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We called it method gaming, though really it was just a new way of arsing about. The success of Sony's PlayStation may have been built upon it piggy-backing on the counter-culture cool of the mid-90s, but I could only pretend to understand all those sly pharmaceutical references at the time: I figured the blood-stained t-shirts in that notorious WipEout advert were a result of those glassy-eyed models mindlessly picking their noses while sitting in front of a 19-inch CRT. At least, that was my reason for looking like that after a serious Jumping Flash session at the time. When Microsoft's Xbox 360 launched in 2005, though, it coincided with that sublime twilight of adolescence, the listless period between leaving university and finding serious employment. Long lazy days shared in a Deptford flat, with countless hours to be filled between shifts as a projectionist at the local cinema.
Combine that with a ready supply of less than brutal hash from the local cab rank (if you lived near New Cross at the time you'll have known the one, just as you'll know the bemused look they gave you if you ever actually asked for a taxi, too); it's all perfectly fertile ground for submerging yourself in a game. We'd play games differently then. We'd take them very, very seriously. A Master League in Pro Evolution Soccer would spill out in fascinating ways as a group of us would fill in the gaps between matches for our beloved Deptford Wednesday, telling each other tales of how our amazing forward Shimizu had been scouted while doing keep-ups outside our local pool hall, or how we'd just spotted Joe Cole taking his puppies for a walk by the Albany.
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