Gaming in the modern era is an increasingly lonely affair. That might seem like an odd thing to say when you consider that online play has made it easier than ever to find other human beings to play with, but while this global connectivity means you're never at a loose end when it comes to finding someone to beat in a game of FIFA (sorry, EA FC), I think we've lost a massive, massive part of gaming: local play.
I'm 46 this year, which means I was well into my 20s by the time the great online revolution took place. Prior to that, competitive play meant being within punching distance of your opponent, for better or worse. Achieving this involved visiting the local amusement arcade (or cinema, pub, fish & chip shop, leisure centre—delete as appropriate) to face off against someone on Street Fighter II or getting a friend round to your house for a match of Super Tennis, Speedball II or—later in the decade—GoldenEye 007.
Contrast this with my son, who turns 17 this year. He's playing online with his mates almost every day and, judging from the boisterous laughter that fills our house during these moments, is clearly having a great time. However, I can't help but feel that he's missing out on something I treasured as a kid—tactile, local play with a gaming buddy who lived and breathed the same games as you.
Growing up, me and my friend James lived and breathed video games. In an era before the internet existed, we were each other's mechanic for recommending and finding new games to play. Addicted to buying expensive imports from Japan, we would regularly visit the local CeX to pick up the latest PS1, Saturn, N64 and Dreamcast titles before returning home and playing them to death. We'd connect each other with games we'd never heard of before and slowly fall in love with them via a shared competitive experience.
I've lost count of the number of games I have a fondness for based solely on the fact that I experienced them with a close friend. Like many kids of the '90s, we were massive fans of 2D fighting games at the time, and the steady procession of Capcom and SNK ports on Saturn ensured that the competition never waned. Fighting games, in particular, lend themselves especially well to close-quarters local combat, and many a play session ended with one of us nursing our bruised pride—but of course, the following day, that would all be forgotten, and we'd be back at it on Street Fighter Zero II, X-Men vs Street Fighter, Vampire Savior or King of Fighters '97 like nothing had happened.
Other highlights included football titles such as International Superstar Soccer, J-League Perfect Striker, Sega Worldwide Soccer '98 and even Taito's risible Hat-Trick Hero, while the aforementioned GoldenEye 007 occupied months of our lives thanks to its amazing split-screen deathmatch mode. Wrestling games were also a focal point, which is surprising as I've never been all that keen on sports entertainment (James, on the other hand, ended up moving to the US to work for the WWE—which is a roundabout way of saying that you should always follow your dreams). WCW/NWO Revenge utterly consumed us for what felt like forever, with each creating a persona for our custom grapplers.
When we discovered that the game was made by the Japanese developer AKI, a quixotic quest to collect the Japanese versions of the Virtual Pro Wrestling games took place, leading us to stores all over the country. Those road trips felt like a perfectly natural extension of our local multiplayer sessions.
The ability to hurl insults, trade tactics and even throw a light punch when you were really angry is what made these moments so special, but perhaps the most vital aspect was familiarity; because we saw each other on a practically daily basis, we knew that the next contest was rarely far away, and this created a level of expectation that I don't think is properly matched with online play. I also struggle to find the same groove during the (painfully rare) occasions I get a chance to play with people in the same room today; there just doesn't seem to be the same level of connection or dedication to the cause when I know it's a one-off event and might not be repeated again for months, if not years.
Of course, some of this is purely down to the fact that I'm now (allegedly) a grown-ass adult, and I can't spend an entire day learning all of the combos in Samurai Shodown with my mate. I've tried to return to those days by taking an interest in the titles my son plays (Fortnite, Marvel Rivals and so on), but it's not quite the same.
Perhaps it's just me, and you're someone who still has a healthy offline relationship with games that extends to regular competitive sessions with friends and family. Let us know in the comments.