Being at home for twelve weeks straight can cause a man to try any number of things. For example, I recently tried cleaning out the garage which I hadn’t attempted in many years. I also read an entire book series by British author J.K. Rowling. (Apparently, her Harry Potter books were huge a few years back.) In other things I’m late to the party on, I’ve just started playing a little online video game the kids call Fortnite.
For anyone who’s possibly unaware, Fortnite is a “battle royale” in which foursomes, pairs, or individuals battle to the last team standing. Starting with no resources, you drop from the sky to any location on the playing field. Throughout the game you gather weapons and other strategic items all while on the lookout for other teams. Simultaneously, a toxic storm pushes the remaining players closer together. It’s a kill or be killed scenario, kind of like a Hunger Games version of paint ball.
It’s been awhile since the boys and I played a video game together. The three of us accomplished great things in Super Mario Galaxy 2 and Wii Sports Mix, but in the Mario Kart of gaming skills, they have long since lapped me. With their dexterous nimble fingers and lighting fast reflexes, they pummel me to the ground in Super Smash Bros like a bully at the bike racks after school. My gaming decline is a product of getting older; if you want to read up on video game actions per minute and peak mental age, you can see I’m well, well past my prime. Just witnessing me slowly enter our smart TV wifi password causes Ryan great exasperation.
My initial game of Fortnite was absolutely terrifying. Bullets zipped around my head, and I had no clue which direction they were going from. A sense of dread crept over my body as I could feel my hands getting sweaty against the trigger. Fortnite is a psychological test of “fight or flight” and I ran away like Forrest Gump fleeing rocks thrown by bullies on an Alabama dirt road. Eventually I found a bush to hide in. As I cowardly crouched hidden by foliage, the count of remaining players decreased–I was still alive. I continued with my “Foxface” from Hunger Games strategy and stayed in the bush until the storm forced me to move. As soon as I ran out into the open, a loud sniper knocked me to ground. I was done.
Panic remained my Fortnite strategy for quite some time. Often, I would get overly flustered and toss the controller to Chase to rescue my character. Other times in battle, I would frenetically push all the buttons causing my character to throw med kits and potion bottles at my opponent. Menacing to be sure, but firing the tactical shotgun would probably have been the better choice.
I hate to sound old, but “Consarn it! There’s a lot of controls on this doohickey!” Fundamental to my Fortnite education was mastering the ability to move one direction while looking another. This was not a skill that was necessary back at the Fayetteville Mall in the 1980s. Pac Man moved up, down, left, and right. The laser cannon in Space Invaders slid back and forth. Emoting, circle strafing, harvesting mats, nose-scoping defaults? I needed the equivalent of “Fortnite Drivers Ed” to learn all of it. So that’s exactly what the boys did; they set me up in what’s known the Battle Lab, a non-combative version of the game where one can practice. It’s basically the construct from The Matrix. A grown man practicing a videogame? Sigh. Did I mention I’ve been at home for almost three months?
Eventually, the boys took off the training wheels and let me back in the real game again. Still terrified to be eliminated, I basically followed my teammates closely, too afraid to leave their side. I was like a war correspondent shadowing a battalion—not there to do any actual combat, just there to cover the story for CNN.
As we ran around the various regions of the island, I also couldn’t stop being a real estate broker. Each little location had its own feel and style. I wondered how home prices in Lazy Lake compared to Sweaty Sands. As an aside, I think their Sweaty Sands homeowners association might want to reconsider their name for marketing purposes. Once, I stopped in front of a charming 3 bedroom/2 bathroom colonial in Holly Hedges; it was a fixer as someone, maybe a previous owner, had caused some pickaxe damage to the second story. As I paused to consider what it might be worth, Ryan reminded me for that I should never stop moving. Finding that dream home in Holly Hedges would have to wait.
While I can get lost in the real estate of The Island, the boys are more intrigued by other Fortnite economics. Fortnite is free to download, but players can purchase various customizations to character design. What’s admirable is that unlike Magic The Gathering or actual paintball, you can’t buy a strategic advantage. While the boys have been largely judicious about their Fortnite spending, they still check the item shop daily. I can rail against downloadable content all I want, but ultimately spending money on video game “skins” is just like financial indulging any other hobby. At the same time, giving kids a game for free and then dangling shiny objects in front them seems a bit like the drug dealer model. If we survive COVID-19, I assume at some point we’ll be done in by the crushing debt of in-app purchases.
As a player, I’ve made some improvements over time, although I’m still clearly the weakest link on any squad. Ryan & Chase still need to keep an eye on me, but they have to do less babysitting than previously. My shooting has improved, I’m standing still less, and I can talk knowledgeably about the difference between a heavy assault rifle and a burst assault rifle. Still, I’m way out of my league with anyone who can’t remember mailing DVDs back to Netflix. What I need is an over-40 mens Fortnite league, like senior citizen pickleball down at the rec center.
For now, Fortnite has been a fun way to pass the pandemic and spend time with the boys. Is it comical for a dad like me to be playing? Of course it is. And if someone as unhip as I am playing, perhaps Fortnite has “jumped the shark,” which you can literally do in the game–leap out of the battle bus and land at a shark-shaped formation of rocks. Depending on how long the stay-at-home order or the boys’ willingness to play with their dad lasts, I may need to find something new to occupy my time. Someone recently told me about this TV show on HBO about kingdoms, dragons, and long winters–Game…Game of…something. I forget the title, but maybe I’ll check that out.
