Creative Control: Bulls vs. Blazers, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2, and TimeSplitters: Future Perfect

A few weeks ago, Chicken Man wrote an interesting piece on what he dubbed the Curse of Completionism, that curiously persuasive pull players often feel to plumb the depths of games for every award, arena, and accessory, however inconsequential. And he was quite right in asserting my relentless quest to finally complete Everything or Nothing, though I theoretically and very kindly refute his claim to being in "rare form," because what I did is more readily attributable to obstinacy than ability. Nevertheless, I finally finished the game after seven discontinuous years and felt what Chicken Man described as "emotional satisfaction" upon seeing that wall of gleaming and indisputably platinum 007 logos below each level. Knowing I had finally conquered the game mattered much more than the meager physical rewards for doing so, all of which amounted to little more than a gallery of concept art and a few extra characters.

So why strive for such perfection? What motivates players like us to continue on despite recurring aggravation, repetition, and loss of time? Before I could buy my own games, before I had disposable income of my own, I had to ask, beg, and wish for them. Getting a new game was a cause for celebration, there but for the grace of God. I had to make the game last until another gift-giving holiday afforded me the opportunity to pump my relatives for the latest obsession, so I became an expert on that game until the next family gathering rolled around ever so slowly. Ask anyone who had the misfortune of challenging me to an innocent game of NBA Shootout '97, Madden '98, or WCW vs. the World on the PS1. I believe this mindset, hardwired by a frugal necessity to master, still informs my approach to games.

In the simplest terms, I look for games that last longer than a weekend rental, that will continue to entertain me months or years after I buy them. And while mastering a game like Everything or Nothing has kept me occupied and entertained for many years, such mastery is often frustrating, tedious, and improperly compensated. Chicken Man was correct in calling this phenomenon a curse.

Yet there are alternatives that charm rather than curse, that engage the creative impulse rather than testing patience. Look, for instance, at those games which allow players to create their own teams, levels, and even entire stories, extending the longevity and value of these games exponentially, and all without demanding memorization and rehearsal. Although many games have featured "create" modes with varying degrees of freedom and usefulness, the following examples demonstrate how even the most modest infusion of creative control within the rigid coding of a game can produce a variety that stimulates rather than exasperates.

Bulls vs. Blazers and the NBA Playoffs (1993)

This was the first game I ever encountered which allowed players to customize their experience to any considerable degree. I spent many enjoyable hours culling together custom all-star squads and matching them up against opposing teams filled with lifetime journeymen and benchwarmers, or composing absurd teams made up entirely of Chris Mullin and Tim Hardaway clones.

Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2 (2000)

THPS2 is the deepest and best game ever produced for the PS1, thanks in no small part to its park editor. I made both simple and complex maps, including a memorable one based on a small skate park by my childhood home, as well as countless fantasy parks filled with ridiculous ramps and possibilities. But what really makes the park editor indispensable is the ability to name gaps between objects, thus giving the levels a potential complexity and narrative cohesiveness that anticipates the creative control of later games.

TimeSplitters: Future Perfect (2005)

Likewise, TSFP is perhaps the deepest and best game ever produced for the PS2, and its mapmaker feature is so rich I haven't even begun to unpack its complexities in six years, and yet I still feel satisfied with the maps I turn out. Although I'm more inclined to create multiplayer maps than single-player missions, I appreciate (and I'm frequently in awe of) the possibilities in stringing together objectives and adversaries to create narratives which rival those of other PS2 shooters.