Okay, here’s the situation. The country is in ruins. A military dictatorship has pulled the once great nation into the depths of social and financial despair. The people no longer have the will to think for themselves or strive for greatness.

So what’s the solution?

DEPLOY SOME FUCKING NINJA ROBOTS!!

Therein lies the award-winning premise of The Ninja Warriors. Take down the evil tyrant Banglar and his seemingly unstoppable menagerie of knife-wielding mercenaries, Mad Max rejects, and ’80s businessmen wearing their sunglasses at night™, laying down street justice as one of three mecha-ninjas through six stages of moving right and mashing the Y button.

Seriously, “Banglar”? His name is Banglar? Not to mention that two of the robot/ninja abominations are simply named “Ninja” and “Kunoichi” (which itself simply means “female ninja”). I mean, it should be obvious enough from the story alone, perhaps even the title alone, that the developers didn’t really give half a shit about trying to make something beyond the bare minimum of mediocrity with this game. I guess just calling it Generic Dystopian Beat-em-up would have been too direct. Gotta make it marketable for the 12-year-old male demographic, I guess.

This is the kind of game that makes puppies cry.

"I AM A GOALIE!"

In 1993, things were just getting rolling for terrorism. A truck outside the WTC blew up; the Unabomber bombed a bunch of people; Cheers ended. Also, Kim Campbell was elected Prime Minister. For all of the 18 seconds she was incumbent, I remember thinking, “She sounds like she’d taste like tomatoes.” 16 years later, and Canada still hasn’t elected anyone whose last name sounded more like dinner to me. That’s where progress gets you. Nowhere.

Meanwhile, EA released NHLPA Hockey ‘93, no doubt to wild applause and gesticulation. It strikes me that this is another one of those games that attempts to look like a different kind of sports game (see NFL Quarterback Club ‘96) while still managing to be the exact same sports game as every other sports game. Actually, I think that this criticism is anachronistic, since this was actually the FIRST NHL game by EA. Well, neato! With that in mind, I think I should probably do a proper review of this game.

I’ll start with the bad and move to the good. The players control like sludge. One of the most satisfying moments in any hockey game is when you clock some dude really good, but I was only able to do that once; you have to get a real running start and most of the time the dude gets out of the way. You can hit them from a standstill, but it never does anything to them. They just go, “Uhhhhhggg” and keep on skating like it never happened. Trying to actually get the puck is pretty much impossible. The game seems to think that you should only be able to steal the puck if you are directly in front of the guy, you press the right button about eight times, and stroke your right ear. No matter; the goal tending is impeccable. I was able to rely on my goalie to stop pretty much everything most of the time. Which is good because, as usual, there is no way to defend anything. Either team can walk through the defensemen like they were M.C. Hammer. Passing and scoring is too much to expect. I found that the best strategy was to take shots from the blue line. The goalie seems to save things based solely on ratio, so just keep shooting.

On the good side,  the puck physics are solid. The sounds the puck makes when it bangs into the boards are awesome. It does what a puck should. But really, the best part of this game is that I beat the fuckin’ Leafs! First period, Ottawa down two nothing. They rally in the second period to tie it up. 50 seconds left in the second and they score to get ahead. It’s 3-2 Ottawa. In the third, the Leafs tie it up like the snakes they are. Overtime: Ottawa puts it in after 3 minutes to win.

EASN? What a great way to sued, EA!

That’s right bitches.

That’s right.

Someone has the guts.

“The governor is very sick.”

Simon Pensicola paced back and forth with his head titled painfully against his shoulder, pinning his BlackBerry in-between his greying hair and the luxurious shoulder of his very expensive suit. “I understand that there’s quite a waiting list, but I thought given his status as—I see. None? At all? Very well, I’ll make some more calls.”

He ended the call and tossed the BlackBerry onto the plush leather couch that he liked to pass out on when drunk on Glen Garioch scotch whiskey. Walking softly on his really really costly shoes that were totally expensive you guys, he approached the window of his high-rise office and gazed out over the stunning vista beneath him (he’s rich).

