Trigger warnings: Sexual Harassment, Transphobia & Rape.
That controller probably costs $300+ |
In the golden age of the video arcade
the biggest draw were the fighting games. These were titles
wherein the player would control the actions of one particular
character selected from a stable of fighters, who would be pitted
against another fighter in a timed martial arts bout. The opponents
would deliver and attempt to dodge or parry flurries of punches,
kicks and more exotic techniques until one of the fighters was
knocked unconscious twice in a best-of-three series. The most popular
titles had a huge variety of playable characters, each with their own
dizzying array of special “moves” that took considerable
dexterity with the controls to master. Crowds would form around
consoles where skilled players were going head to head, and if you
were feeling brave you could signal “dibs” on the right to
challenge the victor by placing your quarter on the edge of the
arcade console - surreptitiously, so as not to disturb the match in
progress, though cheering and jeering from the assembled spectators
was common in some arcades. These games combined the thrill of
gladiatorial blood sports with an element of gambling; to challenge a
player you had to feed quarters into the machine, but the winner
could continue playing without paying additional money, monetarily
rewarding skill and punishing ineptitude. Many men - and no small
number of women - from my generation have fond childhood memories of
watching these games being played by the best among us. Those lucky
enough to have lived in cities with financially successful arcades
might have gotten a chance to witness a sponsored fighting game
tournament with cash prizes! Nothing brings the competitive spirit to the fight quite like a little moola. The arcades that hosted these typically sold overpriced pizza, hotdogs and popcorn, if you are wondering what the business model looked like. I didn't think about that when I was 12, I just forked over my allowance and considered it money well spent.
Like most video
games from that era, all of the best fighting games came from Japan. The
Japanese had huge arcades, we were told, with weekly tournaments
paying out thousands of dollars. Everybody lived within walking
distance of an arcade in Japan and everybody played; their skill was
legendary. None of us could have imagined a future where people made a
living playing arcade games and scrappy Americans would compete with
the Japanese legends in tournaments that would not just determine who
was the best player in the mall, but the best in the whole world!
Yet here we are living in
that future... and people have the gall to complain about a lack of
flying cars. Also, we have smartphones so...
The arcades are dying, by the way. Video arcades, I mean. Modern arcades aren't really the same thing. They are full of ticket redemption scams, claw machines and prop based games that have no immersion value. In the few places that people are fighting to save them, they are fighting to save the Fighting Games. Yeah, they have an antique Galaga and Centipede in the corner, and maybe a collection of pinball machines, but it is the Fighting Games they want to preserve. It's a community.
We need to be careful about
looking back on that era with rose tinted glasses, because it was far
from perfect (it only seemed great in comparison to the 80s). Looking
back with the perspective I have now, highlighted by recent events, I
remember a sinister side to what went on in those arcades. Girls were
an uncommon sight in the arcades of yore, and those that were present
were frequently the girlfriend of one of the older boys, crassly
displayed as a trophy, as though he had traded in an absurd number
of ski-ball tickets for her. Some amount of gawking and staring was
inevitable in that environment, I suppose, but outright harassment
was uncommon... unless, one
of the girls had the audacity to place a quarter on the console. This
would always create a stir among the the milling onlookers, and could
scarcely pass without comment. She would be permitted to play, "dibs" was a sacred trust, and those who violated it were banished. I'm not being melodramatic, at a lot of places the management had official policies about it; you could get kicked out for disregarding a token. Even if that particular crowd had been
silently observing previous matches, commentary from the peanut
gallery always accompanied a female competitor. Players who normally
concentrated silently on the game would start talking shit. The ones
that already did that as a matter of course would become coarser.
This, incidentally, is how I first learned the words cunt
and twat, though
divining their exact definitions would have to wait another 5 years
or so for the invention of the internet (thanks, Al). If the girl
lost, she would be told to go back to her boyfriend, or shoe
shopping, or playing with dollies or whatever stereotypically
gendered activity the hecklers imagined was most
funny to mock her with. Making us sandwiches was not yet a thing we said. I guess misogynistic humor wasn't yet that advanced in the 90's, or perhaps men still remembered how to make their own sandwiches back then. They were different times.
I did not see it at the time as an obvious
double standard, but if she won, her male opponent would be the
victim of mocking – losing to a girl?! The shame! Better go buy a dress, pussy, etc... I realize now the
true victim of this mocking was still the girl. Not only did we mock either loser with "girly" things, but her prowess with the
controls was being dismissed; her victory was always attributed to a shameful
lack of skill on her opponent's part. If she lost, all girls sucked. If she won, just one guy sucked, temporarily. Her defeated opponent would feel he had no choice but to pay for a re-match, to prove she "got lucky" (in a genre where there are no random gameplay elements). If she defeated him
into token bankruptcy - often feigned after two or three defeats to
save face, I imagine - she might be punished with the further insult
of facing no additional challengers. Who would risk the shame of
being beaten by a girl? The “real players” would shuffle over to
the second most popular game in the arcade, disgruntled at the
disruption of our play by this interloper and pretending we weren't cowards. She would be left to
battle computer controlled opponents in solitude, or worse, be forced
to play while simultaneously fending off the creepy advances of
(often disturbingly older) suitors whom, I am ashamed to admit, I
usually thought were incredibly suave for having "the balls" to pursue her. The girls
never stayed in the arcade as long as the boys.