Mini and I took turns at the keyboard. I was glorious in the roll of innocent victim. Lost and confused, just another drunk GI looking for directions to the nearest ‘Ho’ emporium, also known as Hooters, only to be rolled by some gangster with a sawed off shotgun.
Not that I am implying that Gib is a gangster. No, really I’m not. Sure - the man pimps his Tank; proximity sensors, smoke generators, dolby surround sound and custom airbrushed camo paint. I half expected to see him bouncing it up and down on the low rider hydraulics suspension kit (standard on the 1996 M1A1 Impala) but he didn’t and that proves he’s not a gangster - or maybe I was dead and missed the show. The matchup was just wrong – one gang, sorry squad, featured Gib, PFC-Doc, Phantomx and Tony Montana (my memory is a little fuzzy on this). Meanwhile, fighting on the side of righteousness was Tissueman, myself (aka MiniBadger), Gav and other assorted victims all wearing red shirts. I’m not complaining. No really I’m not. But tell me is this fair? Maybe if the real Mini had been manning the keyboard we might have stood a chance – but alas it was my turn. Tissue was doing great until Gav turned on that shiny light on the bottom of his gun. Tissue was immediately hypnotized, enslaved by Gav’s high tech sorcery. Then Gav, (apparently forgetting that I was the leader) takes the hypnotized Tissue and the other victim guy off to capture flags. Selfish to the end. In the meantime, the entire rest of the squad (me) is in a pitched battle against Gib’s pimp out tank (and his little friend). On TS I hear Gib say “the proximity sensor says he’s behind that wall” at which point an entire building falls on me. Now I’m not just merely dead but really most sincerely dead. –sigh- I know you get upgrades as you play but the ability to shoot buildings at people seems to be going too far. I allow my language to take on a note of color (that’s colour in Canada). It costs me two dollars to keep Mini from running to his mom.
On every spawn I find I have to do a slow 360. “Now where the f___ am I? Opps! Hey buddy, you won’t tell mommy about daddy’s little slip will you?” Another two dollar coin being eased across the desk to emphasize the point. My little orientation twirls rarely get past 290 degrees before a sniper finds me. Bang – now that’s going to cost me money.
On the last map we play, GiB and Phantom take to the sky in a helicopter and death rains down. I’m 0-6 when I claim prostate issues and force Mini to take over the keyboard. While it’s true I have a prostate and also true I have issues, the two have yet to medically combine but with each and every death costing me two dollars – and the last death forcing me to pull out a fiver - I know I have to get out of the game.
Matthew takes over, somehow he manages to damage the copter and soon a parachute appears. I don’t see it but he says he does so I don’t argue. I’m watching his screen as he runs in the direction of the (imaginary) chute. I want to yell “not there my son – that’s where death lives” I don’t – not just because it’s an overdramatic oxymoron but I’m eager to get a few bucks back when Gib knifes him. Then Matthew does something I’ve never seen before. By pressing some buttons he unveils an EOD. (WTF is an EOD?? There goes two bucks.) He doesn’t answer my question just hits some keys and starts to drive out toward the flag. “There’s Gib!”
“Where, I don’t see him?” For once I tell the truth. It’s a day for firsts.
“He’s crouching beside that stuff, too bad this thing doesn’t have a knife – that would be epic.”
“What thing doesn’t have a knife?” I say freeing my last two dollars from my pocket, (words are forming - always be prepared for the worst).
Suddenly the screen is full of crouching Gib, hidden dragon – and then just as suddenly it’s full of Gib road kill. I look at Matthew; he is laughing and jumping up and down. TS is full of joyous voices laughing at Matthew’s announcement. Ding dong the Gib is dead! Run over by an EOD. Tears fill my eyes, I find myself handing Matthew the two dollars not to buy his silence but out of gratitude.
The game comes to an end; it’s Gib 7, Mini 1 but we feel like victors. I look at Matthew and say “Wow that was good. Maybe we should call you MiniGib.”
“Nah, I think Doc is a better player, so I should be MiniDoc.”
Again tears fill my eyes – my son – The doctor!
