Highlights
- The author reflects on their past experience of playing Call of Duty Black Ops and how it consumed their time and money.
- Despite the excitement of the repaired servers, the author finds that they are no longer able to keep up with the fast-paced gameplay and reflexes of younger players.
- The author concludes that they are too old to be competitive in online shooters and realizes that some things are best left in the past.
Almost 13 years ago, I walked into a GAME store—a UK video game retailer—and picked up my launch-day copy of Call of Duty Black Ops. Back then, I was 20 years old, somewhat happy, childless, and, crucially, jobless. That might not sound like a good mix, but being without gainful employment allowed me to spend a good portion of 2010/2011 wasting my life on Call of Duty Black Ops' online multiplayer, which, in turn, led to this bit of literature that you're consuming for absolutely no cost. My previous poverty is your flash-in-the-pan entertainment. You're welcome, yer blighter. The significance of the original Black Ops is that it's the one and only Call of Duty game I've ever played online for any measurable amount of time. I was all about the single-player stories, and I was probably one of the few who ran out every year to see what Captain Price, Soap, and the rest of the merry gang of government-funded murderers were getting up to. But with Black Ops, something changed.
Updated on August 24, 2023 by Chris Harding: This list was updated to include a video (featured below.)
I finished the campaign on the same day I bought it. That's not a big deal, to be fair, but I was gutted to see the credits roll after just five hours of play. I'd just dropped a week's dole money on this—I wanted my money's worth! So, I dipped into the multiplayer on a whim.
A few rounds in and I remember thinking "this is a bit of alright; I like it," and so I carried on playing. The carrot-stick reward loop with regular new weapons, unlocks, and perks hit those sensitive spots in my brain and gave me the dopamine fix I needed. I was hooked and proceeded to play daily for months on end with the occasional half-arsed job application sent via email. Did I put my 1.37 K/D in the CV? I'll let you wonder about that one.
Eventually, life moves, and so did I, and with every move, something gets left behind/sold on eBay. The precious Xbox 360 was one of them, as the next move would be to Chambery, France, which in turn would lead to my below-average career (it's on the up though!) in video games media, but that's a story for the pub/therapy, not here.
Breaking the BLOPS habit, I never went back to any Call of Duty multiplayer. I played the BLOPS campaign a couple of times over the last few years thanks to the backward compatibility features on the Xbox consoles, but I never felt that need to go back to the multiplayer suite. Well, I looked at it. Might have even popped in for a minute just to hear that sweet, sweet menu music. Alright, you got me—I was in there immediatey, desperately trying to get a game of Domination going. Alas, it was not to be. The player counters were almost nil, and the one time I did get into the game, I'm pretty sure I was at risk of being murdered by a "haxxor" who was doing cursed things in Nuketown. That relapse/attempt to play BLOPS online was a good couple of years ago. Since then, I've been clean. But, recently, the servers were mysteriously repaired. Fate shot its white arrow into the black night and invited me back to the den for another whiff of the good stuff. How could I resist?
With Microsoft's impending purchase of Activision Blizzard, it certainly seemed strange that the online servers would get the cobwebs blown away. Perhaps a sign of Microsoft's intent to throw its soon-to-be first-party properties at every video game player with a dollar to spare for a month's trial of Game Pass?
I nestled myself on the couch, a bowl of dried bananas and unsalted peanuts to my left, a mug of steaming hot Earl Grey tea the right, and prepared for what was to be the Return of the King.
It was no longer "the best CoD I ever played" but instead now "that game I used to be way too heavily invested in, and I hope to high heaven nobody ever finds my "Why I Dashboard" post on the official forums from an era gone by."
Within two games, I was ready to uninstall, spit lightly in the direction of my Xbox, and go to bed without a proper supper. What the hell was going on? I got smoked. Back in the day I was running my Ghost/Silenced Galil/Scumbag Second Chance to the annoyance of all who played against me. I'd be racking up the kill counts, calling in them helis and dogs, and laughing as the other team "dashboarded" (this was a common way to rage-quit on Xbox 360.) But now, 13 years later? Forget it. In fact, my first encounter with another player online had me recreating Bruce Willis in Die Hard 2. You know the scene where he's head-to-head with a bad guy but his bullets don't seem to land? Yeah, I had that a few times, too. The classic "Disconnect" message as your character goes skating around the map? I had that, too. And, of course, a dirty, filthy, cheating scumbag snuck their way into Nuketown. Thankfully, that chump was the one and only cheater I came across, but it didn't matter. My view of the game had already changed. It was no longer "the best CoD I ever played" but instead now "that game I used to be way too heavily invested in, and I hope to high heaven nobody ever finds my "Why I Dashboard" post on the official forums from an era gone by."
While the servers may now be active and populated with players, they're still very much a product of their time. That's to say that they're not perfect, they have their problems, and it's a flawed experience. Just as it was back in the day, then.
The difference is that Young Chris adapted quickly. He was quick and agile, fingers and thumbs moving fast and fluid. Old Man Chris is not so quick. Despite my outward appearance, I'm quick in the mind, but only as far as the mouth. If somebody is going to throw out a timed-to-perfection "that's what she said," you can bet I'm that guy. But moving an on-screen gun across the screen as some gimp bunny hops around a corner? No chance. Those reflexes are gone, and that's age for you.
I've got a theory, though, that explains why Dads are so quick with their mouths but utter rubbish at online shooters. Reflexes are the result of the brain sending electrical signals to various body parts. My mouth and my brain are roughly one hand apart. My hands and my brain are roughly four-ish hands apart. Plus, you have to account for the fact the brain has to send signals to two sets of limbs and multiple digits. C'mon, as if that were ever going to go well after a mid-20s visit to Amsterdam. I've basically been brain-damaged since 'Amsterdamage 2K17'. Oh, and you're wondering why I'm measuring in hands instead of inches. Well, horses are measured in hands, as I'm hun - [NO, Chris. Just, no. - Ed.]
Moving on...
The simple fact is that I'm not fast enough anymore. I can't keep up with the young'uns of today. That lad bunny-hopping around a corner while simultaneously blasting his Famas at me? I was him one time. These days, my creaky fingers and thumbs just can't keep up. Sure, I got lucky a few times, got myself a few three-killstreak spyplanes to help the team out, but the days of calling in the dog squad to bite the other team's unmentionables are well and truly behind me. I'm the one you younger folks call a "hard carry."
I've come to the conclusion that I'm simply just too old to be competitive in online shooters, at least traditional ones—I can still kick it in VR. They were good times, though, and I had many a good night ruining others' fun. I also had some brilliant evenings playing Search and Destroy—the only game mode you could guarantee most players would be mic'd up and ready to shout out important calls in a match, as well as the usual lobby-side banter, for better and for worse. Trying to recreate those dizzying heights while I'm almost certainly on my way down the other side of that peak was humbling, but most of all, it just wasn't very fun. Some things are best left in the past, I suppose.