“The governor needs some organs,” he whispered to himself. “And I intend to get those organs,” he said to himself a bit louder. “BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!” he whisper-screamed, before mashing his face against the glass and pretending to be a fish.

This is how the Nickelodeon GUTS program was born: gubernatorial necessity. Some called it the most disgusting and exploitative program in mankind’s history of horrible violence, others regarded it as “pretty funny if you think about it.” Most people had no idea that it was anything more than a game show for their ugly children—but it was more…much more indeed. All of the sporting events were specifically designed to lead to fatal injuries; the children’s organs would then be harvested and put to better use than keeping children alive. Here are some of the events that claimed so many lives and freed up so many sweet, sweet internal organs:

Bull’s Eye

Children shot at by “foam” arrows. Foam arrows coated with deadly contact poison derived from Australian stonefish, swift and untraceable.

Slam Dunk

Children instructed to jump off bridge and dunk a basketball. Due to improper safety restraints, the only thing they dunked was their little lives.

Off the Wall

Children told to knock baseballs off a wall. Behind every 8th baseball is a deadly viper that was tortured for 14 hours with a combination of chopsticks and Avril Lavigne songs.

Spike It

Children supposed to jump and spike a volleyball. Have you ever played volleyball? One time I broke a finger so it’s probably dangerous enough already.

Over the Top

Jumping over hurdles. How high can you leap? How FAR CAN YOU FALL? (Game least popular due to least usable organs. Later dropped.)

Jump! Jump!

Die! Die!

Make Your Mark

Your mark will consist of a bloody patch on the tile floor that will defeat many attempts to cleanse it until the janitor stays up late and then orders an industrial tub of CLR from an infomercial.

Slam-A-Jama

Get-your-guts-scooped-out-with-a-melon-balla

Dodge It

…because if you don’t you’ll be horribly killed and then a businessman will use your kidneys.

Triple Jump

Triple evisceration.

During the program’s run in the early 90s*, almost ten thousand healthy organs were collected and surgically implanted in really ungrateful rich businessmen who messed them up again in a few short months. No one knows the death toll that the Nickelodeon’s GUTS program collected, but it was noticeably quieter in the 90s with fewer children, and I think we can all appreciate that.

*Clearly the above fiction necessitates time travel to allow for the presence of a BlackBerry, and is not the product of lazy writing. Time machine. Government conspiracy. Look it up…IF YOU DARE.

If you look closely, you can see a rough abstraction of two breasts, each impaled on two railway spikes, which is something I'd rather look at than this game.

This is the last N sports game I have to review.  Words cannot express my gratitude.

It is also difficult to express with words the extent to which I do not care about sports.  Typically, such an expression would involve – nay, require - strained, gurgling noises emanating from my throat, a contorted, purple rictus of enraged apathy, and a disturbingly enthusiastic series of self-inflicted blows to the head.

My disinterest in sports has moved far beyond mere absence of interest, into a kind of aggressively negative interest.  It is the same kind of negative interest that your girlfriend has in video games – the kind that is slow-roasted in a fine blend of resentment, boredom, contempt, pity and despair as people all around you converse excitedly about something you find profoundly, infinitely uninteresting, excluding you from any conversation or social interaction because they want to talk about statistics, whether it’s how great their new purple broadsword is, or how many assists John McHockeyton verbed in the last noun of the more general noun.

As such, I literally - yes, in the literal, denotative meaning of this upcoming sentence – feel minor headaches and nausea when I play a sports video game that is attempting to be authentic.  I am physically affected by it.  It repulses me.  Hockey is probably the worst, as it is the least interesting sport that is the most well-liked amongst my Canadian brethren.  Football I have occasionally felt a flicker of interest in, but as soon as a game reaches the playbook and little scrawls with symbols and arrows I just want to scream and scream and scream until there is nobody left to look at me or talk to me or touch me, ever again.

