|
Online goes off.
I'm getting perilously close to giving up on online gaming, for a number of reasons. Partly, I'm increasingly finding that everyone else is so much better than I am at practically any game you care to mention. I constantly languish at the bottom of the leaderboards, fail to fend off tank rushes, fall victim to countless headshots and generally seem to be there to boost other people's statistics. As frustrating as that is, though, it's still possible to have fun while being a hapless loser. No, the real problem is Other People. More specifically, those loathsome creatures who foul up every server in the world with their aggressive, anti-social, fun-sucking behaviour.
These people have been the constant bane of my online gaming life, and almost certainly yours as well. While games have got bigger and better, broadband has provided (mostly) solid connections and low ping rates and the ever-increasing grunt of videogame hardware has made it all run smoother than ever, those Other Goddamn People... they haven't changed a bit. They're still obnoxious, bullying, opinionated ratbags. I don't know how many times I've found myself being abused in Battlefield 2 for not shaping up to some pasty military fetishist's idea of what a soldier should be. Okay, fair enough, the time I executed a 32-point turn with a full troop carrier under an enemy barrage, before driving straight over a cliff face might not have been my finest hour, but it wasn't deliberate. I was just crap at the game, and you know what - I'm allowed to be. My rule of thumb - somewhat naively - is that if a server isn't password protected, it's friendly and populated with people who know that it's just a game.
The spread of VOIP technology gives these lingering, maladjusted primates an even more personal way to hurl bile and venom. The first thing I do these days, if a game includes any sort of voice communication, is turn it off. My evenings are not generally improved by a mouth-breathing nine year old who hasn't yet discovered his Indoor Voice. And let's not get started on the endless stream of homophobic, racist and sexist ranting that's become a kind of persistent, background white noise to online gaming.
We've all learned over the years to sideline these people as much as possible, or at least dial them down to a kind of irritating whine. While common sense dictates that they are a small but vocal minority, why do they seem to be absolutely freaking everywhere? I can't think of one single online game I've played that hasn't at some point been derailed by a pouting scumbag. One particularly memorable Guild Wars session saw a team member meet an early death, then spend the rest of the mission scrawling obscenities on the game map, or just scribbling all over it so no-one else could see where they were heading. Good times, good times...
 The internet, yesterday.
The obvious solution is to only play with people you know, but that isn't really much of a solution at all. The co-ordination of schedules and setting aside of time is just too difficult, not to mention the inevitable technical hassles that tend to pop up at just the wrong moment. The simple truth - for me, anyway - is that the vast majority of my online gaming involves pick-up games with total strangers. Sometimes it works out fine, other times, not so much. I've gained the impression that if you're playing on a local server, the time of day can make quite a difference. Weekdays in the late morning and early afternoon seems to be when the internet belches out the worst offenders. It's a casual observation but it appears that if it's the time of day when you should generally be doing something other than gaming - working, for example - you're going to rub up against the squealing idiots who hate you because you haven't yet put in 40 hours practice with the sniper rifle.
It's no surprise that these people tend to harbour a pathological hatred of newbies. We've all been the fumbling doofus accidentally wiping about our team with a badly timed keystroke, and suffered the subsequent barrage of snotty, stats-obsessed bleating. You'd think that having an influx of fresh blood into your favourite game would only be seen as a good thing. After all, more people playing the game equals more money which equals a greater likelihood of better support, expansions and sequels. Where's the problem? Well, there isn't one, unless you lead such a shallow, bitter existence that being able to bunny hop more frantically than the next person gets you all sweaty and tumescent.
Newbies are terrific, and I welcome them with open arms. I'll actively try to make their online experience with a game as enjoyable as it should be, but often isn't. And trust me, there's a veritable king tide of newbies on the horizon. Once the Wii, that Typhoid Mary of videogaming, gets its online priorities sorted out, the floodgates will open and it will be up to you and me - the established gaming community - to make sure that their first proper online adventures don't involve banging into some obnoxious, self-appointed gatekeeper. Even if the Wii never really offers true online functionality, there's a natural inclination for the newborn gamer to find a way online, either though the Xbox 360, PS3 or PC. That low rumble you hear is the sound of a million newbies stampeding down your internet connection...
Why should you care if a Wii-loving grandmother's first tentative steps online are good, bad or indifferent? Well, if you're reading this it's a fair assumption that you love games and want to see more of them in the future. That grandma has cash, and the more fun she has, the more she'll spend on games in the future, which grows the business and... crikey, you know the rest.
 Ethel liked to warm up with a few Slayer classics before Counterstrike practice.
In spite of my misanthropic attitude to online gaming, I'm determined to remain optimistic about the future. Currently topping my Most Wanted list is Left4Dead, Turtle Rock's upcoming zombie-tastic survival shooter. It's a purely online game, and a co-operative one at that. If it turns out as well as expected, I'll be hassling my friends into buying it so I don't have to put up with the depressing experience of trying to co-operate with strangers. Then again, who's to say that stitching together a coherent group in the middle of a zombie apocalypse couldn't add something to the game? Optimism, see?
And we're all, currently, total newbies when it comes to Left4Dead. It's safe to say that most of you are already better at it than I ever will be, even before the game's been released, but do I care? Heck no! I aim to have a absolute hoot with the game, win or lose. Until proven otherwise, I'm going to blissfully assume that Left4Dead will be the first knobhead-free online game, providing servers awash with gamers of all ages who are having huge amounts of fun blasting the heads off the staggering undead. Wouldn't that be lovely?
You can bet that the developers of games like Left4Dead share my concerns. Technologies like PunkBuster can weed out the cheaters, and in-game voting systems make booting out undesirables reasonably easy, but it'd be great not to have to bother. No matter how jaw-droppingly awesome Left4Dead turns out to be, if the zombie nightmare gets hijacked by hordes of willy-waving knuckleheads, it'll be Game Over for me. LAN parties are always an option but along with the aforementioned scheduling hassles, lugging all that gear around and battling the Gods of Home Networking makes LAN-ing a final, desperate measure.
The only thing I can think of is to employ a Reputation system, a kind of online best and fairest ranking. Players could rate each other on a scale of, say, one to five. Five means "plays the game to the best of their ability in the intended spirit", one means "avoid this pillock at all costs." Tie this rating to a player's serial number, rather than username (too easily changed) and have it displayed in the pre-game lobby. A badly rated player could redeem themself over time - perhaps the longer you go without getting a bad rating allows you to (slowly) rise up the scale?
I don't know. It's an easily hacked system. Morons travel in packs, and could give each other high ratings, or dish out low ratings to the innocent. Maybe there are good, functioning systems in place out there that I just haven't stumbled across. I'd love to hear about ways in which you've successfully dealt with the Numbnut Invasion, or even how you've fallen victim to it. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, and all that.
Source
 Be first to comment this article |  Add as favourites (169) |  Quote this article on your site | Views: 785
|
