Taking it personally, I throw my best men at him, but he again comes out on top, howling: "Take that War Chariot! Think you're all cool and stuff."ĭuring the ensuing battles, he utters the improbable line: 1 just rolled over an archer unit and it felt good," followed by a near-feral, "Bring it! Bring it! Bring it!" Calm down dear, it's a turn-based strategy game. As the screen zooms into a 3D battle, shirt-boy screams "Take that, caveman!" as his mounted troops vanquish my boys. My warriors are less successful, straying into shirt-boy territory and impetuously declaring war. Getting a taste for exploration, I put together some scouts and send them out into the wild, whereby they promptly kill a lion. Clicking randomly on a few things, I remarkably manage to build the city of Beijing, rapidly putting a wall round it and defending it with a clutch of archers.
Faking it like a pro, I studiously survey the map in front of me.
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With this limited background, I install myself as a very outside chance in the multiplayer game that's just got underway. Besides, I'm already unpopular enough as it is, being a) the only Brit, b) half an hour late, and c) unable to speak binary. Accordingly, I decide not to mention that my entire Civ career consists of unsuccessfully attempting the tutorial of Civ III. "So has everyone played Civ before?" asks a Firaxis beard, to audible snorts of contempt from the assembled nerderati. I couldn't be any deeper in geek hell if Captain Spock were overseeing proceedings. My fellow diners are now gathered round a table at the Firaxis office, mainly sporting the regulation uniform of polo shirts tucked into slacks, offset with greasy hair and white socks. Ten hours earlier, myself and a UK PR man were stumbling round a car park at midnight in the smack capital of the Eastern seaboard, searching desperately for entertainment having jettisoned ourselves from a meal that had degenerated into an in-depth discussion on the intricacies of Morrowind. It's a Civilization IV hands-on multiplayer event in (genuinely) sunny Baltimore, and shirt-boy is celebrating another minor victory, while increasingly getting on my wick. If it were a pub quiz and he'd been asked to name the worst band of the '80s, he'd be well within his rights. Wham! Yells The man in the floral shirt to my left.
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