I have been to a hockey game once, for free, but it was a bizarre circumstance, a malformed half-baby mewling in its own fluids, birthed from a combination of artistic talent, lust, guilt, shame and obligation.

I played this game for three minutes, and it hurt my brain.  There is real physical pain in my skull. I hate this game more than racism.  I would rather drink a tall glass of vinegar than play this game for half an hour.

In conclusion, fuck your hockey team, they are probably worse than the hockey team that you do not like because they beat your hockey team that one time in the past when they were likely composed of entirely different players, or whatever.

The EA Sports juggernaut strikes again, giving us another NHL roster update for you to acquire using your hard-earned ducats. I liked this game because your team stats reflected those entering the 1997 season, versus the antiquated offering from NHL ‘96, which only reflected the start of the 1996 season. Unfortunately, NHL ‘98 trumps this outing with an even more recent spreadsheet of names, numbers, and factoids.

Additionally, you have the option of playing alone or with a friend, which is almost always a plus. I mean, it might not be a plus if your friends are a bunch of assholes and you don’t like spending time with them, in which case they’re probably a bit closer to the realm of enemies/co-workers/family/clergy/etc. than friends. Wouldn’t make them much of friends to begin with, I guess.

Err, I…I’m sorry for calling your friends “assholes”. I didn’t really mean it.

This game also has controls. You can use the direction pad to move around, and the buttons to perform various actions. Graphics are also featured on the screen, using multiple colors and such. Sounds are played as well.

Amazing stuff, this technology…

You're fucking right it is.

I’ve been listening to that EA Sports Guy tell me about how it’s in the game for almost two decades.  That’s insane.  I’m not even sure what it means.  I know he’s right, though… because I mean… where else would the sports be if not in the game?  The man speaks the truth.

I was too excited when I found out that I’d pulled NHL 96 in the review roster.  I still buy the yearly iteration of EA’s NHL Franchise (except for the years between 2004 or so until 2007, when I bought the 2K series because of it’s vastly superior roster handling and franchise modes… NHL 08, however, was the first NHL game to use the skill stick and the gameplay became too incredible to ignore).  I just recently won the Stanley Cup with the Tampa Bay Lightning as a Power Forward in Be A Pro mode.  I took home the Calder Trophy for best rookie.

I like the NHL Franchise.

And the reason I like that Franchise is because of NHL 94 – NHL 96.  In terms of a top-down, accessible hockey experience, you basically couldn’t beat them.  There’s season play, create-a-player, quality animations (considering the era), reasonable game play, and general hockey goodness.  I was sort of blown away at the level of detail even in these older games.  At one point I took a penalty and as my player skated to the bench he whacked his stick into the boards in frustration!  I always thought that EA was surprisingly good at getting the little things right.

I actually sort of miss that top-down faceoff camera. They should totally bring that back.

Ok fine… your players skate around in sort of hilarious ways that have no basis on reality… and the boost button makes you fly around like you’re on rocket skates… and the wrap-around is basically unbeatable where in real life you just get drilled into the boards 90% of he time… but those are all besides the point because the game is super fun to play.  Plus it’s actually got your favorite players out there (Federov! Belfour! Sakic!  Yzerman!  Roy!) AND you can appreciate the nostalgia of something like this:

Hartford..? The Whale..?

Basically, if these games had the voice-over play by play of Jim Hughson I would be in NHL heaven.  Jim Hughson works for CBC but he was also the voice of the EA Sports NHL games from, like, 1997 until 2006.  He says stuff like, when scoring a goal in the upper corners “Upstairs! Where Norman keeps his mother!”  Honestly… Psycho references in a hockey game.  I miss Jim’s play by play in the more recent games.

So anyway, I can’t imagine anyone reading this review wanting to know about NHL 96.  You know what it is. You know what it is and you either love it or you hardly played it and didn’t give a shit.  Going back to NHL 96 is a nostalgia machine.  It’s awesome.

