Doc’s Dirty Secret

First off, Doc Monday’s not even his real name. Obviously. And who the hell thinks Doc Monday is a cool name anyway? Leslie Neilson probably. Leslie Neilson after the third Naked Gun movie and IAN.  IAN’s not his real name either by the way. This guy’s got secrets. He plays it close to the chest. Literally. He’s obsessed with the action button.

He gets all hunched over and taps that action button like his life depends on it. It’s ridiculous. IAN’s an all-casual, bent at the waist, minimally aggressive six-foot-something pinballer. He’ll be chatting about whatever, seemingly barely engaged with the machine, when all of sudden, the dude half crumples into a squat, chest level with the table, head snapping up toward the screen, and starts deftly mashing away at that action button with an embarrassing level of urgency and athleticism. Personally, I never touch the things.

I hate the action button.  If I wanted to hit a table top button I’d just play Galaga or something. Pinball is about mechanics and practical effects, but what used to be sparingly used for the occasional gimmick or video mode has permeated the deep rule-sets of modern games.  But I ignore it.  Whenever I try to use the action button I will inevitably drain a ball. Not worth it. 

“Dude action button. Hit it! Hit it now!”

This sick fuck.

I glare at Doc.  He throws up his hands. “Sorry man, do your thing.” 

This guy.  Can’t help himself.  Doc learns the order of operations, mode stacking and what not.  I just glaze over and try to hit the flashing lights and try to get in the zone. And I’m almost in the zone on “Black Knight Sword of Rage,” hitting every ramp, some two/three times after the light’s gone dark. 

“Hit the scoop!” Doc exclaims.

“I know!” I bark back at him. I drain my ball a few moments later, seething at Doc for his distracting commentary.  We need to have a conversation. Long overdue. 

“Dude, you wanna cheer me on ambiguously?  Generic cries of enthusiasm? Cool. I like it. It hypes me up. You want to point out shots or anything specific? Keep it to yourself.  It messes with my head.” 

IAN gets quiet, grimacing slightly. “Sorry man. I get it. Totally understand.”

My last ball is played in silence.  It’s awkward at first, and a little sad, Doc just standing respectfully beside me, mouth firmly closed. Sipping Diet Coke. 

I’m on a roll. 100 percent in the zone, approaching initial-entering territory when a lazy ball takes a bounce to the outlane. I watch. Helpless. Then all of sudden, almost imperceptibly, a disembodied arm appears between my own, depressing the action button. The ball hovers above the in-lane, sucked from the gutter by an invisible force.  

“Magna Save,” says Doc quietly.

“Thanks.” I say.  Doc nods somberly.

“I gotch you.” 

There was something tender in his action button assist. A kind of pinball intimacy I’d never experienced. At my core, I’m a solo player.  I don’t like talking, I don’t like waiting, I don’t like socializing.  But in this moment, I needed a partner, a friend, an extra arm.  And Doc was quick to lend me his. 

A few weeks later, Doc gets me to go to some guy’s basement who has a tip-top Star Wars. I’d never played a private machine. The sound is up, the basement is quiet.  It’s pretty cool. It is here that I first realize how action button-attuned Doc truly is.  There’s a lot of action buttoning in Star Wars, and I’ve never seen Doc so alive. He fricken loves that button, and nothing engages him more.  Multiballs? No big deal.  He’s a chatty Kathy, talking game and giving shit.  Until it’s button time.  He drops into his stance, silent, focused, gingerly, and rapidly squishing that button down with a flat open palm.  I start cracking up.  And then I start kicking ass.

Beginners luck on my second game in, and I’m killing it. Seven-hundred-million on ball one.  Not bad.  I’m not that enthused about being in a stranger’s basement, but I have to admit this is a lot of fun.  I’m on a roll, and no one has noticed yet. Doc and this dude are yucking it up.  Tie Fighter battle pops up on the screen, and before I even notice, Doc’s arm lithely snakes around my own til it finds the action button near my waist.

CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK

Tie Fighters explode. My score starts climbing exponentially.  I look up at Doc.  He’s still going on the button.

“Is this okay?” He whispers.

I nod. Yeah Doc… It’s okay. 

And all of sudden, I was glad I wasn’t alone.  Sometimes you need a friend, a spare hand, an action-button buddy. And no one loves that button more than Doc.