The sky is a perfect shade of blue in my memories -- a true blue, pure cerulean, not the faded pastel blue of a West Texas summer. Rather, the intense, almost articial blue of Super Mario Bros. All that’s missing are fluffy little clouds adorned with smiley faces -- but since psychotropic drugs are at a premium in these parts, I have to settle for a simple, unblemished blue. The blue of youth, the day I discovered Pong in a decrepit carboard box within my basement. It was the first time I held the home console in my hands, like a mother holding her newborn baby. It was a new experience, and to my suprise, an everlasting one.

Player One. Player Two. Each longitudinally-sliding paddles eternally grappling, like Jacob and Esau forever trapped in their mother’s womb. What drives these foes, these perpetual opponents, these timeless adversaries reppresented in the cold binary of black and white? What motive guides the minds of these paddles, shapes their actions? It is this question that shapes the Pong experience, for without a proper understanding how can a player be expected to assume the roles of these white rectangles? To truly understand their conflict, one must delve into the mind of their creator, Nolan Bushnell.

As Bushnell once said, "You had to read the instructions before you could play [computer space], people didn't want to read instructions. To be successful, I had to come up with a game people already knew how to play; something so simple that any drunk in any bar could play." Choosen for its meaning: a hollow, ringing sound, Pong became the first game under the Atari name. The first prototype machine, mounted on pinball bars, was put in demo at Andy Capp's Tavern. One of the regulars approached the Pong game inquisitively and studied the ball bouncing silently around the screen as if in a vacuum. A friend joined him. The instructions said: 'Avoid missing ball for high score.' One of [them] inserted a quarter. There was a beep. The game had begun. They watched dumbfoundedly as the ball appeared alternately on one side of the screen and then disappeared on the other. Each time it did the score changed. The score was tied at 3-3 when one player tried the knob controlling the paddle at his end of the screen. The score was 5-4, his favor, when his paddle made contact with the ball. There was a beautifully resonant "pong" sound, and the ball bounced back to the other side of the screen. 6-4. At 8-4 the second player figured out how to use his paddle. They had their first brief volley just before the score was 11-5 and the game was over.

Seven quarters later they were having extended volleys, and the constant pong noise was attracting the curiosity of others at the bar. Before closing, everybody in the bar had played the game. The next day people were lined up outside Andy Capp's at 10 A.M. to play Pong. Around ten o'clock that night, the game suddenly died. reason of this failure was the Laundry-Mat coin-op mechanism which was filled to the top with quarters and shorted out until emptied. Once emptied, the game worked again. Simply astonishing.

Speaking of quarters, this reminds me of a previous date I once missed. She’s Korean, a beautiful girl by any standard. On any other day I’d get her number, take her out for drinks in Shinjuku and eventually invite myself over to her place to spend the night. But not that day. No, I had a much more important mission -- experiencing Pong obviates any need or desire I might have to indulge in something so base as mere secks. With only the slightest hint of regret, I paid for my mint soju C*cktail and quickly tossed it back, downing the liquor in a single gulp. It’s a bracer for what I was about to experience. Something so awesome, something that would leave me breathless. Game Play so simple, consisting only of players moving their respective paddles vertically to defend their scoring zones, only score one point by maneuvering the square past their opponent's paddle. Something by the name of Pong.

So it is here, at the end of all things, that we truly come to understand the meaning behind Pong: from the Jungian archetypes, Joseph Campbell’s Man of a Thousand Faces, to the crisp precision of black and white. The timeless truth of Pong is burned indelibly into our minds, our hearts, our very souls. Player One, Player Two -- those who are about to die salute you. I salute you.

- Kaneda-san

Dude, this game Rawks.

How can it not rock with THAT review?! Hell, that kind of review would make ET for the Atari look good!