Ninety-eight percent of humanity would probably be dead if not for game reviews.
It’s a fact.
Well, it’s a statistic, which means nearly the opposite of fact.
My reasoning is that a lot of people died before the first game review was written. I don’t know when it was, since I’m adverse to researching. Any kind of researching. If OneNote didn’t put red squiggly lines on my misspellings then I’d leave the words misspelled. They’d just stand there, hurting my brain, but I’d be too powerless in my ignorance to know how to correct them without a right-click menu.
To make a short story long, let’s just acknowledge that I choose a potentially arbitrary number of 98% to prove my point.
Which is actually the most important part of a video game review. A number. A number that takes the work of hundreds of people, a few years, millions upon millions of dollars, risk, fear, oranges*, writing, programming, testing [although it’s likely all ignored due to deadlines], and marketing and manages to neatly wrap it up.
Okay, so we’ve a number. One we can take to fanboy forums and use to compare game one against game two. And anyone who tries to add any constructive criticism we’ll make personal attacks against.
However, that’s not why the number’s good. The number’s good because everyone else has one as well. For the same game. And we (and by we I’m referring to gamerankings.com and/or metacritic.com) can produce an aggregate score that is actually accurate.
Aggregated scores are very accurate, or at least the number that comes out of them is. One we can take to fanboy forums and use to compare game one against game two. And anyone who tries to add any constructive criticism we’ll make personal attacks against. And find happiness in the annoyance of others — something I’m not sure anyone could put a number on.
Besides, would true criticism even have numbers? I’m not sure I’d want to even know what colors the flowers are in that world.
* Okay, maybe game development shops don’t eat a lot of oranges, but they should. I always feel sorry for them since nothing rhymes with them. Once, me and a melon tried to make a Fruitastical Dance Extravaganza** out of the contents of my refrigerator:
There once was margarine in the butter bucket,
And an old apple — although a brown ooze has stuck it
To the shelf; the bananas like to dance,
With the melons they make sweet romance;
Yogurt has spilled out behind —
I never bought any of any kind —
And formed a pool in the cheese bed;
The tomato blushed a vivid red
When it happened upon the salad dressing;
Yet there is one with who no one is messing:
Over the entire contents does it rule
As it’s too cool for school;
I’m talking about Mr. Orange,
But nothing rhymes with the jerk.
** I made this a search link because I can. I wouldn’t actually click it, though.