Games seduce strongest of men
Tai Romero
Scene writer
Where, oh where, have all the boys gone?
Oh where, oh where can they be?
With their joysticks in hand,
Never seen on Notre Dame land,
Where, oh where can they be?
Notice: There are several guys missing in action from the Notre Dame campus. The few men recovered have suffered from watery eyes, underexposure to sunlight, deprivation of sleep, and thumb exhaustion.
Surprisingly, these males are not MIAs who have fallen into the hands of torturous enemies. Rather these chaps have succumbed to the warping ways of
video games. The prescribed torture is unending hours of sitting in front of a television playing the same game until in sets total mind numbness.
The illness is contagious. O'Neill resident Bobby Goedert reports that 70 percent of his dorm mates possess a game system. Three out of five rooms in Sorin Hall are equipped similarly. The presence of a game system increases the likelihood of a video game obsession infection.
Epidemics especially break out when the winter arrives. Those people with mild symptoms of the malady quickly escalate to full-blown obsession.
Common rooms, to which each sectionís residents gravitate, become the breeding ground for the infection. Community rooms in Morrissey, Alumni,
Sorin, Knott and Keough dormitories seemingly promote the mania by hosting tournaments to determine the video guru of each respective hall. The winner of each competition receives respect and admiration from his fellow residents and companion victims of infirmity.
Video game obsession is not a new-fangled concept. John Eriksen, yet another victim to the mania and a Keough alum, remembers these manly pursuits of opposition lasting for days on end. "You have to understand that these games suck you in. It's just hard not to play."
Some students at Notre Dame are able to elude the video game craze. Sorin residential assistant Michael Campbell has become immune to the "crazy,
competitive, and emotional" nature of these contests by weathering out the storm and concentrating on more important aspects of student life.
Junior Brian Gray has also observed the pandemonium of rivalry. Gray reported, "There are guys that play, and guys that don't. Some of the people that play, they can get scary."
What factors nourish this obsession is questionable. Spencer Beggs attributes his susceptibility to the illness as being " a hunter-caveman thing." Quake 3, a first person shooting game, satisfies his primary instincts. The only advantage to Beggís game playing must be that he does not have to take home any carcasses to skin. Most guys, though, acknowledge that video games monopolize their time because of the mindless
and distracting nature of the entertainment. Adversely, video game fever helps to cure other illnesses such as acute boredom and stress from finals week.
Other sufferers of the syndrome prefer games like "Blitz 2000", "Goldeneye", "Vigilante", "Tony Hawk's Skateboarding" or "Mario Kart". Basically, any video diversion dealing with things that blow up, vehicles that are speed-lightning fast, or entrails-covered spherical objects promotes video
game madness.
The affliction is peculiar in its preference to affect the male's central nervous system rather than those of the females. Yet, occasionally a femme is infected. Various ladies in Pangborn and Walsh Hall do boast of owning a video game system. Walsh senior Tiara Jefferson revealed that chicas are not "into the shoot 'em up games." Rather, most popular among the women are the "old-school" games like "Mario Brothers", "Mario Kart", "Donkey Kong" and "Tetris" games.
The plague of video game obsession continues to sweep across the Notre Dame campus, claiming thousands of men and women. Until a cure is found, the madness will persist in its attempt to corrupt every able body.
Beware, beware.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of the Observer.
All Scene Stories for Wednesday, August 30, 2000
