a color story: the arcade at Austin

There was an arcade for adults at Austin. It roomed 150+ retro games at a $10 admission. But, I was on red alert because my gaming tendencies could rub off the wrong way. This was a public facility after all.

The arcade was a world within itself.

Standing in a plaza of its own, the arcade stood as a symbol for the return of analog in the gaming industry. I recalled a scene from Paul Thomas Anderson’s most recent film, Licorice Pizza where the main protagonist opened up an arcade after a reversal of a city by-law. The opening night for the arcade was a huge hit for the neighborhood. This Hollywood depiction of the arcade -before it went retro through the decades — mixed in with Travolta’s classic musical Grease in the outdoor movie theatre where the parking lots were designed around one low-rise attraction. The arcade was a sole destination and not a convenient drop-by.

Like entering a nightclub, our group was ID’d and tagged with colored paper bracelets. My cash was no good and my admission was happily sponsored. There was a fine balance with this token of appreciation without kissing ass and my ego getting in a way of taking the small ‘sponsorship’ for granted. A nod and a sigh of relief were an accumulation of going through these experiences as a light wallet traveler. Without the guilt or the conscious, we entered through the wide doors.

The air conditioning was impressive for such a building. High ceilings, large square footage, and plenty of electricity. From a blue-collar perspective, how did they pull this off? What rig were they using? I couldn’t imagine how much electricity this place was using. Could the low dim setting be an interior designer's choice or just a necessity, especially with all the old machines? Regardless, they did a great job covering all the wires and plugs- I hardly noticed them. This observation was a different form of escape. I had to warm myself up before committing to the art of gaming.

For those who played all night to satisfy a certain psychological itch, the gamer’s sweat was a nasty symptom or byproduct of obsession. One couldn’t just let go of a level or not complete the game within a night. Pure dominance over a game became the only thing that mattered. And emotional maturity would bottom at a new low. Although my devotion to the way of stoicism brought new light to my day to day, the pure animal instincts or emotions through gaming were quite thrilling — at least in this public space, it had to be manageable. But heck, we ordered refillable fountain drinks at the low price of $4. The sugar elixir was the blood of the gaming warrior. There wasn’t any Mountain Dew in the selections but sugar was sugar.

It was time to ignite an old fire.

With our odd group of 3, there wasn’t much of a selection to get the party going. To our discovery, the Ghostbusters game had a three-player setup where you could zap the ghosts and shoot the monsters. The game became a little — how do you say it without the word boring — time-sucking once you knew how the game ate up the coins. Ash made the observation with the inevitable bridge cross point eating up your lives with the spikes. Even if you timed it perfectly, the game would kind of glitch inconveniently. The first time, I’d let it go. The second was a coincidence. The third time was annoying. Once the trick became clear, it was time to move on. Cool. Calm. and Collected. There were other games to try out anyway.

Next, there was a batman vehicle driving game but it only allowed two players. I decided to move on my own. Spectating wasn’t attractive. It almost reminded me of third-wheeling- a past that I have experienced much too often. That was a different flame. But, I was the good old camper watching an outdoor fire while I added kindle with my eyes tearing with discomfort.

With all the options, one couldn’t help themselves finding a game to settle with. Window shopping took another form. Just by looking at each screen, I imagined how my gameplay would take off. It was possible to play the horizontal moving 2-D shooters game. Don’t know if there was terminology for those types of games but those look like classics. But, the gameplay only hit skin deep as I spent a couple of minutes on them. My first memories of my grandfather playing obsessively with the game became apparent.

With his eyes glued and his thumbs moving obsessively, he made the shooting game look fun. Personally, I wanted to play with him but his main focus was shooting the aliens in space. Just showing this vulnerability was his way of connecting. I watched him play for hours and even had a chance to play. It was short-lived because he saw the game like it was smoking. Or he couldn’t be bothered with teaching because he didn’t figure out the game yet. I believe I was only 6 when I witnessed the true joys of gaming.

But that was my memory of him playing. I didn’t want to spectate, I wanted to play.

I teased with various forms of the shooter-up game even in the Donkey Kong variation. But once you figured out the game, you kind of get a glimpse of the limitations. Or maybe I just couldn’t admit that I sucked at the game. Regardless, different game but the same story.

There was a Rick and Morty episode where they played at a futuristic arcade with a VR simulation. One could live a whole different life and Rick took advantage of the game where he went off the grid. Other alien gamers spectated the brilliance of how Rick took advantage of the VR simulation. With a philosophical question in mind, what would you do if you knew your life was just a game? But, now I faced a situation where a game could be your life? Could I fully submit to the realms of the game? I had certain indicators that I was looking for e.g. gamers' sweat, trash-talking and such.

