Greatest Boxing Title Knocks Off Fighters to K.O. Competition


It always amazes me how easily men of the highest talents and eminence can be forgotten in this careless world,” H.L. Mencken wrote in 1907, remembering the deceased lightweight champion of the world, Joe Gans, and his manager, Abraham Lincoln Herford. Like other sports titles, this series debut memorializes its greats the way no “marble effigy”—the monument Mencken regrets was never built for Gans in Baltimore—ever could. Bullies and their punching bags alike know the name Muhammad Ali (one of 32 boxers re-created here), or have seen Will Smith rumble in the jungle. But only this game allows you to experience both sides of his swing. And I trust that no boxing fan will mind Fight Night‘s advertised “realistic damage effects,” which cause their favorite fighters to bleed, bruise, and swell as if they’re secular versions of weeping Virgin Mary statues.

But this is about honor, not heresy. Herford’s favorite exploitation—the brutal, multiple-man battle royal—is nowhere to be found. More surprisingly, mashing buttons is out: The right analog stick controls whether you block, jab, or uppercut, and how hard you punch; you dance with the left, and turn using the triggers. Miss the 10-count by failing to align the multiple refs you see after falling, or take three dives, and you’re K.O.’d. (Rag doll physics ensure you’ll go down according to how you were hit.) Taking on generic career-mode opponents can’t match fighting friends. And chances are, they’ll be no match for Leonard, Lewis, or Ali.


(EA Games—GameCube, PS2, Xbox) 8

The cinema’s about as gripping as any recent Bond, which is to say not at all. But the seamless action—now presented in third person—is spit-shined and ever shifting. You’ll pass through Egypt, Peru, New Orleans, and Moscow, crouching, sniping, rappelling, remote-controlling cars and bombs, and driving weaponized motorcycles and Porsche SUVs. And you have “Bond Sense.” And you can become invisible. But that’s it.


(Tecmo—PS2) 7

The delicate underage twins who drift through this high-minded survival update imperil themselves all too pornographically but pop flashbulbs instead of the typical FPS plasma phallus. As Mio, you follow Mayu into a post-massacre phantasmagoria—a black, fast-cut creepfest equal to most Hollywood horror—capturing lost souls on your camera obscura while picking up clues like newspaper clippings. There are no bosses to pelt, and the puzzles and plot kinks keep you looking over your shoulder rather than shooting from the hip.


(Nintendo—GameCube) 8

This Final Fantasy experiment, dreamed up by market-hungry Nintendo, introduces a multiplayer mode requiring Game Boys. Loyalists will be disappointed if they attempt this threadbare adventure alone. But up to four chums, substituting GBs for controllers, will cooperate and compete—and be forced to communicate—in a way that redefines the term role-play. Fulfill individual bonus objectives to progress ahead of your partners—those bastards!


(Konami—GameCube) 8

The best this consolidation of now classic Metal Gear Solid and its sequel can do is keep up with the Bonds and Clancys. Driven by a tweaked sneak-and-snipe engine that allows you to hang off ledges and switch from third-to first-person—while hijacked-nuke-facility guards track the bodies you leave behind, and call for backup—it actually chases down this year’s models.


(Nintendo—GameBoy Advance) 8

Twenty years ago, fans of Metroid for NES suited up on Planet Zebes, blasted Skeeters, chipped away at Ridley and Kraid, and finally outsmarted Mother Brain. Today, America’s 20 million GBA owners can suit up on Planet Zebes, blast Skeeters, chip away at Ridley and Kraid, and finally outsmart Mother Brain—on the subway! (I once saw a hobo do this without a GameBoy.)


(EA Sports—PS2, Xbox) 9

This series turnaround is stacked with the entire MLBPA and minor league, has a hyper-realistic bead on baseball’s fundamental mechanics, and encourages you to sim your way through a season as manager. By porting the game’s history and allowing you to lead your club many years into the future, the disc makes a poetic argument for declaring the de facto American sport—console gaming—our official pastime.


(THQ—PS2, Xbox) 8

There’s a thousand and one ways to make an ass of yourself in what is the funnest race-trick-crash blowout since last holiday season’s SSX 3. The game thrills like few other white-trash sports titles, mostly because you can launch off jumps into the propellers of passing helicopters. I’d like to see Al Qaeda do that with a donkey.


(Electronic Arts—GameCube, PC, PS2, Xbox) 8

The newest Need for Speed introduces the novel ability to exoticize your crappy base-model with conspicuously sporty aftermarket parts, like spoilers. (And I don’t mean car-safety guru Ralph Nader.) Engine ups and nitrous tanks unlock automatically, but hustling style-points by drifting around corners and landing jumps opens almost infinite combinations of superficial customizations. No spinners, though—race designers have yet to reinvent the wheel.


(Tecmo—Xbox) 9

The world’s best hack-and-slash epic: Basic combos multiply into wall-run back flips and blood-spurt beheadings, the smoothest acrobatics and most graceful gore this side of the Pacific. Counter meatier and meatier varieties of enemies with swords, nunchakus and bow-and-arrow, all while grabbing technique-teaching scrolls and running across walls and—WWJD?—on water. You just won’t be able to turn it into wine.


(Midway—PS2, Xbox) 7

As Torque—a musclehead jailed for, but not necessarily guilty of, killing his wife and kids—you mostly splatter classical Stan Winston monsters. If you’re in it for the copious blood (why else would you be?) there’s no reason not to shotgun monsters and innocent prisoners, confirming your guilt at game’s end. Why not encourage players to prove their innocence?