OMGJeremy

A Look Back At Arcade Gaming: Let’s Jam

As a 12 year old who was just going through those major changes that take place between your 12th and 13th year of living, I found myself in an awkward position.  A lot of my friends spent most of their time chasing after members of the opposite sex. And even those who weren’t were speaking of “conquests” that involved taking part in acts with girls that – looking back – weren’t even physically possible.  I wasn’t the most attractive guy, nor was I able to see my feet when I looked straight down in those days, so I flocked to the one place the ugly, socially impaired, lards-of-men could go and be accepted:

I went to the arcade.

Now I must say I really do miss the arcades of old.  Dimly lit (which was probably why they had such a tolerance for ugly fat kids), smelling of beer even though everyone there was roughly 8-10 years too young to legally enjoy the drink, and being patrolled by at least one old guy who had no idea about games but instead just wanted to make as much money as he could.  He didn’t know who the hell Ryu or Ken was, but he knew for damn sure that that jap and the guy in the red shirt that was “punchin’ them cartoon people” made him some money, and he was happy with this. This in turn made us happy because we had a place to waste our lives. Life was at peace in the arcade.

I was also going through my racial-confusion phase at this time.  All white fellows around my age know that at one point in time  you probably chose jeans 3 or 4 sizes too large, a backwards cap, and a shirt with a rap group you may or may not know as your clothing of choice.  Through years of television and movies I also learned that black people like basketball, so of course I was trying my hardest to get into that so I could “fit in” even more.  So when I went to the arcade one seemingly ordinary day and noticed a large group of black  youths gathered around a machine with a large basketball on it, I figured that this was my chance.  I quickly noticed that these kids weren’t playing any ordinary basketball game.  It was 2 on 2, not 5 on 5.  It had an actual play by play announcer and actual NBA teams and players.  It also had gravity-defying moves and rather unrealistic physics, which it would go on to be the reason several hundred kids suffered broken necks trying to emulate the moves off of their trampolines (luckily I never broke my neck doing so). Yes, this little game just happened to be NBA Jam.

NBA Jam was unlike many other arcade games of the time due to the fact that I have several very distinct memories tied to it.  That NBA Jam arcade machine and the 5 foot circle of carpet around it at the local arcade saw some interesting times indeed. So today, we’re gonna take a trip back in time to relive a few of those days down at that nasty arcade. So get ready to JAM!

Friends No More

The first few days of playing NBA Jam were almost surreal.  In fact, right now as I bring back all of these memories so I can type this up, a lot of the time I spent playing NBA Jam those first days has an almost dream-like glaze over it.  Defeating the increasingly-difficult computer. Defeating a loud-mouthed street kid that smelled faintly of burnt rubber. And who could forget the first four-player game they ever took place in.  It was during one of these four person affairs that my first vivid NBA Jam memory took place.

I teamed with a school-friend when he was able to make it to the arcade when I was also going to be there.  Of course it helped that I was there near constantly.  We formed a rather solid team, usually choosing Seattle since I was still trying to heavily fake my basketball knowledge and Shawn Kemp was the only player I could remember by name.  Actually I am not sure if it is Shawn or Sean… and just to be daring I REFUSE to Google it.

The extreme hangtime only made the losing worse

So we teamed up against two boys of a similar age, both of a different color than us, and both dressed as if they used a stereotype check-list when picking their clothes.  We clearly felt like we were out of place. Like we were encroaching on their natural territory. Two white boys trying to fake just enough street cred so we wouldn’t be made fun of, playing on their turf. It seemed they thought that as well, and were prepared to show us just how wrong we were for even trying to wear basketball jerseys bought from Wal Mart, and playing THEIR game.

What happened next though, was not the expected course of events.

At the arcade that day, we broke out an assault that probably would have went down in the NBA Jam record books. That is if someone lead a sad and pathetic enough life to actually keep one.  The farther our lead increased, the more drastic the change in our opponents interaction with each other:

• 10 point lead – Strategy for a comeback
• 20 point lead – Talk of which spot on the floor was a “hot-spot” for 3 pointers
• 40 point lead – Insults directed towards one another
• Over 50 point lead at half-time – The first threat of actual physical violence

When the final buzzer sounded we were the victors by 70-some odd points.  Things got quiet when the game ended.  It was odd because they had to know from the near beginning they were going to lose, but still at the end they both seemed to be in complete shock.  Denial soon gave way to all hell breaking loose.  Neither were happy with each other at that point, which would make sense after you had just had the worst NBA Jam ass-whoopin in the history of the universe (Or just the history of that arcade) laid down on your ass. One then shoved the other, and both proceeded to yell and insult each other while approximately .00001 of an inch from each others faces.  It was almost as if they were about to kiss, and I almost wished they would have.  It would have just made the situation even more surreal. My friend and I looked at each other, and quickly decided it was best to back away slowly from this whole mess.

