Gaming in Third Person

On Gaming, Observation, and Battle Equipped Pigs

Day Five (plus Two). Yes, yes, I know, I'm a couple of days late. The fates endeavoured to make the past couple of days untenable in a writing sense. But I'm back, and in exchange, I'll be adding an extra couple of days to the end of my run. I'm hoping that this doesn't result in an eternal spiral of added days but we shall see. For now, enjoy another day's musings.

For the past few days, I’ve had the pleasure of diving in at the deep end (somewhat literally) with a game called Subnautica. A survival game in the most traditional of senses it throws players onto a vast water-coated planet, filled with alien sea life, both friendly and otherwise, as well as a whole host of other challenges. There is no tutorial, no rulebook, merely an ocean, a floating lifepod, and an array of needs that have to be fulfilled. It is refreshing in its simplicity and it has reminded me just how much I enjoy collaborative gaming.

Ah, I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? You see I’ve not been playing alone; I’ve not really been playing at all. Instead, I have been enjoying being the assistant, watching my partner play her heart out, and offering help from the sidelines. This kind of gaming isn’t for everyone, I know that, but it’s something that I’ve always loved. A way of participating in a friendship or a relationship that just speaks to my nature.

I’m not sure exactly where this feeling comes from. I didn’t have an older sibling to watch as they played through their newest videogame, I was the eldest. Perhaps it comes from spending time at my cousin’s house. He was an avid gamer, and it was the way we kind of communicated. I would sit and chill as he explained to me what was going on, and I would point things out and help in any way I could. We rarely played multiplayer, and that suited me fine, but when we did, I was often bumbling about while he showed me the ropes. I grew to enjoy that viewer point of view, interacting as a helping hand rather than as an active participant. Don’t get me wrong, I love to game myself. I really enjoy a good single-player story, and I’m not too shabby at most game types. But watching, being the observer, it just clicks with me.

I first played several games this way, from Spyro and Crash Bandicoot to series like Call of Duty, Assassins Creed, and even Halo. One of my most visceral memories, however, comes from an old PS1 game called Hogs of War. For those who haven’t had the pleasure of this first-gen masterpiece, Hogs of War is a ridiculous war game. Much like an early 3D Worms, another classic, it centers around the player directing a group of weapon-equipped amorphous animals (Hogs in this case) as they undergo a military campaign. The weapons are ridiculous, the story is hilarious and the whole thing is a farce of pigs in uniform. It was the peak of comedy when I was young and my cousin and I developed a whole series of in-jokes and mad code terms all based around this truly weird game. I can still remember giggling like a child possessed as we blew up an enemy pig with a fart bomb. Juvenile humour at its finest. It was an odd method of communication but it was just how we did things. It was where our interests lined up and where we found the most common ground. It may well be why I love gaming so much. Hell, some of my favourite games today stem from memories of looking up at this old cathode ray tv and watching my cousin wander his way through those worlds. But I digress.

I don’t know how many people out there will share this love of watching. Much like the empty cinema, it’s a habit that kind of confuses most people, and I don’t blame them. But there is a unique joy in this, a way of participation that is at once collaborative and at the same time separate. I will continue to relax into my position as resident pathfinder (googling information) as our journey endures and I look forward to a sense of accomplishment once we finally escape the watery depths. And cous, if you’re reading this, see you Christmas for whatever world we’ll sink into next.

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