In 1970s London, I took swimming lessons for only one reason: the video game Pong.
My friends and I would emerge from the Park Road Swimming Baths, damp hair flying in the traffic fumes, and dash across the zebra crossing to the welcoming haze of the neighborhood fish and chip shop. Inside, a stainless-steel counter hid the chip fryers from view, while lightly-greased windows at the top of each cabinet offered tantalizing views of breaded haddock, cod and skate.
But all this golden-brown delicate heart-healthy fare was only a sideshow to the real attraction of the Park Road Fish Bar. For while our orders were being filled, we would turn our backs to the men in their yellowing aprons, and crowd around the most important feature of that tile-floored room: the Pong machine.
Pong was a miracle of modern technology. A large black-and-white TV screen recessed in a wooden cabinet with two dials on the yellow Formica front – marked PLAYER 1 and PLAYER 2. Pop in a ten pence piece, and you were launched into a nerve-wracking battle of wits and skill, in which each player made a white rectangle of their side of the screen move up and down in order to deflect a bouncing dot back and forth. The action was accompanied by a rudimentary flurry of beeps and boops, whenever the dot hit a rectangle or a wall. If you missed the dot when it came to your side of the screen, you lost the point. First player to ten won. This epic contest of dexterity between pimply pre-teens was ping pong like you had never seen it before. This was life-changing. I endured swimming lessons just so I could have the excuse to go to that chip shop and play the bouncing ball…. (dot).
Pong launched me into a lifelong love of computers and electronic technology.
Within a few years, the first home computers were being produced. While the USA was falling in love with the early IBM machines, in England we had Sir Clive Sinclair and his amazing ZX81 computer. How I loved that machine. Ostensibly, I got it in order to learn how to program in BASIC. But really, I just wanted to play Pong.
Soon, Pong gave way to more games. Moon Lander. With its text-only readout telling you how much fuel your lander had, how fast you were going, and announcing how badly you crashed into the moon. Colossal Cave – the granddaddy of all text-based computer adventure games. It began: “You are standing at the end of a road before a small brick building…” and from there took you into mazes and challenges for hours.
My friend Ian and I eventually tried writing our own programs. Our bespoke Space Invaders game was notable mostly for our bad spelling. Whenever our rectangular space cruiser would manage to hit an alien with a carefully aimed dot, the screen would flash with the word: SPALT. Splat was not an easy word to spell for budding computer hackers.
After the 80s, in a misguided effort to become grown-up, I put aside computer gaming. Thus, I missed out on everything that followed – GameBoy, Sega, NES, Wii, Play Station, Xbox. You name it, I was much too serious-minded to allow myself to get involved. Looking back, I think I knew the real reason was that if I ever allowed myself to touch a controller, I would be sucked backin like a breaded haddock in the Park Road Fish Bar.
Well, last year, I finally caved. I asked my adult children, If I were to try one game, what would you recommend? They all responded with the same suggestion. Skyrim. And just like a family helping Grandpa set the clock on his VCR, they got me situated on a computer with my first real video game in 40 years.
Just as I had always suspected, I was entranced. The story-telling, the graphics, the music, the humor. I created my first character and proceeded to explore every corner of this mythical computer world. In Skyrim, I have ridden dragons, cast fireballs, and met the woman of my dreams – I am planning a wedding to my companion Lydia just as soon as I find the Amulet of Mara. Just don’t tell her please.
My kids have promised that when I get good enough, they’ll let me play Elden Ring. Someday. Who knew that in my 50s I’d become a computer gamer. Again. I’ve come full circle from dark winter evenings in north London at the chip shop. Bleep… bloop…Spalt.
