I miss you.
Whenever I was bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders, I would visit you. You provided an escape from rigidity, somberness, and ruthlessness. You attracted the most friendly strangers I had ever seen. I imagined you welcomed everyone by example: here, you can be silly, because I’m a little silly, too.
Playing games with you reminded me of playing games with my childhood friends, full of colorful pieces and non-competitive glee. You took the colors of youthful games and electrified them. Giant, thrilling, neon shapes swooped in and out of place in transition from one game to the next. Things wiggled as they entered and made cute bloop, swoop, or pop sounds. Among names like Dinglepop, Blockles, and Letterblox, I couldn’t help but fall back into a youthful, playful mood.
Your inviting spirit did not end at sounds and names. Even watching optional advertisements was a carefree affair: we had to wait for others to join our game before we could start playing anyway, and now we could acquire stars for doing it. I have never willingly watched that many advertisements.
Like many old school games, you displayed everything within reach, in a single, self-contained, unscrollable viewport, as if you had spread out a large game across the biggest surface in the house.
Your spirit was infectious, and it’s most noticeable when talking with other players. They will adamantly say, “my favorite game was…” instead of the more combative, “the best game was..” phrasing. You promoted a sense of one’s own quirky without losing sight of the larger community.
Many of the posts on the OMGPop subreddit have “friend” or “friendship” in the title. And that’s what you were to me.
Rest In Peace, OMGPop.