The first video game I remember playing was a gigantic coin-op. It was a monolith of a thing, with its glowing screen and terrifying invader painted on the side. Or at least, that’s how it appeared to me, knee-high to a grasshopper at the time. Regardless, it cultivated a love of gaming, which I took home from the holiday. Alas, the arcade cabinet stayed put.
Fortunately, my parents soon bought an Atari 400. A crude console, not only by today’s standards but even compared to those machines that swiftly followed. But those old Ataris had an immediacy about them. Plug and play. They just worked. (Except when the cable went funny and Super Breakout suddenly looked like a 1970s Czech animation had erupted on to the screen.)
This sense of urgency stuck with me throughout my gaming life. Sure, I could have battled Infocom text adventures, but I preferred darting around caves in Boulder Dash. And I’m sure 100%ing Gran Turismo 2 was very rewarding, but I was happier belting around like a maniac in Crazy Taxi. Even today on mobile or the Switch, I’d sooner grab a few minutes of arcade blasting or bite-sized puzzling than grapple with hours-long adventure titles.
Time travel
This likely explains why I increasingly gravitate towards ‘quick fix’ retro gaming. I still love old games. Well, some of them. Most are objectively rubbish when looked at through the cold eyes of a jaded hack in space year 2024. But those that hold up after 20, 30 or even 40 years are true classics – the A Day in the Life of their medium. So I’m sure I’ll receive a permanent ban from Club Retro when I admit I’m perfectly happy revisiting them on plug-and-play systems, rather than original hardware.
That’s like dismissing a Beatles vinyl for MP3s, but whatever. What I care about is playing games. I don’t want to deal with connecting original hardware to modern TVs, or expensive sessions of ‘eBay lottery’. The Atari 2600+ taught me that, with its insistence on original cartridges, which were hard to source and not overly likely to rock up in working order.
Even dealing with open retro consoles is starting to become a chore. Specific games sometimes don’t work unless I perform an arcane ritual to the RetroArch gods. And that’s assuming I don’t end up mindlessly scrolling through hundreds of games and faffing about with set-ups rather than trying to play anything in the first place.
Pocket power
Which brings me to the latest two ridiculously named Hyper Mega Tech Super Pockets. These aren’t even plug-and-play, unless they need charging. They’re just… play. Well, once they’re switched on. At which point, they not only annoy purists (since they use emulation) but also Evercade purists (since they have pre-loaded games rather than require carts).
I don’t care about any of that. I’ve been happily mucking around with the latest two for days. The Atari Edition is, if not Atari’s greatest hits, then definitely some of them. And you can’t go wrong for a quid per game (or $1.20 in US-o-currency). The Technos Edition has fewer games, although they involve punching people and so may offer catharsis during a commute.
Are these £50/$60 handhelds perfect? No. The screens are merely OK and although you can plug in Evercade carts, that doesn’t mean ‘anything you like’ retro-gaming freedom. But they are a cheap, colourful, immediate, nostalgic hit. Tiny pick-up-and-play arcades, each akin to (continuing the music analogy) a satisfying greatest hits album. Being able to pluck one off the shelf, with its curated games, ready to go, makes me smile rather than grimace. The one bad thing is there’s no bright yellow Namco edition. Maybe next year.
