I've got to tell you, reader: The more I reflect on my personal history with video games, the longer my list of regrets grows. Each time I think back to my early gaming years, I'm reminded of yet another instance in which I made a shortsighted decision or missed a golden opportunity.
That's exactly what happened when I was in the early stages of putting together this particular piece. I was immediately reminded of one of my very first gaming blunders: my willful decision to miss out on playing arcade Space Invaders back in the early- to mid-80s, at a time when it was still highly relevant.
At the time, my logic for ignoring it seemed sound. It was the same logic I'd used to justify ignoring previous arcade classics: It didn't make any sense, I thought, to spend money (precious quarters, in this case) on an arcade game when I already had access to a home version of said game.
"Why should I bother playing this version of the game," I'd think to myself whenever I'd see a Space Invaders machine, "when I can play our Atari 2600 version of the game for free!"
"Since the two of them are completely identical," I'd tell myself, "I'm not missing anything important by not playing the arcade original!"
Oh, an oblivious fool and his rotten decision-making.
So yeah--my first taste of Space Invaders action came courtesy of our Atari 2600.
In fact, the 2600 version of Space Invaders gave me one of my first tastes of video-game action in general. It was--along with Circus Atari, Maze Craze: A Game of Cops 'n Robbers and Adventure--one of the first games I ever played. And for that reason, I was in complete awe of it. I saw it as something mind-blowing--as a gateway into a magical world whose rules allowed for me to engage in the most surreal activity I could imagine: controlling what was happening on a TV screen!
Any time I'd play Space Invaders, I'd do so while in a state of total wonderment. I'd spend most of my time trying to fathom how it was that I was able to control the movement of an onscreen object and cause permanent changes to the playing environment via my interactions with the game's independently functioning characters and objects. I'd observe and examine what was happening onscreen and while doing so try to think of new ways to create change. And I'd spend the rest of the time excitedly engaging in shooting action and enjoying what I thought was quite simply an amazing video game.
To me, 2600 Space Invaders was incredible from just about any angle you could view it.
So back then, you see, I never got the sense that I was playing a "lesser" product--a technologically restrained, primitive-looking version of some powerhouse arcade game. No--I had no such context. As far as I was concerned, 2600 Space Invaders was every bit the true Space Invaders, and it was right where it belonged.
It should tell you a lot that I played Space Invaders constantly despite the fact that I wasn't a fan of shoot-'em-up games (the shooter genre was among my least-favorites). The way I saw it, it was always worth spending 10-15 with Space Invaders and doing so whether I was on a 2600 binge or simply looking to engage in some stimulating solo action. It was worth that time because it was one of the best games around. In fact, it was one of the games that helped me to establish a mantra in which I'd always believe: "Truly great games transcend their genres."
And that's what Space Invaders did. It was a "great shoot-'em-up," yes, but much more so a "great video game."
Space Invaders, I knew, was a massively successful game and a cultural phenomenon. I didn't need to see a "sales report" (whatever that was) to become aware of such, no. The proof of its world-changing success was right there in front of me. I'd see the likenesses of its iconic alien characters everywhere I'd look. They were appearing on store displays, in toy aisles, in commercials, in movies, and certainly in the cartoons I was watching every Saturday (I fondly recall Saturday Supercade's colorful Space Invaders-themed bumper).
I knew, also, that Space Invaders was an analog to Pac-Man in that it inspired dozens of imitators whose quality greatly varied. I could find evidence of that in my brother's "magic box," which contained multiple Space Invaders-inspired shoot-'em-ups. Most of them were just shameless rip-offs that stooped to outright plagiarizing its formula (neatly arranged groups of alien marauders move side to side while slowly descending down to the turret-guarded surface), yeah, but there were also a few that made a laudable effort to expand upon its formula and put a truly unique spin on the action. Among that group were inventive, well-realized works like Galaga, Megamania and Gorf--my three favorite shoot-'em-ups; three games that also proved to me that truly great games transcend their genres.
I wouldn't have continued to play them otherwise.
But like I said: The one that made the biggest impact on my life was 2600 Space Invaders, which was as "true" a version as any.
Now, sure--because it was a rather primitive-looking game, I wasn't able to fully decipher what most of the onscreen objects were, and thus I had to apply some imagination. I didn't know that the three orange objects placed directly above the turret were actually "defense shields," so instead I identified them as highly absorbent "floating barns." The turret, I thought, was a mobile Christmas tree ("Maybe these invaders hate farmers who celebrate the holiday season?" I might have thought). And the UFO that would occasionally fly its way across the screen's top portion was a "purple skull head," because, obviously, there was nothing else it could be.
Remember that you're dealing with a guy who once thought that transmission towers were mini Eiffel Towers.
What was cool about 2600 Space Invaders was that it contained dozens of different modes, and each one modified the action in some unique way. These modifications included faster and more-maneuverable enemy projectiles, moving defense shields, invisible defense shields, invisible invaders, and even combinations thereof. There was so much variety here!
Most of the time, though, I preferred to play just plain old Space Invaders and instead dream up my own special challenges, like attempting to take out all of the top-row invaders without shooting any of those beneath them or completely blast away my three defense shields and do so before the aliens could encroach upon them. That's how it was with me; I liked to invent my own modes of play and have fun with games in unintended ways.
My only regret was that I wasn't able to give the game's co-op multiplayer a try. Sadly, the opportunity never arose because, at the time, my brother, James, was more interested in hanging out with his friends than spending some time playing games with his little bro ("Awwwwwwwwwwww," the crowd cooed).
Oh well.
Now, I maintain that my decision to ignore Space Invaders arcade machines was a bad one, yeah--that by doing so, I robbed myself of the opportunity to experience history and thus see the game in its proper context. But, still, I do find some consolation in that fact that I was able to catch at least a piece of that history--a little piece that managed to go a long way. That's how I describe the Atari 2600 version of Space Invaders; it was a technologically inferior port, yes, but one that still managed to provide me something monumentally important: a faithful-feeling Space Invaders experience.
That was all it needed to do to show me that Space Invaders was a truly great video game. And I would have been sincere in saying that it was one of the best games I'd ever had the pleasure of playing.
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