#oneaday Day 423: Destination X

I watched a potentially interesting new TV show the other day. I've only watched one episode so far and I'm not 100% sure if it was actually any good or not, but the concept was, at least, interesting.

The show is on the BBC and is known as Destination X. I was mostly attracted to it by Rob Brydon being in the presenting role; I have a lot of time for Brydon and his work, and this looked nicely different from his usual panel show stuff.

The concept of Destination X is that a bunch of randos are thrown together and, via various circumstances, placed in a situation where they don't know where they are going and, at various legs of their journey, where they are. At the end of each episode, each contestant has to plop an "X" down on a map of Europe where they think they are, and whoever's X is the furthest away from where they actually are is booted out of the competition.

Naturally, numerous obstacles are placed in the competitors' way, but they also have the opportunity to earn clues as to where they are, too. There are "challenges" along the way, which can potentially provide clues to everyone, but which also give a particular advantage to whoever had the strongest individual performance in the challenge.

In the first episode, all the contestants were stuck in a box, with various items of imagery adorning the walls. The box was split into an "A" side and a "B" side, and the group was asked a series of questions with two possible answers. Each contestant had to stand on the side they believed was the correct answer, and, without revealing whether the answer was correct or not, they would then have the opportunity to look out of a tiny window of the box to see either a clue (if they were on the "correct" side) or a red herring (if they were on the "wrong" side).

There's also some artificial drama added, at least in this first episode, by the person who "won" the challenge having the opportunity to bring someone else along to gain their particular advantage — and they also have the option to earn another clue, on the condition that no-one else must learn that clue, otherwise they'll be immediately disqualified. It sounds complicated, but it makes sense in the moment.

It's an interesting format, for sure, though there are some rather mean tricks played on the contestants even with the supposedly "helpful" clues — the worst of which was having a helpful guide tell them about a building they were standing in front of them in German… when they were actually in France. The added "drama" just felt a bit gratuitous, too, particularly given that the person given the opportunity to conspire with another contestant and/or screw the others over clearly was not at all comfortable with this side of proceedings.

As with any show featuring (supposed) members of the general public, too, the cast appears to have been picked to have the maximum possible number of annoying dickheads in it. There's a particularly odious-seeming individual who is obsessed with social media, and they come across as a complete tool. I have little to no doubt that there is heavy scripting and editing involved in order to make these otherwise boring members of Joe Public into "characters", but, again, it feels a bit gratuitous, and not really necessary in a show where the basic format is already kind of intriguing.

I'm not sure if I'm going to watch any more of it, but I didn't dislike the first episode that I watched. I may watch another one or two episodes to see if it's worth sticking with; you never know, you might enjoy it, though, so that's what today's post was all about!

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2328: Play of the Game

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I'm really enjoying Overwatch. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I think it's the first competitive multiplayer game that I've actually wanted to "git gud" at enough to be truly competitive in the online sphere. I don't know if I actually have the skills or the talent to be able to do that, of course, but I've been performing reasonably well in the current "Quick Play" mode — effectively a "pre-season" warm-up — and getting a good feel for characters. So much so that when the proper Ranked Play mode makes an appearance in the near future, I feel confident stepping in and attempting to prove my worth.

Overwatch is also helping me to understand the appeal of e-sports. I'm still not entirely sure I would ever want to sit and watch a game of Dota 2 or something (as opposed to actually getting stuck in and playing it) but, playing Overwatch, I certainly feel something while I'm playing. It's particularly thrilling to claw back victory from the very jaws of defeat, and all of Overwatch's various game modes are well constructed to always make this a distinct possibility, meaning it's pretty rare to feel like you're being completely dominated unless your team is particularly incompetent.

It's quite entertaining to see the varying reactions of people you play against. Competitive gaming culture has, for the most part, instilled the impulse to type "gg" (Good Game) after a match has concluded — the online equivalent of a friendly handshake after a sports match — and more often than not you'll see this shorthand pleasantry being exchanged once the victor has been decided. (It's occasionally accompanied by "wp", which means "Well Played").

But there are some people out there who don't like losing. Some people like the guy who responded "no" to my "gg" after one match because he lost, and he didn't like losing. People like the guy who, in all caps, told his entire team to uninstall the game and that they were a "useless fucking team" after losing; he didn't like losing, either. And people like the guy who judged everyone on which character they picked, with sniper Widowmaker obviously being "for noobs".

Then, of course, there was the Chuckle Brothers my friend James and I encountered earlier, who starting sniping at each other in chat during the match and gradually escalated to threats to "wreck" each other. I may have prodded the fire a bit, but it was too hilarious not to troll a little bit; by the end of the match they'd both made themselves look like complete douchebags to the other participants, and one in particular (who was on the opposing team, who lost against me and my comrades) seemed to think that the fact he'd killed my character several times somehow made him superior than me and the rest of my team.

Me, I don't mind if I win or lose, because games of Overwatch are good fun, and the game is balanced well enough that I've only had one or two matches that I felt were completely imbalanced, and that was largely because the opposing side was using unconventional tactics that none of us knew how to counter. (Six Torbjorns is a force to be reckoned with… until you figure out Roadhog and Pharah.) It's a competitive game, after all, so by its very nature there has to be a winner and a loser in each and every match. If you want to win more, you practice and get better, just like anything — just like real sports. There's no sense getting angry and throwing a tantrum over it, because, more likely than not, that's just going to alienate you and make you less likely to be able to put a coherent team together — and coherent teams with good communication will always perform better at this sort of game.

