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by Jerry Whorebach 12/18/2008, 7:58pm PST |
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Shawn Elliott, a man so stupid he has to spell his own name phonetically, recently published a ridiculously long AIM log in which he discusses the topic of review scores with a hundred or so of the world's greatest games writers. And, just like everything else the world's greatest games writers have ever touched, it's fucking borderline unreadable. The consensus seems to be that review scores are only useful so far as they encourage today's quick-fix one-hour-photo society to embark upon the intellectual adventure that is the body of a review, hopefully learning something about the human condition along the way which they can use to better themselves and their plebian tastes.
I disagree. I like review scores for the same reason I like giger counters: because I'd rather not see my own liquified internal organs rocket out of my mouth and/or anus, which is exactly what scientists tell me would happen if I were to try and read anything on Crispy Gamer. See, when a title I'm interested in comes along, and it scores a 93% average on GameRankings, I can happily rush out and buy it, safe in the knowledge that it's probably not going to burn down my house and fuck my wife. However! If that same game garners only a rubbish 72%, then I have no choice but to descend into the pit of ultimate fucking darkness that is the critical community, just to see if I can possibly overlook whatever bugs or flaws or thematic inconsistencies made eighty-two fiercely independent faggots agree, "IT REALLY IS A MIXED BAG." |
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