Why Game? 1 - TextFiles.com

desperately sought after collectables known to
gamerkind. Having never actually played any of
his vast assortments, I was certain they were
only displayed to torment the many underpaid
freelancers that saunter through there. I paused
briefly at his three factory sealed copies of
“Shinrei Jusaishi Taroumaru,” propped up and
resting on the box of a Metal Slug AES cart no
less. Collectors who never play their games;
how do they even know if these games actually
work or if the dealer didn’t simply replaced the
innards of that AES cartridge with old teabags?
How he funded such decadent collecting baffled
me.
Mr. Bumblebry himself, resembled a young-
er Elliot Gould with massive moustache and a
loose flowing Burberry shirt that would make
Austin Powers blush, unbuttoned of course, to
reveal a tacky Space Invaders T-Shirt. However,
the final touch was his massive horn-rimmed
glasses that had mirror shades clipped onto
them. Unlike your stereotypical obsessive games
collector, his personality was perhaps more
closely akin to that of the Irish TV personality
Bernard Black, except with a cockney accent.
He would drift across subjects, with a worryingly
spontaneous air that seemed almost propelled
by the ridiculously rare bottles of Metal Gear
Solid wine he had.
I slammed the latest dozen page feature
down on the desk, “Where’s my money for this,
mate?”
He drifted back to reality, and finally
noticed my presence as thick smoke from his
Gitane cigarette wafted upwards, “Hmm? Easy
geezer, freelance payment comes out 6 weeks
later. Besides, you know how it is, limits with the
budget, innit?”
I looked around his wretched office, which
I could barely tolerate at the best of times. The
paint had been stained yellow with nicotine and
the smell of fried grease hung in the air like a
cheap bordello. There were bad memories in
those walls and not just because he rented it
off some bloke who’d used it as a knackers yard
previously.
My retort was swift, “Listen, I spent 24
hours on the cold streets of London without
sleep so I could attend and report on that
bloody 8-bit convention, you said payment
would be given when I handed it in.”
It was true, the convention required long
queuing and I was feeling sweaty and dishev-
eled after the previous two days.
“But mate, surely it was fun being there?”
“Yeah,” I responded jadedly. “A real barrel
of laughs when the SpecChums started a ruckus
with some Commodore owners, it felt like a
1986 playground all over again. I can’t believe
people still buy and read reports on this stuff.”
“It’s all about the nostalgia mate, wash it
down with a little Newky Brown and you feel like
a kid again.”
Ahh yes, I thought to myself, the old nos-
talgia ploy. People love reading about old clas-
sics perhaps even more than they love collecting
them. I lied, “Look, if you don’t pay me now, it’s
going to your big rivals Geeq.”
“Funny you should mention them mate,” he
said placing a large cardboard box on the desk.
“I know you consider yourself a bit of a collector
like, so I procured for your perusal this rather
Soldier of Lost Fortune 13