Rush 'n Attack: 1HN Knife Knavery

Nostalgia is a funny thing. Even concerning unfavorable events and outcomes, many of us can still wax nostalgic about the results of those situations. However, in my mind, there are some games and hobbies about which I cannot reminisce enthusiastically or even lukewarmly. One of those games used to be Rush ‘n Attack by Konami, but after a decades-long journey I can discuss this one-time stinker.

Rush ‘n Attack was a Nintendo Entertainment System game that was released in 1985. It was a well-rendered platform side-scroller that was somewhat realistic by 8-bit standards compared to relatively cartoonish games like Super Mario Brothers; Rush ‘n Attack had detailed sprites, semi-realistic Cold War-inspired backgrounds, heart-pumping music, and relentless bad guys. Much like Konami's other offerings at the time, characters were strinkingly humanoid in appearance; in fact, character design was similar to characters in Castlevania and Double Dribble, which were two other games from Konami's stable. When I first received Rush ‘n Attack, I was excited because Konami meant quality. Because I liked Double Dribble, I believed I would like Rush ‘n Attack. Even when I first inserted the cartridge into my NES console, I was certain I would enjoy myself thoroughly.

However, I realized rather quickly how arduous a task it would be to play this game. The game opens with your character outside an enemy base somewhere in Russia or someplace. (Of course, it required little imagination to comprehend that "Rush 'n" meant "Russian".) It's a bleak, gray winter day and all you're armed with is a knife. then the bad guys rush at you. what are you supposed to do? Well, you're supposed to rush and attack (Get it?). And so I did. With one button for jump and another button for attack, I rushed at the enemy with deft presses of the D-pad. Suddenly, a barrage of bullets arrived. I leapt to dodge the incoming bullets, but one bullet grazed my boot. In game-speak, it was but one pixel of my boot. Yet, that was enough to kill my character rather unceremoniously. Rapidly, I re-spawned and attacked again. Once again, another bullet grazed me by one pixel and my character was downed. This process repeated once more until all three lives were lost. End of game. No save points. No starting where I left off. When your character died in Rush ‘n Attack, you started from the very beginning. There was not even a Konami code to give me more lives. I was done right there.

Frustrated, I tried again. I got a little farther, but I died again. So, I tried again. Each time, I would advance a little farther and die again. Sadly, each time, I had to start at the very beginning. Eventually, I would get to Level 2 and then Level 3. However, after losing three lives, I had no choice but to return to the very first level. Frustration would turn to angst, and angst would compel me to eject the cartridge in extreme disgust and disdain.

To be fair, controls were responsive and gameplay was brisk, but the mountains of cheese in this game were undeniable. Of course, there was the aforementioned death by a pixel. More annoying than that was having to start at the absolute initial position of the game after losing all your lives. Yet, what was most disheartening about this game was that sinking feeling of powerlessness. Except for your knife, weapons have ammunition limits with no hope of replenishment except for picking up a new weapon. Moreover, there were no super weapons in this game; there was no spread gun like in Contra, no Batman batarangs, and no Marioesque invincibility. Tragically, in the end, it was just you and your knife.

It took little time for me to trade the game away. I could tolerate it no further and had to remove it from my sight as soon as humanly possible. At the time, Rush ‘n Attack seemed like a rare dud from Konami and a stark reminder of how flawed this world truly is. Nonetheless, like God's grace, there was a silver lining to this story: I managed to trade the game away for Solomon's Key, which also proved to be frustrating, but in a challenging, positive way.

For decades, I lived with the psychological trauma of Rush ‘n Attack. However, a few years ago, I found a video on YouTube. Sometimes, people post videos of their speed runs through games, attempting to finish them in record time. For example, one person posted a video of finishing Super Metroid in 90 minutes. Similar to that, someone posted a speed run of Rush ‘n Attack. As I watched, I witnessed something that stoked uncontrollable and hearty laughter. Throughout the entire speed run, the player simply tap the knife button repeatedly and rushed forward to the very far right edge of the screen. Foes scattered like so many leaves. The player persisted in this way with nary an incoming bullet, literally rushing through level after level with just a knife. I was awestruck with how easy the player made it all appear. I wondered why I had not read about this in Nintendo Power magazine so many years ago. (Kids, there was no Internet back in those days!)

Oddly, witnessing that herculean feat redeemed the game in my mind. I took comfort in knowing that there was greater cheese to overcome this game's cheese. I had found solace and rest as if some profound injustice had been addressed. Even stranger was the urge to play that game again after having beheld that indescribable spectacle. Indeed, that game is long gone and it's just as well that it is. Nevertheless, I can now wax nostalgic about Rush ‘n Attack, and it's a miracle that I can wax nostalgic about it, even though it took me decades to do so.

Carcassonne: Two-tile Cities are Four Points!

Okay, I don't normally do this, but I have to settle a controversy, specifically related to Carcassonne, which happens to be both a wonderful gateway Euro game and one of my favorite games. Several months ago, I entered a discussion with a friend of mine about how much two-tile cities are worth in Carcassonne. He was convinced that they were worth a total of two points, even though each tile in a city is worth two points. I countered that two-tile cities were four points in accordance to third-edition Rio Grande rules. In the end, I acquiesced to my friend's interpretation only because we were playing with his Big Box of Carcassonne and I don't like to cause conflict with good friends.

However, I have to resolve this conflict right now. I was reading a Comments section regarding Carcassonne and someone smugly pointed out that two-tile cities are two points. Quite separately, another commenter quipped that this rule made sense because the rule encouraged others to build larger cities. Well, their knowledge of current rulings is actually wrong and I'll tell you why.

In the first edition of Carcassonne as published by Hans im Glück and Rio Grande Games, two-tile cities were counted as two points. However, with the advent of third-edition Carcassonne, the rule changed to make two-tile cities worth four points. Here is the evidence in the rules of the Wheel of Fortune version of Carcassonne published by Rio Grande:

And here's evidence in the manual published by the current publisher of Carcassonne, Z-Man Games:

In both the last version of Rio Grande's Carcassonne and Z-Man Games' current Carcassonne, two-tile cities are four points, as illustrated in both manuals. Granted, if people want to play with the first edition rules, adhering to how the game was played when it won the Spiel des Jahres, they are entitled to do so, but remember that this ruling is out-of-date.

I should comment on the point that rendering a two-tile city two points encourages players to build larger cities. This may be true, but in my opinion making two-tile cities four points not only gives a player a little bit more control over the destiny of their own cities, but this rule also strengthens the farming strategy; I both score four points for the two-tile city and I get three points if it is on a farm I control at the end of the game. Furthermore, a four-point, two-tile city may entice a player away from invading a growing city (by placing the tile near an opening into the city, hoping that he or she will play a subsequent tile that connects his or her once-tiny city segment into the greater metropolis that one or more opponents is constructing). I'd rather finish off a two-tile city (maybe a second one, as well) and add to my burgeoning farm than try to horn in on one of the mega-cities that may or may not get completed by game's end.

Thank you for indulging me.