Poor Hartford....

DUN DUN DUN DA DA...HOCKEY GAME!

NHL ‘94 is one of the few SNES games I’ve reviewed that I owned as a kid. Well, that’s not entirely true—my brother owned it. He liked hockey, and I liked elves. Fifteen years later, not much has changed: he still likes hockey, and I still like elves. And yet, for some reason, there’s no elven hockey league like we all thought there would be by now. You lied to us, Shadowrun. You lied to children. Oh wait, it’s not 2011 yet, so you still have a few years to make my dreams come true; I’m willing to genetically experiment on as many people as it takes, since I doubt “magic” will do anything any time soon.

Back in the day, NHL ‘94 was THE HOCKEY GAME. It was the be-all and end-all of digitized dudes swingin’ sticks (save for that German TRON porn I found in the forest). As such, I actually spent some time playing it—enough to realize that I could never, ever beat my brother at this game since he apparently played it while sleeping, awake, sleepwalking, awake-walking, and at school. I’m pretty sure he could play without even holding the controller! He would play as the Habs, and I would play as the losing team. Something tells me that if I turned this game on in front of him today, he would still pick the Habs, and I would still lose miserably. I should play as Toronto*!

This game is pretty good. It’s not my thing, but I can objectively say that this is a well-made hockey game. The control is intuitive and tight, and the easiest way to score is to swing in from behind the net and take a shot—I used to beat the computer doing this, and can only assume it still works since it would totally make no sense whatsoever if it didn’t. Graphics-wise, all your favourite colours are here: red, blue, green, yellow, orange…yup. The hockey teams wear jerseys with these colours, and so they appear on your screen! Accuracy! Simulation! EA SPORTS!

I can only imagine the adrenaline-rush of pure nostalgia that would grip many of you if you played this game; for me, it’s a reminder of being beaten at something by my younger brother, which as we all know is the greatest defeat of them all. I think he’s taller than me now, too. Well played, Ross. Well played.

* This is the one hockey “joke” I can make. Toronto is bad and everyone keeps telling me this. I don’t care, but apparently you guys really, really do. Boo Leafs, I suppose.

Do YOU have what it takes to be in the Club? Find out below.

The Lameass Sucka

A Choose-Your-Own Adventure, Starring YOU!

Page 1

‘I’m in the Quarterback Club. A lot of strange stuff goes on in there, but if I told you… oh, you won’t tell anyone will you?’

To say you won’t tell anyone, turn to page three. To leave the the room, turn to page two

Page 2

Outside, there is a man wearing a cape. He must be superman, you think. But you are wrong. He is batman.

THE END

Page 3

‘Well, it’s kind of embarrassing. We yell things like “Red, 42!” and “Yellow, 42!” and stuff but it’s all junk, really. We just want to feel important. My daddy was a military advisor. He advised the military. He sang songs about gold and beautiful women and marched all day long in parades! Just once, I would like to have that kind of power, my friend. Just once! Wait a minute. You’re not my friend! WHO DID YOU SAY YOU WERE?’

You are in mortal peril. To run like fuck, turn to page six. To pull out your gun, turn to page 5.

Page 5

You pull out your gun and it turns out that it’s not loaded. Ooops! Forgot to load it! Dang! Curse your rotten luck. Wow. You should have thought of that before you DECIDED to pull your gun on someone. Jees. Now he knows. He can see it in your eyes. He’s not scared. He pulls out his gun too. He says, “I HATE YOU, DAD!” BANG! YOU’RE DEAD. And you’re his dad.

THE END

Page 6

You run like fuck. It looks like you’re getting away when all of a sudden, like, a billion other guys come at you and they crush you. The man comes up and he’s like “Oh, shit, that was so much fun. I want to make this into a sport, okay??” Everyone is like, “Sure, I’m a jackass with no nipples, wtf!” Then the dude with the gun (oh, shit, that’s in a different part of the story. Ignore that) comes up and he’s like, “How about we give this dude a ball and then run after him and beat the crap out of him!” Then everyone is joyuous! You saved the world! Congratulations!

