13 April 2007
We got crazy flipper fingers
And oh, occasionally they didn't see us fall:
It just pains me that pinball is dead. Oh, I'll find machines here and there, but they're always damaged or dark, shrines for a cult religion. There's one at Chuck E. Cheese's Rollercoaster Tycoon, of all things and I've put it in its place a few times. It's the only machine in the joint that gives you a free play. Everything else expects another coin. Even if you do well, it expects another coin. At some point people were trained to expect their excellence to be repaid with nothing more than the opportunity to enter their initials.
Or, in my case, usually the rubric B F D.
Somebody else's excellence, of course, always managed to eclipse mine:
I was a good pinball player. I wasn't the best, but I was good enough. I could transfer the ball from one flipper to the next; I could wiggle a ball from the drain, nudge the table enough to move the ball from the B to the A slot, make those life-changing flipper saves that require split-second coordination. I was in the B leagues, though. I was always trying to convince the machine, which is a sign of an B-leaguer. The A-leaguers dominated the machines. [The C-leaguers begged it and fought it.]
It's been five years since last I played, and be it noted, I did score that freebie. Perhaps I should wander into Chuck E.'s myself one of these days. (What a friend we have in Cheese's, eh?)Posted at 8:00 AM to General Disinterest