(Pocket-lint) - Order, order. When the rabble have quite reduced their rambunctiousness I would like to call the Honourable Gentleman to the Left, from the ward of Shroppham-in-the-Frotting; and the Honourable Gentleman to the Right, of Bunting-upon-Herbert, to approach their respective benches and finally clear the matter up once and for all on which Association re-enactment this House should be virtualising upon its gaming console of choice. Gentlemen, if you will...
I have happened across a periodical that states categorically that the start of the forthcoming premier football season falls upon us this very weekend, and it has stoked ruminations within me on the quality of two imminent games of the video persuasion: FIFA 11 and PES 2011.
And it is of my humble, but valued opinion, that, while I am both eager and hungry in anticipation for the game of FIFA, I am less enthused by PES.
Ah, "footer" eh? The beautiful game played by men not endowed enough to participate in a good old fashioned ruck and who were too impecunious to have got into Eton (or even Marlborough, arf, arf) and as such did not get a chance to excel at a real sport like the Wall Game.
But anyhoo, I must admit to having quite a soft spot for the game of choice for the Woodbine smoker. Charles Charlie Charles is a favourite player of mine. But what's this you say? A fondness for the piffle offered up by EA rather than the splendour of the Konami Corporation's PES?
Not only do I partake of the parlance, I thrust my FIFA-stitched silken glove in the direction of your most confused and befuddled physiog.
FIFA is a superior rendition of the noble sport of pigskin chasing whereas PES is unfit to nibble at its finely hewn boot-straps.
Oh my dear man, it seems that you must have been stricken with a bad case of the Pocky and it has desecrated your cerebral cortex to a state of lugubrious squalor. For everyman and his canine companion this side of Wallingford knows that PES is the purists' game of choice whereas FIFA is nothing but a two-shilling hoecake, dolled up to the nines but with no substance to fall back upon.
Sir, that may have once rung true, but it has long been held in public regard that the Evolution you hold so dear has failed to live up to its Pro prenomen in numerous generations of release. Where once it may have been fleet of foot, and easy on the monocle, it is now a mere leaden-soled luddite, with nary a hint of skill nor play in its expensive bowel.
FIFA, in stark contrast, has emerged as a shining knight in such circumstances. It is both pleasantly handsome and swifter than a finely greased carriage.
Absolute horsefeathers. Perhaps you mock the artistry of PES, criticise its gameplay and are unable to appreciate its copacetic grandeur because you have failed to master its multifarious motion controls. I put it to you, my dear fellow, that your metacarpals have failed to adapt to its robust control arrangement and instead you take cheap pleasure in scoring goals from the half way line, or via a contemptible acrobatic technique that would be more at home in some newfangled travelling circuses.
For is it not true that FIFA offers a control pad set up option that presents its participants with the option to customise to a, shall we say, more pragmatic and authentic PES-style impression?
Ah, but while it can be accused of mild plagiarism in control format, it vastly improves on the mud-spattered field of play - the arena of battle. Instead of the tripe that flows from your poorly educated vocal spout, modern FIFA has grown to offer far more control over the leather clad bladder, first eleven and gameboard than any PES variant since 1895
Your Far Eastern-rendered game relies on trickery and mysticism, deviating it away from the source subject it so desperately yearns to ape. My game, however, sports realism as a virtue. It dabbles ably in the venue of exactitude. Namely, it is scrupulous and true, both on the field and off - something that Pro Evolution, with its fanciful frippery and fantastical league structure, is not.
Fanciful frippery indeed! Whilst the Evolution title may lack certain aesthetic properties, in relation to insignificant details such as stadium names and uniform branding, it more than makes up for this with an adumbrative and delineative appearance that focuses on the movement and athletic mannerisms of its pixelated contestants, rather than sacrificing gameplay gratification in order to look more appealing to a footer-sim novice (dare I suggest, one like yourself?)
Why its forthcoming foray even offers an additional 1000 animations to take the level of realism to an unrivalled apogee!
An interesting metaphoric example of FIFA would that it is somewhat akin to one of the femme du jours as illustrated by the wonderfully proficient Enoch Bolles. Whilst it looks lovely on the page, you do fear that a weekend at Uncle Rupert's boathouse in its company would be ruined within hours because of its lack of substance.
So, could the Honourable Gentleman to the Right answer me why the vendor of such games-detritus chose, over all of its animatronic wonderments and graphical flourishes, an overall look of man made and science-crafted material for the likeness of each of the proposed football athletes? For I do argue that instead of offering adherence to this plane of existence, craft-monger Konami has opted to style its picturesque grounding on the purveyors of cosmetic surgery. The type of which has been performed by an ill-trained drudge with mallet and woodcarver's chisel.
Oh, absolute applesauce and I absolutely reject the abhorrent claims made in that malevolent outburst.
I put it to you that FIFA is no more than Madden football, wrapped up in a neat little soccer tunic, where gameplay is second fiddle to hairstyles and sponsor logos.
Tell me, is it still possible to tackle the goalkeeper and slide the old leather sphere into the empty onion bag?
And isn't it true, my good man, that you yourself admitted to I over a casket of fine ale that the online variety of FIFA was far more elementary than its Konami equivalent?
Sir, you must be mistaking me for a bamboozled peon, I am not one to frequent inns of ill repute, I am content to stay at my palatial home punctuating my days with the occasional libation. I do not quaff of the ale for it is the cloudy amber sac sauce of the devil himself. I now see where your strange and rhum leanings towards inferior football play tools comes from. FIFA is the game for God-fearing folk. And may they add that to their merchandising posters and advertisements. I bid you good day.
An atrocious lie, and one that renders your argument obsolete. For if you cannot be relied upon for rectitude when it comes to admitting your potation pleasures, then why should the gaming commonality give credence to your radical remonstrance? Now be gone with you, before I really spill my fury.
Order, order there will be no fury spilling in this House gentlemen. The two of you shall instead reconvene upon Richmond marshes as dawn rises and the mist still lingers, where I will furnish the pair of you to settle this matter a blunderbuss a piece. The party with the most limbs left wins. In the mean time, we open the debate to the floor.