Over the course of my quasi-centurion life I have dabbled with various substances to no true good effect. My brain being semi-addled as it is, it still doesn’t help me answer the question: “What the hell is Pac-man?” Off the bat you are playing as a 2-D profile of the Wal-Mart smiley, traveling through a darkened labyrinth consuming balls while being chased by four coloured specters. As if that wasn’t trippy enough the specters each have different names. Despite the flashback-inducing imagery, the game is highly addictive. There is a certain thrill in evading ghosts and a merciless retribution found when it comes to eating them. Hours can be spent challenging yourself to attain high scores and greater level achievements. Can you pass though the ghosts around this corner? Can you evade the Blinky and Pinky trap?

While there is no background story or disernable plot, woven into the game is a complicated philosophy. The four villanious cast members: Inky, Pinky, Blinky and Clyde share a commonality: They are united kinsmen who have placed a jihad on Pac-man. Aside from the ghost’s differences in naming, they maintain a unified front once they emerge from their crypt to chase Pac-man. Together they stand. Clyde, with his uncharacteristic name is held in the same esteem by the other ghosts. Pinky, questionably a female, is given the same voting rights as the rest. Together they stand, divided they fall. The lesson learned is that you should be accepting of differences when you are united with a common goal, even if you’re named Clyde, who made me wet the bed at night as a child. Pac-man: The most basic arcade game out there, revered by the adults that suckled on its tender joystick in their youth, yet all the while teaching us a lesson that can change the world, if we all just learned to accept Clyde.