Next, Sonic the Hedgehog. I couldn’t believe this Sega classic still existed. Maybe it was the reappearance of the brand via Jim Carrey’s return to Hollywood and live adaptation. But, my nostalgia for playing the game with my uncle drew me in. When I was 8 or 9, we played this game on the SONY console. It was new, exciting, almost Pokemon-level energy. The point of the game wasn’t to destroy all your enemies or defeat another player; it mimicked Super Mario where you just have to cross a finish line within a certain time limit. The levels were fast, the UX simple, and the game came with the console ( so it was accessible). Hearing the sound of the golden coins — ‘bwing’, ‘bwing’, ‘bwing’ — and the visual motion of going through a loop-de-loop while spinning as a ball was satisfactory. But, the experience always drew me in the memory of playing the game along the backside of the bed frame with an awkwardly positioned plasma TV. Fortunately, I was pulled out of that delicate memory. We had other fires to burn.

Cool, Calm and Collected.

We eventually found a group driving game but there was a line behind us. Rolling the ball off the ramp into various cylinders, was common in every fair and arcade. But our backs started to ache from all the crouching and limitless ball throws. Until we settled down with…

Samurai Shodown.

A Tekken-like fighting game that Ash mentioned at Terry’s BBQ while we reminisce about our gaming past. We made the game work by implementing ‘king of the hill’- the winner stayed on. Ash hasn’t played in ten years but I couldn’t believe it once we dueled. He didn’t seem rusty at all. How long has he played this game for his muscle memories to stay intact? His game theory was, also, impressive. I wondered what wisdom took place in his mind after the hours he tolled while wondering how it could match with ours.

At the very start, I lost badly. Humility was a dear friend and all that pep talk and warning of my inevitable trash-talking had no meaning. On the bright side, there was room for me to improve. I discovered that the ultimate style point was when you defeat your opponent without losing a health point- this was known as the perfect score. I would stare up at the gaming gods when I was the victim of such style and dominance. One could only laugh and maybe see a horizon.

It could only go up from here.

Instead of hitting all the various buttons, I took the time to get familiar with one button. Sometimes I just hit one button so I would get a feel of it or some may say a journey to mastery. Bruce Lee quoted, “I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.” The more I hit B, the more I understood where it applied best in a certain situation. Then, I slowly built up my repertoire with the other buttons.

It could only go up from here.

Then, instead of randomly choosing a character, I would just settle with one. The umbrella guy with the bamboo hat seemed to be a good fit. To my surprise, his melee attacks were quite fast and suited my spastic hits on the buttons. For some reason, maybe the ‘gaming gods’ were listening, I won my first match and it took everybody by surprise. I went full berserk and screamed at the screen for the sake of sportsmanship. Everything I bottled it was expressed in that roar of emotions. Samurai Shodown took my soul. It hit a deep chord. What did I just get myself involved with? And did I just yell at a screen in a public space?

In the next game, my brother quickly went into another gear and ended my reign. Humbled and determined, I went back to the drawing board and took Ash’s advice seriously with the combined power hits. I figured when you start off with the down button and pressing B with a spastic combination of hitting and redirecting the knob, I increased my chances of using a combo. The brilliance to this was that no one knew when I was going to use the combo — not even me. It was quite unpredictable. I felt my inner Berserk or inner Naruto.

I was on the path of controlling this power rather than defeating the enemy. I felt like the win was the by-product of having some-what control of combo hits. Let’s just say that if you countered with a power-hit, one could take away half of their opponent’s health points. Twice, and you found yourself in a quick win.

In this 3-pack environment with 50-plus years of hobby gaming experience, my gaming IQ and tactics probably evolved threefold. I could probably say the same for the other competitors as they were also humbled by each other’s performances. I’d like to think there was a sense of camaraderie, healthy competition, and an eagerness to improve.

Once, I went on a 5 game-win streak. These rare occurrences were due to a high level of game theory. Everyone had their streaks. The ‘king’ figured out the extra edge on the other player and it was the other player’s lack of change that caused these streaks. At this level, Samurai Shodown wasn’t about basic gameplay, it was all about the other player. How do I react or initiate against the other? How do I hook them or get them to make a mistake? Eventually, it led to one question- How do I stay king?

Ash, with his wisdom, called it a night. He probably noticed the diminishing returns and wanted to leave the arcade on a high note. I was too lost in the sauce to make that observation. Or it was probably the adrenaline that took over. It was time to leave the party.

While we were waiting for the Uber outside, we went back in for the air conditioning. We sat down on a bench that also acted as a window ledge. Staring off or cooling down, I felt like we were on the outdoor water train in “Spirited Away”- the main protagonists rode the train with her company spending their silent retreat after the climax of the movie plot. Although our gaming arcade fun wasn’t as eventful and imaginative as the director, Hayao Miyazaki, I felt my spirit transcending back to a Zen-like state while sitting on the bench with air conditioning.

I teased Ash about whether he wanted to go out and enjoy the festivities of 6th street on a Saturday night. But, dissolving into one world seemed to be enough for his taste.

The arcade was a world within itself.