A Night of Rest

I have started taking several days per week away from any form of gaming.  There is no real reason for it.  I just decided to.  I think more than anything, I am just sick of sitting in that damn computer chair.

It’s not like I play a ton anyway.  Among the ranks of gamers, I probably fall somewhere in the middle.  During the week, I typically spend no more than an hour… two at most… playing.  The weekends see more activity, but the week is light.

But I am reducing that even further by having several days where I don’t even touch the computer.  Since I don’t watch television either, that means that I am having a great time spending more time inside of books.

People have been buzzing a bit about the sudden re-emergence of Brad McQuaid.  There are certain elements of the gaming psyche that simply amaze me.  One of those fascinations is the gamer’s inability to let things go.  You could grow up having the same person kick your ass every day after school and making your life pure hell, run into that person several years later, and suddenly be best friends.  But if someone messes with your game?  It could be ten years later and you will still get on a soap box and start foaming at the mouth at how Sony sucks because a guard outside of Rivervale once KS’d you when you were hunting there.

How long has it been since the NGE hit Star Wars Galaxies?  You can still send someone into a raving tailspin by evening mentioning it.

Enter Brad McQuaid.

Next to John Smedley, Brad is every gamer’s favorite whipping boy.  He is the anti-christ to Smedley’s satan.

Now, I once eviscerated Brad on this site when the whole Sigil/Vanguard thing exploded into glorious monosyllabic flamegasms all over the net.

Why?  Was I one who lost my job?  Did I have anything invested in Sigil or Vanguard?

No.  Hell, I even enjoyed Vanguard at the time.  I don’t know why it happened.  The lynch mob passed by and I got swept up in it, picked up my pitchfork and torch and joined the fun.

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a chef.  You are very popular at the restaurant where you work and are well-known for creating new recipes.  Eventually, you decide to open your own restaurant.  The restaurant opens to great fanfaire and expectation because everyone knows whose name is on the door.  You aren’t back in the kitchen any longer as you are running the place, but everyone figures things will be every bit as good, or better, than the old place where you used to cook.

On opening night, everyone gets food poisoning.

Was it your fault?  Partly.  Was it entirely your fault?  How could it be?

Now imagine that your restaurant failed… all due to opening night.  You are named a pariah.  Everyone forgets how much they used to love you.  Everyone in the industry labels you as the example of what not to be and NO ONE forgets.  They bring it up often… full of hate.  Your name becomes a punch line.  You disappear into anonymity for a few years and then return when the furor settles, but much to your amazement, it picks up right where it left off.

That would never happen.  Chances are, people would get sick but would be appeased with a coupon for a free meal and all would be forgiven.  That’s the way it works in the real world most of the time.

Let a game designer screw up, however, and he becomes the target of hate until the end of time.

I liken Brad McQuaid to George Lucas.  Before your head explodes, let me explain.

George Lucas was (and is) a visionary.  He dreamed up and created an amazing world that has entertained millions.  In the beginning, as he was figuring it all out, he leaned heavily upon those with more experience and with more understanding.  He had his vision, but he had a lot of help bringing it to life and turning it into the space opera that so many people fell in love with.

In years later, he decided to do it again and continue the story.  This time, however, he had his vision.  He also had the arrogance to think he could do it all himself.  He abandoned the formula that had worked so well for him in the past.  He gathered together all the hats into one place and put them all on his head.

The end result was the mediocre (and I’m being kind by using that word) prequel trilogy.  He simply tried to do too much himself and, in the process, forgot what had made Star Wars work in the first place.

I think that is similar to what happened with Brad.  He had a vision that was Everquest.  He helped breath life into that world with a LOT of help from a LOT of people.  He also had someone (Smedley) lending his experience and knowledge guiding the way and keeping things on track.

After the roaring success of Everquest, Brad decided to revisit the process and try to strike gold twice… only he gathered too many hats and tried to do too much himself.  Again, he had forgotten the formula that made the original so successful.

It doesn’t mean he is a bad game designer.  It doesn’t mean that he is a bad story teller.  It doesn’t mean that he is no longer a visionary.  It doesn’t mean that he is pure evil that should be purged.

It means he made a mistake.  Sure, it was a costly one that negatively impacted a lot of people in the end, but it still all boils down to making a mistake.

Who here hasn’t ever made a mistake… raise their hand.

You, sir, are a delusional liar and need therapy. 

The rest of you… how would you feel if that mistake branded you for the rest of your life and if it made you the target of never-ending internet hatred?

I, for one, think “forgive and forget” is a wonderful idea.

And personally, I kind of hope he catches on somewhere… not as the boss, but doing what he was meant to do… creating new and phenomenal worlds for us to lose ourselves in.

I can promise you that I would play that game.