David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published July 5, 2005

Happy birthday, Pac-Man!

I can see myself now, standing behind the row of three blue podiums, button in hand, a score of $17,900 blazing directly in front of me.

"Alex, I'll take Useless '80s Trivia for $800."

"The answer: Wakka, wakka, wakka! These four conspirators are named Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde."

"Who are the Pac-Man ghosts?" I instantly reply, aggravated that it wasn't the Daily Double.

Amazed that I could ever draw upon such a deep resource of insignificant data, my two opponents slump their shoulders in pending defeat. The day is mine. Not even Mr. Trebek's smugness can spoil it now. Bring on that wimp Jennings! It's trivia to the death! Let's add some real jeopardy to this show!

I know, I know. Dream on. It'll never happen. I'm not that good, and the foreign language categories would sink me.

But how did I know who Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde are? I must confess. I can hide my shame no longer. My name is David Spates, and I'm a Pac-Man addict. Even though I haven't played in years, we addicts never say we're cured. It's one of the 12 steps, I think -- No. 6, maybe. We are all recovering addicts.

Truth be told, not only have I not played Pac-Man in years, I haven't even thought about it. I read an Associated Press story recently, though, that brought back a flood of Pac-Man memories. That little yellow mouth with an insatiable appetite for dots turns 25 this summer. That means we're both getting old.

It doesn't seem like it's been a quarter century, but the calendar doesn't lie. I remember it clearly. It was the summer of 1980. I was 10 years old, and deep, deep, deep into my video game phase. Oh sure, we had home video games, but nothing could supplant the thrill and excitement of dropping a quarter into a video game, hearing the clink deep within its bowels, and then mashing the one-player button. Game on, dude.

Before Pac-Man came on the scene, video game arcades had only a few selections. Basically you were relegated to either pinball or Space Invaders, both worthwhile pursuits I grant you, but nothing like the challenge Pac-Man offered. We were hooked. The game literally changed the country. Kids kept quarters in their pockets at all times. A Pac-Man song was on the Top 40. The folks in Battle Creek, MI, produced special Pac-Man cereals. There were cartoons, T-shirts, underwear, shampoo, school supplies, trading cards, fan clubs, you name it.

I vividly recall reading a video game magazine I subscribed to (yes, it's true) that showed an official Pac-Man mascot swooshing down the Swiss slopes. Here was some guy dressed up as a Pac-Man skiing in Europe. Even at 10, I knew it was a big deal. The same newsletter also described how Pac-Man visited Kuwait: "Kuwait Can't Wait For Pac-Man" was the headline. At the time, I had never heard of Kuwait, but you can bet I remembered that campy headline when troops were deployed 10 years later. Not even the mighty Pac-Man can secure peace forever.

Another memory from the Pac-Man craze is that some arcades quickly caught on to the madness. The smart arcade owners had multiple Pac-Man machines, sometimes a dozen or more. Ten people lined up feverishly manning their joysticks until carpal tunnel set in, all hoping to get that elusive high score and immortalize their efforts. It was a glorious vision. A 10-year-old had found Nirvana.

"Alex, let's run the category. I'll take Useless '80s Trivia for $1,000."

"The answer: He is the only person known to play a perfect game of Pac-Man, with a score of 3,333,360."

Catlike in my reflexes, demonstrably confident in my knowledge, I buzz in: "Who is Billy Mitchell?"

Actually, even I didn't know that. I'm not that geeky, not quite. I got Billy's name from the AP story. It took him 256 levels and more than six hours, but he did it. He's 39 now, four years older than I. I wonder if he's still using Pac-Man shampoo today.

Happy birthday, Pac-Man. I'll bake a cake in your honor -- a yellow circular one with a piece removed from the right side.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.