If you want your reward to be a sexless marriage, turn to page seven. If you want your reward to be an awesome cowboy song, turn to page 8.

Page 7

You are rewarded with a sexless marriage. You get to hang out with someone you love a lot, but there’s just a lot on her mind. Time to take up yoga!

THE END

Page 8

I found my way home

In the dust and the sun

I knew that my shootin’

Days were all done

I had a big wound

In the front of my chest

This is the life

That I like best

For the cowboy’s a lover

He shoots on the breeze

He takes off his pants

When he eats cheddar cheese

He cannot be blamed

For the state that he’s in

He’s only a cowboy

He can’t help but grin

THE END

Review:

This game is okay. I’m pretty sure it’s done by the guys who developed Re-volt, so that’s pretty cool.

I hate football games so much I want to die.

NO GIRLS ALLOWED

Do you remember that Christmas episode of The Simpsons where Bart is caught stealing a copy of Bonestorm from his local supermarché?  When his mother finds out, she practically disowns him and leaves him to his own devices.  He has to drop his own marshmallow in his hot cocoa, which inexplicably swells to the size of the entire mug to become a marshmallow ‘loaf’ of sorts.  Bart casually cuts the loaf into slices and consumes it prior to “hitting the hay”, as he puts it.  Marge doesn’t tuck him in.  The next morning he wakes to find that his family have created snowman-representations of themselves.  Bart wants to build his own snow-self, but there’s precious little snow left in the front yard.  The rest of the family move back inside and inform him there’s some slush beneath the car that he can use.  Snowman-Bart slumps over and melts on the lawn, a fitting metaphor for his diminished status in the family.

That’s how I feel playing NFL Quarterback Club.  Like I’ve walked in on something that’s already started without me.  The game practically plays itself.

"What do I do what do I do what do I uuuUUU-gug-gug-gug-gaaAGGH!!"

The Quarterback Club is an exclusive club.  An elite band of gamers that can glance at an array of crosses, circles and lines and not feel immediately alienated, and, more than that, actually *select* one based on their perceived strategic value within an extremely brief period of time!  Later they retire to the parlour to smoke fresh tobacco.

Better than a well-constructed club sandwich? I should think not!!

I don't know. This is the truth.

Here we are, deep in a desert of Ns and no end in sight.  At this point I feel as though there is little need to even play the game to write the review; they have blended into a shapeless, colourless muck, like the food they served in elementary school.  Actually they didn’t even serve food at my elementary school; I was probably just eating dirt.  From the ground.

This game is going to be like eating dirt.

Let me simply describe to you what it is like, for me, to play a football game for the SNES.

Well, let’s boot it up.  “NFL Football.”  That sound promising, doesn’t it?  “National Football League Football.”  That’s like “ATM machine” or “PIN number.”  

This game is fairly ugly.  When I press up or down on the team selection menu, I am unable to move only one team up or down the roster, as it flips through three or four at a time.  This is a minimal problem, as I will be selecting one at random regardless.

Oh look, my quarterback is an A, as is my offensive line. These are superior to his letter grades.  However, his running backs, defensive backs, defensive line, and special teams are superior to mine.  As far as I know, this means I should attack him from the front, wielding a retard.

The referee is running down the 50 yard line in agonizingly slow Mode 7 rendering beauty. He has flipped a coin; the Cowboys will receive.

Wait, which one am I again?  I guess I’ll find out soon.  I have kicked the ball, so I am the team that is not the Cowboys. I do not remember which team this is.

Now someone has been tackled; I am assuming it is someone from the other team.  The announcer tells me it is a big tackle.

There are now playbooks on the screen.  They have words in them.  Also images.   I select one at random.  The teams line up, and someone throws the ball.  It might be me.  I mash the controls.  Someone is tackled again.  “He’s got it.” I turn the game off.

And that is NFL Football.