If they Mated: NES Style
If you've ever seen the Conan O' Brien show, they do this bit from time to time called "If they mated" where they take pictures of two celebrities, and sort of blend them with a computer, usually creating some sort of abomination to god that makes the audience members cringe and scream. Well, I'd like to achieve that same effect, but by using NES games instead, natch.
For my first pairing, I'm taking two classic Baseball games for the NES and slapping them together - 1. R.B.I. Baseball (II) by Tengen, and 2. BaseWars by Ultra. Combined into one game, you have - R.B.I. BaseWars.
-Background-
R.B.I. Baseball was a huge hit when it was initially released, due to its innovative soundtrack, (The National Anthem before the games and everything, don'tcha know.) use of a replay feature for those homeruns you just have to see again and again, and the fact that it included the real rosters of the MLB teams in the game. (circa 1990, of course.)
BaseWars took a slightly different approach. Using ultra-violent robots (4 types - Cyborgs, Tanks, Flybots, and Motorcycles) equipped with a plethora (plethora?) of bizarre weaponry (including but not limited to the Hand Gun, Laser Sword, and a detachable hand called the "Battle Gimic") to bludgeon each other into submission, players of this game had to worry about losing in two ways - by the conventional point-tally-after-9-innings method, and if more than 3 of their team members were reduced to smoking bits of rubble strewn about the infield, like so much shrapnel after a Vietnam-Era mortar attack. This game also employed a replay feature, for those dangerous explosions you just have to see again and again.
Okay, enough with the background, onto the game itself.
R.B.I. Basewars
The first image on the screen is the fairly benign "TENGEN Presents" which greets you at the beginning of every game of R.B.I. For a moment it sits there, peacefully, gently urging you to press Start...before it's CRUSHED into bits by the massive, gleaming, ominously metallic BASEWARS logo, sliding in from the left side of the screen. "Ka-Ching" is all you hear as it locks into place. A sign of things to come, maybe?
Better get the game started before this gets any uglier...Today's matchup pits the New York Mets (c.1990) against Minnesota, whose logo, I should mention, is a severed horse's head. The Mets have been given home-field advantage and first at bat, to compensate for the fact that they're playing against a team of homicidal robots.
It's an overcast day at Shea Stadium, and a sell-out crowd has turned out to watch their hometown heroes battle these maniacal metallic invaders. There is a great deal of tension in the air, and the crowd is ominously silent as the robots take the field. The divots, tread marks, and wheel imprints they create in the turf as they make their way to their positions only serve to accentuate the air of violence and destruction that is quickly building.
First up at the plate is Kevin McReynolds, the spry infielder known for his mastery at turning the double play. He's wearing a concrete batting helmet. On the mound for Minnesota is Sampson, the Tank, known for his mastery at annihilating all who stand before him in a blaze of destructive fury. The home plate umpire meekly shouts "Play ball?" and we're underway.
Sampson wants to make a statement with his first pitch, and that statement is "Die." It's a high fast curveball inside, and it catches McReynolds in the side, breaking three of his ribs, bruising a few vital organs, and causing massive internal bleeding. Normally this would be the cause for a bench-clearing brawl, but today the Mets think better of it, and remain mostly silent in their dugout, except for Manager Davey Johnson, who begins weeping quietly to himself. Keith Hernandez is called in to take the place of McReynolds at first base, and we see him stuffing a large piece of sheet metal underneath his uniform. The rest of the team (and many of the spectators) take a hint from Keith and do the same.
Next up is Gregg Jeffries, the impetuous young catcher. He steps into the batter's box, and if you look closely I think you'll see a small stain developing on the front of his pants as he realizes just what he's getting himself into. Sampson shows no mercy, however, and Jeffries barely has time to blink before being drilled in the leg by a brutal 120 m.p.h. slider. The sound of his bones cracking blends in with the terrified screams of the crowd, and as they cart him off on the stretcher, Mookie Wilson taking his place at first base as Hernandez advances to second, the situation seems to be hopeless.
But then, out of the dugout, a lone figure emerges. Already a legend even in his first few seasons in the game, a young superstar at the peak of his career, before the allegations of drug use and spousal abuse that marred his later years, he steps into the batter's box with a confidence that almost shakes the robots, just for a second. Calling time, he taps his bat against his cleats, stretches once more, and then, gazing into the hazy afternoon sky as if he were searching for some unknown signal, says only three words - "Let's do this." Darryl Strawberry is at the plate.
