One lunatic's love-hate relationship with the Pokémon franchise, and his addled musings on its rights, wrongs, ins and outs. Come one, come all, and indulge my delusions of grandeur as I inflict my opinions on anyone within shouting distance.
What did I actually say about Swadloon? I’m not sure I even remember. I’ll look it up.
Oh yeah. Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t really get it, but I still liked it. Hmm. Well, I have no idea what a hikikomori is, but I’ll take your word for it that it makes sense.
So I think the second half of this question has been lost in the aether, but there’s enough of it here that I can get the gist of it, don’t you think?
So. Yes; that is a legitimate point. I disagree (as, of course, you are aware) but I think it is fair to say that (for example) Pokémon like Pidgey, Spearow, Taillow, Starly and Pidove convey the variety we see even amongst the ‘generic birds’ of the real world, and that this can be called a strength of that design philosophy. I am inclined to believe, however, that the continued proliferation of ‘generic’ designs like these is simply rather poor prioritisation. The aim (so far as I can make out) is not to construct a working ecosystem, or a realistic cross-section of the species you actually see in the world; the aim, I think, is to convey the diversity of life, to show how just how weird and amazing some species can be. Sure, there are thousands of species of birds, but when you already have the pigeon, why would you do the starling and not the cassowary, or the quetzal?
Besides, if we actually try to imitate the spread of species we see in the real world, we’ll wind up with 90% of all Pokémon being Bug-types.
D’aww, thanks. 🙂
So again I have been too busy to write Pokémon stuff for you this week, which is why there is no more playthrough journal at the moment, but I do want to take a moment to talk to you about what I had for lunch yesterday.
Yesterday for lunch I had two vegetarian samosas with vindaloo sauce from a takeaway curry place on the grounds of the university where I work and study. They were delicious, but this is not as relevant as you might think. What is relevant is that I paid for these delicious samosas and their vindaloo sauce by putting a plastic card in a slot and pressing some buttons. I possessed nothing of worth which I could exchange for my lunch (well, except for my books, which I need to do my job properly), nor did I provide the staff of the Indian takeaway place with any useful service. I just presented them with a bit of plastic (which I then took back afterwards!) and keyed a sequence of numbers into a pad (without even revealing what those numbers were!), and I think it is really quite astonishing that I live in the world where this is a totally legitimate way of obtaining delicious samosas with vindaloo sauce.
Let’s think about what’s happening here. I’m talking, of course, about an EFTPOS transaction, whereby some money is transferred from my bank account to the bank account of the company which produces the delicious samosas. As far as I know, this money exists only as numbers on a computer screen. I suppose it’s possible that the bank actually has a bunch of little vaults and that the bank staff shuttle piles of coins from one to another whenever I buy samosas, but I find this unlikely. At any rate I have never seen these coins if they exist, since the money was paid directly into my bank account by the university. The university gives me this money because, four times every week, I stand up in front of a group of 20-odd undergrads and baffle them with nonsense like this, as well as reading the pieces of paper given to me by those same undergrads and explaining to them why everything they have just told me is not only wrong but potentially insane. Since I perform these tasks diligently and with integrity, the university tells the bank to take some of the numbers next to its name and put them next to my name instead. Most of the numbers next to the university’s name are derived from government funding, which in turn are derived from taxes collected each year from the people of New Zealand, as determined, planned and arranged by the duly elected magistrates of our democratic government. As far as I am aware, the people who make my delicious samosas enjoy no benefit, themselves, from my duties, and I suspect it would not matter if they did.
As far as I can make out, then, the people of my country, acting through the person of their elected officials, have collectively decided that, by peddling befuddlement to my students in a misguided attempt to expand their minds, I am performing a useful service to my society, and that in recognition of this service, I have the right to consume delicious samosas on a regular basis, and furthermore, that anyone willing to provide me with these delicious samosas should be rewarded in turn, in a manner of their own choosing. And all of this is represented by the action of a slim piece of plastic and the movement of a few digits.
I find it truly amazing the things people take for granted.
You know this is exactly what Ditto’s Dream World ability does, right?
