Confessions of a former Pokémon addict

Raise your hand if you used to be addicted to Pokémon

Pokémon is one hell of a drug.

The popular franchise debuted in Japan 20 years ago last week. It crossed the Pacific shortly thereafter. And a copy of Pokémon Blue found its way into my the purple, translucent Game boy around the time I saw Pokémon: The First Movie for a friend's birthday party when I was in first grade.

It was not the first videogame I played; that honor belongs to LEGO Island. Nor was it even my first Game boy game; that, I believe, was either Paperboy, The Jungle Book, or one of the Mario games, played on my oldest sister's first-edition, giant gray block.

Pictured: the past.

Though it was not my first videogame, or even my first Game boy game, Pokémon Blue was one of my first obsessions, and some of the earliest evidence of my obsessive personality. I played at all hours of the day, and often into the night (especially once my parents foolishly bought me one of those nifty, squiggly purple Game boy lights). My parents sought in vain to control my consumption of the game; when told to stop, I would sneak away without their knowledge and continue, constantly on guard for the possibility--often realized--of one of them bursting in wondering what I was doing. At such moments, I would swiftly hide the Game boy under me and claim to be engaged in some other activity (very junkie-like behavior, I realized later). I'm sure my parents always knew what I was really doing; parents are like that.

I was hardly alone in my Pokémon obsession. The show, the game, and the cards pervaded my childhood experience and social life. We all rushed home to watch the show every day after school (and even, in behavior that would surely shock our high school and our college selves, wake up early just to watch it in the morning as well), and delighted in our ability to identify correctly "who's that Pokémon?"

Well? Who is it?

We all collected cards, though some more assiduously than others (I was, of course, jealous of those with better collections than I; those collections are probably now worth a fortune). We all had Pokémon toys, Pokémon Halloween costumes, Pokémon birthday parties, and went to see Pokémon movies that we all then bought on VHS, of course (unless you were that guy--and there was always one--who liked Digimon for some reason). I even had a Pokémon-style dream once, a dream that I shared with my twin sister (by far the most psychic-twin-style thing that has ever happened to us). We all wanted to be the very best, like no one ever was.



Why were we so obsessed? I can hardly speak for everyone. But for me, it was because of the Game boy games I played most: Pokémon Blue, Gold, and Crystal. I sometimes wish I could recall the initial wonder of my first (and to date only!) playthrough of Blue, when I chose my Squirtle, began wandering from town to town, learned the ropes, captured Pokémon after Pokémon, learned to hate the tall grass, heard through the grapevine rumors ("you know, there's way you can stay on the S.S. Anne after it leaves...") and cheats ("put Rare Candies in the right item slot, go to Cinnabar Island, surf up and down the coast, and soon you'll encounter Missingno...") from friends, take on the Elite Four. You could even gamble, and give stupid names to your nemesis (I'm pretty sure I once named him "Stupid")! It was all so much fun.

The most famous -- useful -- glitch in video game history? 

Gold (and Crystal) were fun, too. The world expanded. Everything was new again: new Pokémon, new towns, new Gym Leaders, new challenges, new items, etc. You can even go to the same "territory" as the old game, and encounter "Red," the character you played as in the original games, who has presumably become the very best, like no one ever was, and decided in his Pokémensch status that humanity was no longer good enough for him and to go into exile in a cave. It would have been hard to recreate the sheer novelty of my first Pokémon game and playthrough, but these next games did a pretty good job.

If I had to identify a single aspect or feature of the games that really appealed to me, however, it would probably be their broader quality of implied mystery: the Cinnabar Island ruins, the Moon rocks, and--of course, Lavender Town of Blue,; the Unown, the forest shrine, and the time machine (!) of Gold and Crystal (can anybody tell me what happened if you solved all those puzzles?).

Oh, but the best aspect of all was the legendary Pokémon. They were by far my favorite aspect of all the games I played--unsurprising, perhaps, given my now-conscious interest in the paranormal (of which this may have been an early sign--or contributor?). I am a long-distance runner, but I don't think any running I've ever done has elevated my heartrate above what it would reach during an encounter with one of the legendary Pokémon, especially when I was trying to catch one. They just had such an epic, mythic, enigmatic quality about them that I am having trouble putting into words even all these years later.

Real fans know what this is, and how cool it was in context.

But whatever it was, I desired to capture their mystery and to put it under my own control. Sometimes I failed; sometimes, I succeeded; always, I saved right before my encounter so that I could start over from there in case I failed. But whatever happened, I always relished the world- and atmosphere-building of those distant caves, high towers, abandoned power stations, and other eerie locales where the legendary Pokémon had hid away, all so suggestive of a world of which we only scratched the surface. And I would search far and wide for the ones who would wander; getting that special battle cutscene when I encountered one in the wild would send my heartrate skyrocketing again.

Although the series continued after Crystal, I did not. I moved onto other things.

With one exception.

Several years after I took out my Pokémon Blue cartridge for the last time, I put it back in one Thanksgiving Break (I believe in 8th grade) and played again, just to see what I had accomplished. It turns out I had made all the money one possibly could in the game, recorded 144 (out of 151 possible) Pokémon on my Pokédex, and had a killer lineup. And I spent the next several days alone, away from family and friends, playing Pokémon. The old obsession--nay, addiction--roared right back up again.

I haven't touched the Pokémon stuff since, although my original Blue cartridge is still somewhere in my bedroom at home. And even though I cherish my memories of the games, I doubt I ever will again, if for no other reason than fear of relapse.

After all, Pokémon is one hell of a drug.