In which we try another video game

As we noted in the last post, one video game in particular has been invading the a Princess’s dreams at night, so it is probably wise to move on to something different for a while. Something maybe where we stay anchored to the ground instead of launching into the air.

We tried the flag football game, and for the first 17 games or so, the play was pretty predictable. We would race to the middle of the field, pick up the flag, and immediately it would be stolen by the opposition—a burly guy who apparently lost his razor decades ago—who would lumber to the goal line with it, with us in hot but fruitless pursuit, as we could never make our characters run fast enough to catch him. Instead of the game intruding on our dreams, our dreams invaded the game—that seemingly universal dream where you can't make yourself go anywhere fast.

Two against one, and we still never won. This could have something to do with the fact that the one or two times the Princess did miraculously take possession of the flag and attempt to run with it, she sort of forgot that she should run in the opposite direction of Burly Man. But enough about that.

Finally we (meaning the Hero) devised a new strategy: he would go for the flag, and I would play defense and lure Burly Man away with a nice shiny new razor. Failing that, knock him down. This worked quite well, and in the following rounds we were rewarded with several new opponents all at the same time.

Soon, events were happening so quickly that I learned to just hover my finger over the button that picks things up, so that when I came in contact with the flag I was at the ready and could grab it and run. But this at-the-ready business can sometimes backfire, as I realized when I suddenly heard the Hero say, “Hey, put me down. Put me down!”

Oops. Mistaking one’s teammate for the flag is somewhat embarrassing. I felt like a neighbor's dog proudly bringing back the stick for another throw and realizing, “Wrong stick! Wrong stick!”

It is also embarrassing to mistake one’s teammate for oneself. On numerous occasions I rather astounded myself at the brilliant moves I was making against ninja enemies in another game. I did allow myself one teeny-tiny doubt about these brilliant moves, because they seemed only marginally connected to what I was actually doing with the controller, but who was I to argue with brilliance?

In the midst of my self-congratulation I would notice—usually when the Hero would say, “Hey, where are you?”—my real self off in a corner somewhere, pointlessly going around and around like a windup toy in a very tiny shoebox.

It should be noted that the Hero, too, on occasion has tried frantically to move me around, thinking I am him.* Finally, in another brilliant move, we (meaning the Hero) figured out how to change the color of what we are wearing so we can tell ourselves apart.

So watch out, Burly Man. We know what we're doing now. Maybe. If only I could get out of this shoebox...

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*Luckily, this confusion is generally not a problem in real life.