XCOM asks, no, demands that I give up my urge to bum rush those moon men, urging me to creep up on them quietly. It manages to transcend mere bravado, manifesting a central theme of broitude. It might be the broest thing ever, outbroing not only Gears of War and Madden, but also Code Red Mountain Dew and sick tribals. I had been rolling broless for so long, that when I really needed to, I couldn’t bring the bro. Solvyova went down, then Rangarajan, then S.W. Things were going smooth as butter until about twelve hours in, when I lost half my crew during what seemed like a routine sweep down in Mexico. I planned like I have never planned before. I didn’t trade it in right away, though, perhaps out of sheer spite. Clearly, some big shot publisher was capitalizing on my bro lifestyle to hawk their nerdcore strategy game. After a little ruminating, I sat my controller down and said out loud, “This ain’t bro.”Īt first, I was cynical. And three, bros don’t stop running because a stretchy line that measures how far they can run comes to an end, especially when another bro is down. Two, bros don’t shoot wide when they open fire on a slimy invertebrate oozing about in plain sight. For one, bros don’t answer to men wearing green v-neck sweaters. There are quite a few things that aren’t very bro about that. It just so happens that fail-safe plan will get you nowhere fast in XCOM, because, bros or no bros, Enemy Unknown is a thing called turn-based strategy. I have been taught by countless video games and Ridley Scott films that, against whatever odds, a bro will rush in, start shooting and, through sheer determination, save the day.
You feel self-confident, reassured, indestructible. There is an assumption that when you go into battle with a hulking black dude, one who is hoisting a gun designed to be welded to a plane over his shoulder, that everything is going to be okay. Ricky was gunned down in the second mission. I placed my newly created Rick Ross on a jet to Germany, along with four other unseasoned recruits, ready to take out some alien scum. I was able to create a rookie soldier that was a near facsimile of Rick Ross after only a few minutes of beard-tweaks. My first order of business was to eff around with XCOM’s character creation tools. I command them to flank the enemy position, to take cover behind the chassis of an exploded Mazda, to be bros. They are the same size as the Pats’ o-line. My squad is equipped with assault rifles and small rockets.
These days, when a bro tells me he hasn’t played XCOM, I look at him like “Bro?” Some people are kind of slow. So I was totally cool with the broification of XCOM: Enemy Unknown, a remake of an old-school PC game from 1994. When I holla at my boys, I’m all, “What up brah.” And it’s never goodbye-always “Lates bro.” Talk about going to the gym, but never go.
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