I decided to take the day off from work to let go of some stress. In addition, I had just set up my new computer (2mhz, 512 megsram, 40g harddrive, 64meg GEForce graphics, Soundblaster live, cable modem) and I wanted to spend some quality time in Aces High.....just to relax a bit. Pick a P51D, grab some alt on the way to France, and just west of the coast I spot a 190. He's low...good. Phone rings. Don't answer it...don't answer it....OK..OK. Flying talking to the phone watching the 190 over my wing tip. Ahhh, this guys is good and I'm distracted. Decide to head west. Suddenly, I watch the 190 do a zoom climb in front of me, kick the rudder and head my way....just a little to my right. Dang, that was impressive. What? No, I'm listening. I just got a bit distacted. Quick glance behind...he's back there but too slow. Put the plane on auto pilot and head west....get up and go downstairs to the kitchen to finish my conversation. Time passes...conversation ends. Back to the computer. I've traveled sections beyond 40 now and I happen to notice a few remarks from the 190 driver about the "tourist" who was flying west. Yikes! That's me he is talking about. Dang. Offer my aplologies....man...I am so embarrassed. The problem in a small arena is that you can't escape notice. What makes it worse is that I know he would have killed me if I had engaged him. Truth is in the e man, when he did that zoom climb from 1.3 below me I knew I was outclassed. Flew a few more missions but my heart wasn't in it. Logged and went downstairs to read.
A bit later, responded to the impulse to play again. Few in the arena, decided to go LW and had some decent fights flying the A5. Logged off...grabbed some lunch. Read some more.
Afternoon. Log back in and go back to Allies. Following a few spit missions, I decided to up in a 51. At about the same time, my squaddie, Blindman, shows up and takes off in a 51, too. No voice communications...can't get RW working on puter, but so what, well get by using sight and typing. Sounds OK? Wrong. Next thing I know, I'm going north and he's going south. Whip around and locate him diving in on some 190's. Dive in....my god...there are at least 3...and I'm sure there are a few otw that I don't see! As I dive past, Blindman is heading northeast and I'm heading southwest...can't get turned ...too fast....In addition, I notice some of the 190s see me and are trying to gain my six. Go verticle in loop to cut speed and use my rear view to see Blindman's situation. They're all over him. Pull harder! Nose over....Blindman is dead....Can't help....See the name of his killer...hmmm, time to go..this guy would kill me alone, but with two companions....well, don't even think about it. Head north.
Suddenly, on channel one the taunts start. I smile. From the hot stick I read, "Hey Blindman. Who was the other guy?" An answer from another LW flyer, "He's the guy telling Blindman when to turn." I hold my breath. "Catseye," Blindman replies. Hmmmm, I let out a long deep sigh. There is some comfort in anonymity, but with friends like Blindman. OK, the jig is up....I'm a coward.
Then, somewhere in the back of my brain, a little ember begins to burn. Hey! I'm not a coward! I can fight with anyone in here! I just need to be more aggressive. They will fear the name of Catseye. The ember has grown into a bonfire of biblical proportions. Looking back it all seems rather delusional. But, not at the time.
And I was very aggressive. Thus began one of the longest afternoons and evenings in my AH career. I think the LW pilots were getting in line to shoot down Catseye. Of course, the first one to shoot me down was the hot stick I had just avoided. "Happy now," I replied. Dang, don't type on channel one. Bad! Keep your mouth shut and endure the pain.
I couldn't win a fight to save my life. Time after time I pulled a good lead turn only to find a 190 had reversed faster. One thing I found out quickly...those 190's don't mind shooting a 51 in the face. Well, can't have that. Gotta avoid the headon. But jeez, you sure do lose a lot of e pulling to avoid. Of course, they reverse again...on my six....and that awful sound of parts coming off my plane. Time after time after time.
"Give it up," I said to myself. "No! One more mission and you'll kill someone!" Hello. Look at the data. You're totally outclassed in here. "No! I can do this," said the insane man living inside the dark places of my head. So...the dying went on and on. By the time I finished my last mission (a sweet one organized by Hangtime and yes I got killed again), I was a quivering mass of raw nerves.
Logged off. Go downstairs. Sink onto the couch under the sympathetic eyes of my wife .....who has quietly been watching the Olympics, and from time to time asking, "Are you OK up there?" "Thanks honey," I said. "Thanks for listening to me and putting up with my grunts and groans and the occasional profanity." "Yeah," she answers. "I only heard the GD word about .....well, I lost count at 12."
"Well that's it for me," I replied. "I'm done with that stupid game. I've been getting my bellybutton kicked all night. It's humiliating and I'm too old to be getting this upset about a stupid computer game. I'm done. Half of those guys do things you would never do with a real plane. And another thing......."
She listens with the patience of a wise woman who is deeply in love with a man who can't seem to get beyond 12 years old, even as he moves deeper into 50. Then, she gets up and goes into the kitchen and comes back with two beers....opened, of course. Once I was off the computer, the night improved considerably!
And I'm sticking to my decision. I've had it! I'm not playing anymore until tonight, and not until at least 8......Central time!
