I have always been competitive when it comes to video games. I can let just about every other adversarial activity slide without a second glance, but something inside me demands my best once you set a controller in my hands. Maybe it's because games are something I'm good at, so I demand to be better. I'm not the best, but I feel like I hold my own. I would wager I sit in the 80th percentile of 'general player ability' when spread across all genres. I say this not to brag. I bring it up because there is a fact often neglected when considering my skill of play, a truth no one on the other end realizes when I lap them in a race or capture their flag.
I am a quadriplegic.
To be specific, I have a C7 spinal cord injury. I won't go into the specifics of how, but I broke my neck a little over a year and a half ago and lost motor function and physical sensation throughout most of my body. Specifically relevant to NRDLNGR, I have lost thumb opposition and finger flexation (that's techno-babble for 'I can't close my hands'). For someone at my level of injury, I am fortunate to have the minuscule finger movement I still possess.
The implications of this in how I play games is pretty obvious. Since my thumbs don't oppose, I can really only move thumbsticks with my palms. I can't hit shoulder buttons, pull triggers, or even click my mouse without committing my whole hand. This turns the quintessential control scheme of the current console era, dual-analog, into a frantic reflex test-meets-game of Twister. PC controls are easier to manage, but still hinge upon a fundamental use of digits I can no longer control. WASD was not meant for thumbs, let alone any non-finger input. Adding in additional, simultaneous, actions creates nightmare scenarios out of the typically mundane. Running and jumping in a shooter is a pain, and crouch-jumping seems to be specifically engineered to keep those with disabilities from playing Half-Life. Yet, like those who came before and those who will come after, I have found ways to adapt.
Fortunately, I have not needed to change any of my equipment. My keyboard and mouse have somehow managed to stay viable post-injury. Mice are usually one of the first things to get replaced by a quad. Many with spinal injuries more severe than mine have no tricep control. They can bring their forearms into their body, but cannot extend them without external force. This makes conventional mouse movement a struggle, which is why many quads prefer to use a trackball. For me, my current mouse, a Razer DeathAdder, is a perfect match. The high DPI may seem like a disaster waiting to happen, but I have found it works in my favor more than it doesn't. The biggest perk comes from not having to pick up and re-center my mouse, an action that I cannot do without two hands. The shape and length of the main buttons are perfect for clicking with my palm. I plan to spend more time on my equipment in a later post, but just wanted to give a picture of what concerns arise when gaming as a quad.
The greatest help in taking control comes not from changing equipment, but from changing the controls themselves. Yep, I'm that vocal minority that demands re-mappable controls in everything. Here's my prime example. The only reason I can play Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit and not Burnout Paradise is because I can change the controls. For those not in the know, Hot Pursuit is a fair bit more complex in its controls; I would argue twice as convoluted. Yet, once you put the option to change things in my hands, I can put a Bugatti Veyron through a hairpin sideways without thinking about it. In Burnout, I'd be surprised if I cold get a Carson Inferno 100 yards before colliding into oncoming traffic. I don't need developers to find a way for me to control their game. What I need is for developers to understand that only I can adapt a control scheme that works for me. Who gives a shit if it messes up all your tooltips? I'm pretty sure no one reads those anyway...
Really, control is what it's all about. My injury has limited many freedoms we all take for granted. That's not meant to instill guilt or pity, but to express a simple truth. It can be hard sometimes to feel like you're actually the one holding the reigns. Gaming, both recreational and competitive, gives some of that sense of control back. My choices, my actions, yield results. I am the conductor of an audio-visual symphony, and it satisfies that latent human need to create, to produce, to craft and control when so many other outlets are narrowed or shut. And it is done without concession or compromise.
I have never mentioned, until now, that I have a disability that would compromise my play. There's no reason to. I don't need special treatment. I get so much of it every day and it drives me crazy. There are times where I screw up due to complications, get chewed out for not doing something conceptually simple, or generally blow it in situations an able-bodied person wouldn't. Never, and I mean never, will I or have I used my disability as an excuse. I know when I've made a mistake, and I can apologize for my part in whatever went awry.
But I will never apologize for who I am.
Because I am the sniper pinning you down. I am the Lamborghini Gallardo passing you in the corners. I am the warlock crushing your DPS. I am your guildie, your opponent, your teammate, and although fate or chance has created a rift between us in the real world, in here, we're equals.
In here, I'm the one kicking your ass...
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