I think, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I knew that Halo 3 dropped today. Or, more accurately, eighteen hours ago (as I can’t imagine that GameStop didn’t do midnight openings — if that whole sodding company could do midnight openings for The Burning Crusade, they’re absolutely doing midnight openings for Halo 3).
At one time in my life, I’d have cared. Though not, perhaps, for the reasons you’d suspect.
I’d care, because I had to care. About Master Chief. About the Covenant. About the cool new weapons.
I’d care, because I’d have to tell people about what was new and interesting and fun about the game.
Frankly, I never understood the religious-like devotion players felt toward Halo. I thought the first game was… adequate. I enjoyed playing the single-player campaign. But multi-player? Not my thing.
If I want to blow shit up — and yes, blowing shit up in a video game is a fantastic stress reliever — then I’ll do it with something funny, like Destroy all Humans! or The Simpsons Hit & Run. Games that don’t take themselves seriously, and give you exciting new ways of blowing shit up.
I need a new phrase for “blowing shit up.” Anyway…
Halo 3 dropped today, and it will, in all likelihood, shatter every sales record Halo 2 set three years ago. It will shatter every first day box office record.
The morning’s paper talked about “Halo Flu” — twenty-something and thirty-something guys calling out sick at work today to play Halo. It happens, especially with Madden. No, I never understood that one, either. What’s so fucking special about Madden that someone needs to skip work for a day? It’s a fucking football game, for fuck’s sake…
Deep breaths. Serenity now. Serenity now.
If you, out there reading this, are picking up Halo 3, or have already picked up Halo 3, enjoy the game. May it be everything you want it to be.
As for myself? I’m beyond indifferent. C’est la vie.