-child-me is indeed now me. I have learned nothing from my previous mistakes, apparently. Two months ago, I spent three hours attempting a single time trial of Motorstorm: Pacific Rift. Each time I came within second of the time I needed, but never could I actually accomplish the goal. I rage quit. It's amazing how much profanity can come out of my mouth as I sit there, convinced that I can do something which I cannot, feeling inadequate because I just cannot accomplish this one simple thing.

Motorstorm was pretty tame compared to my most recent escapade.

Right now, the indie gaming scene is big on pixel art. Synaesthesia is always cool. Pong is timeless. When they come together in Bit.Trip.Beat, they create a game that is compelling on almost every level. Until the last boss, that is.



A simple game of Pong, the last boss of Bit.Trip.Beat made me angrier than I had been in the last six year. Imagine, if you will, perfecting a game. Meeting every challenge a level throws at you, setting high scores, all through practice and hard work.

And then being defeated by Pong.

Again.

And Again.

And Again.

Each time, being forced to repeat the level you've mastered. A level you can complete while barely missing a beat, a level that proves that you are in fact skilled at the game. But in the end, it doesn't matter if you're good at Bit.Trip.Beat.

It matters that you're good at Pong.

It matters that you're good at the father of all video games.

It matters that you're, simply, good at games.

And when you aren't, well...


You just suck.