I'm very interested to see how Blizzard plans to implement the ranked system into Overwatch; while I've never played Starcraft 2, I understand its online ranking system is pretty comprehensive and gives you a good idea of where you stand in relation to the rest of the community, so I'm expecting something similar here. I'm also expecting the game to have a good, long lifespan; Blizzard has a good track record of continuing to support its games over time — particularly those with multiplayer components — and with Overwatch proving as popular as it apparently has been so far (the amount of fan art out there already is insane!) I think we'll be seeing Overwatch tournaments and leagues for a good few years yet. And, for the first time, I want to be part of them.

#oneaday, Day 329: Be A Dick Mode

With the increasing mechanical complexity and narrative ambitiousness of many modern games, it's easy to forget the purity of how gaming used to be. Just a player, a joystick, and an arbitrary number representing how "good" the player was at the game. In other words, the score.

Games with scores aren't dead, though. Far from it. And in this age of global communication thanks to the Internet, one could argue that games with scores are more relevant than they've ever been.

The reason for this? The hidden option that you won't find on any game's menu. The mode that allows you to compete against your friends and mercilessly taunt them when you prove yourself—with numbers—to be objectively better than them.

I am talking, of course, about Be A Dick Mode.

Be A Dick Mode crops up in many game, though it's not just any game with a score and leaderboards that it works with. Shatter on PSN and Steam, for example, is not an example of a game featuring a Be A Dick Mode, despite being in possession of leaderboards and scores which frequently extend into the hundreds of millions. Geometry Wars 2, conversely, has Be A Dick Mode in spades. After Burner Climax? No dick action there. Pac-Man Championship Edition DX? Dickishness in spades.

There are few games with a more powerful, potent Be A Dick Mode than Adult Swim's seminal two-button masterpiece Robot Unicorn Attack, however. It was bad enough when the game was first released on Adult Swim's website. Twitter became awash with screenshots of everyone's latest and greatest high scores.

But now, they've gone and embraced Be A Dick Mode with open, err, arms.

How have they done this, you may ask. Simple: put it on Facebook.

For all Facebook's faults, privacy concerns and stupid, stupid UI redesigns, the one thing that it is magnificent at is promoting friendly (and not-so-friendly) competition between diverse friends across the globe. The ability for Facebook applications to access your name, profile picture and activity in applications you have in common with your friends was a masterstroke, privacy concerns aside. There's nothing better than looking at a leaderboard filled with the real names and photographs (or avatars) of your friends and seeing yourself at the top of it.

And there's nothing worse than seeing yourself in second place, with first place tantalisingly out of reach. There's nothing worse than knowing that the next time you log onto Twitter, there will be an @mention in your direction inviting you to check out Facebook and suggesting you might want to play some Robot Unicorn Attack instead of whatever it was you were planning on doing.

And then you play Robot Unicorn Attack. And you fail to beat your friend. And then you play it again. And some more. And then you get annoyed, so you go and play Bejeweled Blitz instead, but then you realise that someone else has pipped you to the top of the scoreboard on that too, so you go back to Robot Unicorn Attack and play it until that Erasure song has burnt itself into your memory and you can't see a field of horses without wanting to sing and fart rainbows at them.

In short, Be A Dick Mode will ruin your life and the lives of your friends. But you know you wouldn't have it any other way.

#oneaday, Day 189: Keeping Score

I used to hate maths lessons when I was younger. I mean pure, unbridled hatred; we're talking full on teenage strops here. Not at school, obviously—that would be bad and wrong of course, and would have done enormous damage to my "he's a good kid" reputation, something which was only really damaged once when I punched a bully in the face in front of the headteacher (it was justified… well, not the headteacher bit)—but… what was I saying? Oh right, maths and strops. No, maths homework used to piss me off enormously. I never used to see the point of it. Particularly the more esoteric, abstract side of things. When was I ever going to need to measure a triangle? (I know, now.) When was I ever going to need to "solve" an algebraic equation with no numbers in it? (I'm still a little stumped on this one.) What the fuck is a logarithm? (I still don't know; that's one thing we never did at GCSE, and I gave up at A-level.)

But as much as anyone may hate maths, those little beasts, the numbers, creep into anything and everything we do. And sometimes they provide enormous amounts of entertainment.

Last night my soon-to-be-married friend Sam came by to drink some obscenely strong cider and play some video games. I casually suggested we try out Joe Danger on the PS3, as I'd downloaded it a while back and hadn't done much with it, and Sam likes those impossibly-difficult physics-based motorcycle games that are all over the Internet. So we did, fueled by aforementioned obscenely strong cider.

Very quickly, we discovered Joe Danger's appeal. Racking up ridiculous scores. Much like the Tony Hawk's series that once was, the joy in Joe Danger comes from stringing tricks together to get a huge score with a huge multiplier. Sam successfully managed to score about 3 million on one level and was justifiably pleased with this. Then I remembered something about the controls, and had a go at the same level. I scored 76 million. Sam was coming back from the kitchen with another bottle of cider while I was in the process of acquiring this score.

"What the— how did you do that?" he exclaimed.

I shared the secret. And thus began three hours of playing about four levels in Joe Danger in an attempt to beat the scores of my PSN friends—something we did admirably well, beating most of my nearest rivals by a factor of at least ten and, in one case, a factor of 100.

It brought back memories of the great Geometry Wars 2 conflicts of some time back… man, those were brutal.

Sam commented that he hadn't really held an appreciation for the value of game scores prior to that moment. Of course, they'd always been there, and they were always a good indicator of progress. But Joe Danger—something about the way you rack up points in that game is spectacularly and enormously satisfying. And addictive. We looked at the clock having thought we'd only been playing for a short while. And it was well after midnight. Okay, the obscenely strong cider may have helped with the time kompression somehow. But it's testament to the addictive quality of Joe Danger as a game that it kept us entertained and occupied—at many times, taking over 75 attempts at a level to do it without fucking something up—for a long time.

So, once you download Joe Danger, all I'm gonna say is "shoulder buttons". Enjoy.