When I was growing up in Missouri on the outskirts of St. Louis in a small little town called Pagedale, there was not much in the way of local entertainment. My buddies and I would leave school, take the shortcut through Mr. Carter's yard fast enough to minimize his shrieks, and on to the only place in town that had Pinball machines. We would save our quarters, cut grass, deliver papers, and do whatever we had to do to round up enough money to occupy either the Bobby Orr Powerplay pinball machine or the ultimate challenge, the Bally Wizard. We would spend hours playing these two machines and although I remember them being pretty sturdy, they were being repaired at least once a month. So one day school's out and we're making our trek to the corner store to play pinball and as we open the door, the gang let out a collective gasp...Bobby Orr was gone. In it's place was the machine that would forever define my gaming acumen...The Defender.
My buddies were devout pinballers and why most of them were angered by the removal of Bobby Orr(who's demise we had all contributed to), a few of us were curious about this new gaming form. Needless to say, after inserting my first quarter in Defender, I was no longer a pinballer. The Defender grew an audience and sadly made pinball a last resort in our little store. Our good time was fueled by rumors that the Air Force was secretly recruiting great Defender players to become fighter pilots because, supposedly, the controls were designed by the Pentagon to flush out talent.
We would play for high score, we would have hyperspace matches, where your opponent would, without warning, hit the hyperspace button and you had to survive the outcome. We would destroy all of the humanoids and then time how long each player could stay alive. We played "Defender Ping Pong", where you'd play a wave and then hit hyperspace and your partner would have to take over and then he'd play a wave, at the pace of a ping pong match alternating returns. The ultimate level of Defender was to reach the high score of 999,975 and every crash would generate another ship and smart bomb, which meant, with a single quarter, you could take the game hostage for as long as you wanted. We had a blast with that game and I would go on to master it and I even became somewhat of a legend in my small town. This game also costs me time in social circles and pursuing other interests and not until I left for college was I free of this "drug" that I loved oh so much.
Okay, so I'm in the Midwest at a buddy's house, thirty two years later and our teenage antics come up and we began to reminisce about that little town and that store and that game and my buddy's 14 year old son says, "Are you talking about the video game Defender? My friend's dad has one in his office." We get this kid's dad on the phone and sure enough, he has one, so we go to his house a block over to check it out and it's GLORIOUS. All of these memories start to fill my mind about the battles between me and my teenage nemesis, so I step up to it, press play and I'm a 15 year old kid again.
I'm so tempted to buy one and put it in my home office, but I'm afraid that I won't get any work done. My wife thinks it's a gateway but when I remind her of her Sudoku addiction, she backs off. I feel vulnerable and I need my sponsor. Wait, I don't have a sponsor.
If only there was a way to play Defender in moderation....doubtful.
)
