Somehow I’m getting stuck with playing (and reviewing) sports games that have been painted with the mighty, woman-repellent brush of science-fiction.
I like basketball. I’ve been a Celtics fan for as long as I can remember. I also like chainmail. Aside from first names, it’s the only thing Scott Steiner (aka the weathervane of cool) and I have in common. But just because I like both them doesn’t necessarily mean that combining the two will somehow enhance my love of the game.
Here’s another example. I like to have sex with my girlfriend. I love my dad. I do not think that my dad somehow giving my girlfriend the wang will enhance anything for me except my frustration and willingness to murder out of pure blinding rage.
Here’s the premise of the game: Bill Laimbeer is bummed about not playing basketball anymore and needs something to recapture the thrill of beating Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, and Michael Jordan in the NBA finals (on separate occasions) so he decides he’s going to become the commissioner of some pro basketball league.
In a post-apocalyptic future where they have no unions , Bill fires whoever the fuck he wants (i.e. refs and any sort of governing body) and decides he’s going suit everyone in armour and arm them with fucking dynamite. In short he has decided to take his no-holds-barred, I’m-a-tough-motherfucker street style of basketball to the extreme. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from dudes who flash the hang-loose and metal horns alternately, it’s that extreme is sweet.
This game plays like NBA Jam would if you chopped both your thumbs off and were somehow forced to hook this up underwater. Imagine playing polo in shopping carts and you would have the basic idea as to how this game controls.
It’s similar to every sports game in that you can trade players and shit but it’s different from a lot of them in the sense that it sucks. Bill Laimbeer is a bitch if he thinks that explosions make things better. That only works for making fuck and Jason Statham movies.
This game is on par with stuffing radio antennas in your peehole and then going around trying to “fuck zap” people: just because it sounds futuristic doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.