It was announced as this week’s number one game, so why not cover the subject? Yes folks, I’m talking about the FIFA series of videogames. Those of you who don’t care about games, gaming and gameritis may as well just bugger the hell off right now. Go on. Piss right off. You won’t care about this. Well, Anna might, but the rest of you who don’t care about games haven’t really witnessed this phenomenon of which I will speak.
For you see, I suffer from intense, uncontrollable and utterly ridiculous bouts of rage brought on by FIFA games. I should come clean: these rage-bouts existed in the world before Pro Evo (though I was FIFA until International Superstar Soccer was released, so it’s ‘after-before’, really). Fury – unmitigated fury because a videogame based on tiny fake men running around a tiny fake pitch haven’t done what I wanted them to do. FIFA, Pro Evo then FIFA again have all done this to me. I shout, I swear, I get sweaty hands as an offshoot of my sheer rage. I act like a complete moron.
But I still love FIFA. The fact that the game can push me to such ridiculous extremes of emotion and yet still drag me back in for more must be testament for something. It simply must be doing something right. For every astonishingly pointless defensive error there’s a shot pinged in from 30 yards. For every foul that just isn’t a foul, there’s a wonderful jinking run from the wily defensive midfielder. And for every time your opponent scores even though they’re shit and really shouldn’t score, there’s a moment where you do the same to your mate and the stars just seem to align.
I hate you FIFA (and previously Pro Evo), I really do. You’re a bastard, you put me in a bad mood and you can ruin whole minutes of my life through your sheer moronic foolishness. But I love you so much, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
How much of what you were told as a child do you still believe? And how much of that you do still believe will invariably turn out to be bollocks, should you bother checking it? Probably more than you would expect. I still find myself reeling off “facts” to people that I was told in jest by my brother, or incorrectly-sold “truths” from some other sod I bothered listening to. It’s not until repeating these morsels of tasty untruth out loud that I realise how dumb they sound.
“Beans are made from silk!” I will proclaim to all within earshot, before my brain kicks in and I remember it’s actually a composite of hope and pure flavour that makes them so delicious. “Testicular cancer is actually a bona-fide hilarity with no compare!” I will cry from the top of the nearest high-rise (which, from where I’m sitting, is probably New York), or: “horses have knees on their teeth!” Basically, there’s a lot of stored up junk in my brain that I’ve never bothered to – or never thought to – clean out.
It’s an interesting concept, as I consider myself fairly intelligent. This just means that at any given time I could have an utterly ridiculous thought swirling around in my head, waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting company I may be keeping. It’s why I’ve had to train myself to shut up most of the time, lest my actual stupidity be revealed to the world at large. Avoiding arguments, discussions, polite discourse – anything that could reveal me as the simpleton I am underneath it all, really.
It’s because of my reasonable expertise in this particular field that I would like to offer a free bit of advice to all of you out there who have heads filled with as much putrid gash as mine is: shut your trap. Clam up the pie-hole. Put a sock in it while sucking an egg. Not only will this mean none of us will ever say anything stupid ever again, but it will also mean I get some fucking peace and quiet for once you awful, awful, loud WANKERS.