I went crawling back to her like some kind of dog. She was waiting for me there, bruised and battered and maybe a little bit resentful. We're good together, not good for each other, and neither of us are really OK with that. I love her: "Counter-Strike."
We had not been together in nearly eleven months.
In my years at Ball State, I have slowly outgrown video games. I don't feel the drive to play every new game that comes out these days. An occasional outing of "Worms: Armageddon" or "Marvel vs. Capcom 2" satisfies me now.
I believed that when I deleted "Counter-Strike" from my hard drive last November, the breakup was permanent. I believed I had moved on and grown up.
How foolish was I?
I had my friend, the pusher, re-install "Counter-Strike." As an added bonus, he found me some new video card drivers.
"The first one is free," the pusher said. "The next one is gonna cost ya."
The Purdue Doug's Death Shack server, my online home, shut down last year. My gang at Cheers dispersed. With whom would I play now that they were gone?
"Worry not," the pusher said. "I know where you can find them."
The Crack Shack. The old gang plays on a server called The Crack Shack. How apropos is that?
The old gang recognizes and welcomes me. Bitter disputes about methods of play and weapons of choice are forgotten; they're just glad to have another person to drag down with them, and I am happy to play the part.
I am oh so happy to play the part.
The first time I joined a server after re-installing, a rush of color and aural sensation overcame me. The sounds of the game were as familiar to me as the sound of my own breath.
Despite that, I was rusty. The keyboard commands had changed a little; my memory of map layouts was a little fuzzy.
The second time I joined a server, it was as if nothing had changed. I could navigate cs_italy and de_aztec with my eyes closed. The keyboard, mouse and monitor became extensions of my anatomy. I was broken, yet I felt whole.
I'm not exactly sure why I went back. My baby got a makeover a while back when version 1.6 came out: two new guns and a pretty, little riot shield to manhandle those abusers of the AWP whose vernacular name is not fit for print. Maybe that is why I went back.
Perhaps I am experiencing some kind of premature midlife crisis. I longed for the days of my freshman year, when as many as six hours a day could be logged playing "Counter-Strike" online with my residence-hall buddies. Our friendship was forged in Out of Bounds and sealed with "Counter-Strike." I miss that. Maybe that is why I went back.
Maybe it is self abuse. Maybe I play "Counter-Strike" because it keeps me from doing important work. An hour of "Counter-Strike" is an hour not spent working toward something useful. This is a failure, but failure can feel good.
All I know is that when I throw that flash-bang into the doorway, rush in, decimate three terrorists and defuse the bomb just before it blows, I feel alive. I feel like a god.
"Terrorists Win."
Write to "Mouse" at bbmcshane@bsu.edu
visit www.classicalgeektheatre.com
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