Nintendo: The Box That Killed Boardgames - The 80's #14

 Before Nintendo, families gathered around the dining room table to enjoy some wholesome and entertaining quality time together.

Monopoly. Scrabble. Clue. The Game of Life.

They were activities designed to bring people together, strengthen family bonds, and ultimately reveal that Mom would happily sell her children into servitude for an extra 200$ in fake, colourful currency. (Insert own Canadian money joke here)

Then, sometime in the 80's, a little grey box arrived.

And family game night died.

Not immediately, for sure. Because first came the ritual sacrifice of three hours while everybody "helped" try to connect the stinkin' thing to the TV.

Eventually, Dad would insist something vital must be broken.

Mom would blame the neighbours... to this day we don't know why.

A younger brother would casually suggest hitting it with a shoe.

And then... connection.

And then... Super Mario Brothers.

And then... suddenly nobody wanted to play scrabble anymore.

Why spend an evening spelling words when you could watch a mustachioed, stereotyped, animated Italian plumber repeatedly throw himself down bottomless pits?

That was progress, apparently.

Monopoly Never Stood A Chance

Monopoly was supposed to teach us about money, property ownership, and the value of capitalism.

It also taught us greed, hoarding, selfishness, and that Dad was a ruthless schlub who would gladly bankrupt his own children if it meant owning all four railroads.

Nintendo offered something better.

You could become a plumber, eat a mushroom, grow twice your size, and destroy fellow Italians floating brickwork by punching it with your head.

I'm no economist, but I think that's how the housing market works now.

The Family That Gamed Together Screamed Together

Boardgames had rules. Nintendo had mysteries.

What did that mushroom do? Why was a turtle trying to kill everybody? Who put an overweight fire-breathing lizard in charge of castle security?

And my personal favorite:

Why do Mom and Dad virtually throw the controllers around trying to control their character when all they have to do is push buttons?

Nobody knew the answers to any of them.

And if your visiting friend discovered a secret passage, he suddenly became an honorary member of the family.

Forget any future career prospects. They didn't matter anymore because this kid had uncovered an alternate dimension behind a wall!

Meanwhile, your youngest brother was sitting on the carpet, holding a controller that wasn't plugged in....

.... Don't look at me like that - we older siblings ALL did it!

The New Generation of Family Violence

Boardgames had always caused arguments. But at least when you lost at Snakes N' Ladders, you could blame your cousin for cheating.

Nintendo offered more.... specific options.

You could accuse your sister of blocking the TV, stealing your controller, breathing too loudly, or deliberately making you lose by existing within a three-metre radius.

And when it finally looked like she was about to beat you, you had to wait until she called a bathroom break to unplug her controller.

THAT was cyberwarfare in 1985.

But hey, we were children, not monsters.

Most of the time.

And Then There Were The Games Themselves

Modern games have tutorials, checkpoints, helpful little hints, and difficulty settings ranging from 'about as hard as eating chocolate pudding' to 'you're dead before the into graphic has faded.'

Back then, you got three lives, a handful of pixels, and a startlingly firm belief that the developers secretly hated children.

You died. You started again. You died again, only faster.

Eventually, you hurled the controller onto the couch and made the bold declaration that the game was stupid anyway.

Then you picked it back up and gave it just one more try.

For five hours.

Parents should've been able to call police. Their children were being held hostage by an electronic rectangle.

The Final Level

Eventually, we all grew up. I think. Most of us, anyway. We got jobs, mortgages, responsibilities, and children who think our old Nintendo games look like someone designed them using discarded potato skins.

Some of us even rediscovered boardgames.

But Nintendo never really left us.

Somewhere inside every middle-aged adult is an eight-year-old who remembers the music, the pixels, and the pure joy that comes from making a tiny Italian jump over a turtle.

And give that adult a controller, they'll be transported back to 1980-something in a flash.

And within five minutes, they'll be screaming at the TV with youthful exuberance once again.

Just like old times.

The only difference is if they throw the controller now, there's a far greater risk of throwing their back out.

Game over.