You recall that old man I spoke of earlier… the one who just shuffled around the arcade checking the coin slots for any loose quarters he could pocket instead of reporting for income totals?  Well he finally put an end to this fight the best way he knew how: By starting an even bigger one.  He told the two young men they would have to leave, and while I could not recall his exact words, the phrase “Your kind of people” was yelled in some fashion, and we all know that nothing good has ever come from anyone ever saying that line. I can’t tell you what happened after that, as the boys left the arcade shortly after the old man began his hollerin’ fit.  But I do know that later when I passed the arcade before stepping out the exit, the boys were both standing at the counter, with what appeared to be their parents carrying on what I am guessing was not a gentle conversation on a popular subject with that old man.

I like to think they talked some sense into that old racist, and that our game of NBA Jam changed someone that day.

Even if just long enough for them to get a full refund for those boys to make the sting of getting horse-whipped a little less painful.

Player 2 Did Not Have a Penis

NBA Jam marked another first for me.  I went in one day only to see a friend down after what he explained was a horrific NBA Jam loss.  It was nothing new for this guy to get pounded like a 14 year old at a frat party, so I wondered what the deal was.  Turns out he was beaten by a GIRL.  That’s right, this was the first time I saw a girl play an arcade game with the actual intent of doing well, and not just appeasing an annoying boyfriend that forced her to play.  This girl was not giggling and throwing around her hair while trying to look cute and win over boys. No, she was beating some Goddamned ass, and we were in her emasculating crosshairs.

This is when you waited nervously to see if a fist was headed your way

So I swallow my pride, and throw my change in and we begin to play.  She had to be in her early teens like myself, but she possessed the kind of breasts I had only seen in slightly-scrambled satellite television.  I think she recognized her newfound chest was probably her best way to get an easy win (which she probably went on to use that way of thinking in her everyday life) so she wore a shirt that revealed more than a girl her age should reveal to anyone other than her family doctor. I didn’t care though. I just wanted to make this bitch cry, while standing in a way that would hide any erections I may get from catching a glimpse of her chest.

A crowd was gathering.  I was down by a few points and I couldn’t help but think every single person behind me was looking dead at the screen… when in all honesty they were probably just looking at her ass and wouldn’t even notice if I lost.  After catching “on fire” – much like my pants had been the entire time – I hit a few 3-pointers in a row and pulled up to a two point lead at the end of the 3rd quarter.  I popped my change in for the 4th and waited for her to do the same.  A frantic checking of her pockets and an “oh shit” later I realize she’s ran out of change.  She asked a couple of guys around for a quarter, nothing doing.  She looked dejected and kept pushing the button to give herself more time.  She sighed and looked down on the ground as if a quarter from days before would magically be sitting there.

Then it hit me.

A fantasy of sorts you could say.  What WOULD this girl do for another quarter?  What would she do to get into that 4th quarter and gain a victory?  Would she drop to her knees on that nasty, drink-soaked arcade floor and chug a penis for that twenty-five cents?  Would she lay down on that very same floor and do things that other girls actually do for money, but never for such a low sum as twenty-five cents?  How much did her NBA Jam record mean to her? Obviously not that much, since she eventually gave up and walked away.  I then did what any gentleman would do in that situation:

I gloated over my victory and made degrading remarks at her and her entire gender in a man rage that would eventually go down as legend in that arcade.

I was single for a good long while after that incident.

Then It Ended

NBA Jam came out for the SNES (and Genesis if you like playing shitty ports) not too long afterwards, and the experience was ported over so well that I really found no need in going to the arcade.  And even on those occasions when I craved the environment, everybody else was at home playing away.  The NBA Jam machine never went away, in fact when some of the upgrades came out they changed the boards inside but never the outside cabinet.  That machine was there right up to the moment the arcade shut down.

Now I rarely even pass by an arcade, but when I do step in it is always refreshing to see the collection of “old-school” games a lot of arcades stuff into their back corners.  It always brings a smile to my face to see an NBA Jam machine especially.  It brings me back to a time where friendship depended on the point-differential, men fought like men, and women tried to fight like men but got fucking owned. I can’t say it’s not a small fantasyof mine to want to go back and do it all again.

Plus you never know when you can score a quick handjob from a chick for that one last quarter.

Yeah, I guess that fantasy never went away either.