Thursday, December 8, 2011

Modern Warfare 3: My (very brief) Journal From the Frontlines

"Worst shooter ever made." That was the first declaration my brother made on his second day of owning Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3. I was a bit skeptical of his analysis, since my brother is rarely happy with any game. He's one of these gamers who can't handle the bitter taste of defeat, and will always blame poor game design as opposed to his skills with a control stick.
I had read the reviews, they were almost all positive, and I was very excited to play the conclusion to the trilogy that re-defined what is expected from a military-style first-person shooter. I ignored the inane warnings of my brother and purchased my copy of Modern Warfare 3 a few days after launch.  
I arrived home with a huge smile on my face. I ripped the shrink wrap off and took a moment to really examine the box art. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. In the event that I ever have children, this will still be one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The game still had that new game smell. I buried my face in the game case, took a huge whiff, and walked blindly towards my entertainment room.
Imagine my surprise when I ran directly into my girlfriend. I looked up and there she was, guarding the door to my gaming suite. "Hey, babe," I said, always good at greeting my girlfriend in a way that makes her feel wanted. It took me a moment to notice the look of sadness in her eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked, taking another moment to smell Call of Duty.