None of this means anything to Sampson, who immediately hurls a 156 m.p.h. fastball right at the Straw's head. Luckily, his catlike reflexes kick in, protecting him from massive cranial injury, and he hits the dirt just in time. Dusting himself off, he shakes his head at Sampson as if to say, "Can't you do any better than that?" Sampson is noticeably taken aback by this, and launches another slider at Strawberry's legs, reaching speeds of well over 200 m.p.h. The Straw nimbly evades the deadly projectile again, though, and now Sampson is really getting pissed off. The count is 2-0. After a long pause and a tense staredown between the young sensation and the killer robot, Sampson rears back and fires a pitch that no radar gun known to man could possibly clock. But somehow, Darryl locks on to it, leans in, and gives his mightiest homerun swing.
The next sound heard in Shea Stadium is a thundering "CRACK!" as his bat splinters into literally 1 million different pieces. Many injuries in the bleachers result. While not a homerun, Straw's effort gathers much better results than his teammates, and with a quick shot to shallow left center, things begin to look up for the Mets.
But before Hernandez and Wilson can get halfway to either of their destinations, the robotic left fielder recovers the ball, and the Mets are in a dire situation once again. You see, in BaseWars, the only way to get a runner off the basepaths (aside from a force out at first base) is to beat him until he can't stand up anymore. There is no similar rule in R.B.I. Baseball. Lee (the flying left fielder) hurls the ball in to Hill, the cyborg third baseman, and Hill, ball in hand, fully within his rights as a member of the infield, drop kicks Keith Hernandez halfway into the stands, puncturing his chest cavity. 1 out. Without a moment's hesitation he flips the ball over to Newton, the second baseman, who makes use of his Laser Sword and fries poor Mookie Wilson right where he stands, halfway between first and second base, leaving him huddled on the ground, shaking furiously, now only halfway between life and death. 2 outs. A quick force out at first spares the Straw a similar pounding, and just like that, the inning is over.
The mood is somber between innings in Shea stadium, and to say that the Mets were in poor spirits would be an understatement of epic proportions. As David Cone takes the mound, amidst the carnage of the previous half of the inning, there truly seems to be no hope for the Mets. Hill approaches the plate, Keith Hernandez's blood still dripping from his steel feet. Towering over even Cone, who is standing on a rather large mound of dirt, he is an imposing sight to say the least. Cone waits for a signal from Mookie, (who is, of course, subbing for the incapacitated Gregg Jeffries) but Mookie can barely even remain in an upright position, and after several uncomfortable seconds of watching the Mookster twitch and sizzle, Cone decides he's going to have to ad lib this one.
He leans forward and throws his best fastball, but it means less than nothing in the face of Hill's sheer power, which has been augmented numerous times with several high-priced shopping excursions to the robot upgrade center. Hill hits a tightrope shot into deep left, fast and low to the ground, going directly through Kevin Elster's abdomen before rolling into the Straw's glove. By the time Strawberry has picked up the ball and thrown it, Hill is already making his charge towards second base, after having clotheslined the first baseman's head off as he rounded the bag. The Straw Man hurls the ball to the second baseman just as another loud crack erupts, this time not from the shattering of a bat or the breaking of a human body, but from the sky. Never had a group of sports spectators been so happy to see rain.
A massive downpour immediately erupts, stopping Hill dead in his tracks, as his circuits sieze up and his pistons all grind to a halt. Once again a massive soundscape can be heard in Shea Stadium, but this time it is a joyous one, as the popping and cracking of countless pieces of electronic equipment malfunctioning blends together with the cheers of thousands upon thousands of elated baseball fans. No wonder all the stadiums in BaseWars are domed. The umpires, after conferring, rule that since none of the members of the Minnesota team are able to continue playing, the Mets win by default! Mets win! Mets win! Mets win!
And there you have it. "If they mated" - NES style. I hope you get a kick out of reading it, I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I would love to whip up more as a regular thing if you enjoyed this one. I've included a picture, a sort of modified logo for this ugly fictional conglomeration I've created. Toss it in at the top, or wherever you want, should you decide to include my humble submission. Comments, suggestions for future installments, and critiques are all welcome and encouraged.