Flying is weird, true. It seems split into ‘bird’ Pokémon and attacks (Pidgeot, Pelipper, Honchkrow, Drill Peck, Pluck, Brave Bird, etc), ‘wind’ Pokémon and attacks (Drifblim, Jumpluff, Gust, Hurricane, Air Slash, etc), and Pokémon who just happen to be able to fly. Then of course you have stuff like Dodrio, who is a bird who can’t fly, Flygon, who isn’t a Flying-type because she has two types already, despite being a Pokémon that flies with wings, and Gyarados, who is a Flying-type because he’s based on a kite, even though he cannot fly and, in fact, has no powers related to either wind or flight at all. In fact, you can see from Missingno.’s data in Red and Blue that there was originally going to be a Bird type, which was apparently scrapped, and I know of at least one Fakemon website which splits the Flying type in this way. It’s worth noting that, in Red and Blue, Gust was actually a Normal attack, while Whirlwind and Razor Wind still are – what this suggests is that Game Freak initially considered wind-related powers to be ‘unaligned,’ which shows a remarkable shift in their conception of the Flying type when you compare it to Tornadus from Black and White.
The trouble is that I can’t help but imagine Wind would be very small, as it stands. Although there are several annoying exceptions, most Flying-types appear to be Flying-types because they can fly with wings. I could definitely see Pidgeot being Wind/Flying instead of Normal/Flying, Jumpluff, as you note, would be a sensible candidate for Grass/Wind (along with Whimsicott?), Tornadus would certainly have to be a Wind-type (but where does that leave Thundurus and Landorus?), Drifblim, Tropius and maybe Mantine, Emolga and Sigilyph should go in there, but that seems to be about it, as far as I can see. Shiftry is a possibility but you’d have to think long and hard about whether his wind powers are really more important than the characteristics that make him Grass/Dark. I’m inclined to disagree with you on Jigglypuff, simply because she doesn’t actually have any wind powers at all; she just happens to be light enough to float on the wind. Gyarados presents a similar problem, though I’d probably stick him into Wind for the hell of it. Pokémon like Crobat, Gliscor, Vespiquen and Ledian, who aren’t birds but have no strong connection with Wind either, probably have to stay in Flying.
Like eliminating the Ground type, this is, in the end, something that I probably would have done if I’d been mucking around with Pokémon since its inception but wouldn’t really want to do now unless I were intent on completely ripping the games to pieces and starting practically from scratch.
In comparison to the last six Gyms we’ve visited, the Humilau City Gym is an extremely laid-back place. No one tries to blow me through a wall… or crush me between two giant statues… or wrap me in a silken coffin. Jim and I are permitted to drift gracefully and calmly across Marlon’s huge indoor swimming pool, borne on huge lilypads, our reverie broken only by such trainers as we deign to battle. If nothing else, Marlon at least knows how to treat his challengers with a bit of good, honest respect. I quickly find, unsurprisingly, that my Sawsbuck, Bran, is going to be the star of this show, with a little backup from my Ampharos, Sansa. Jim, likewise, has Ulfric the Serperior and his own Ampharos, Elisif, to cut a swath through the Gym. Although they are admittedly quite strong, the Gym trainers fall very quickly to our onslaught of super-effective attacks. We barely break a sweat on our way to Marlon. He battles me first. Bran, unsurprisingly, crushes the Carracosta Marlon opens with, and goes on to heal himself almost effortlessly by draining the great sack of HP that is Marlon’s Wailord with his Horn Leech. Marlon’s partner Pokémon, Jellicent, proves to be made of sterner stuff, and I am forced to recall Bran when his Horn Leech attack is locked down by Cursed Body. Now weakened, though, Jellicent is no match for Sansa’s Discharge. Marlon congratulates me and hands over my Wave Badge before turning to Jim and saying that his Pokémon need time to “chill” before another match, “fo’ reals.” How long? Oh, a couple of days, maybe a week. Apparently it is not proper for one to “rush the chillaxation, yo’,” as it is an important part of Marlon’s training regimen. Or something. Jim groans with exasperation, produces a bag of Revive crystals and Hyper Potions, and patches up Marlon’s three Pokémon before demanding a battle. Marlon says something about “keepin’ it fo’ reezy” or… oh, who am I kidding? I’d long since stopped paying attention by this point. I settle down on a lilypad to watch Jim’s battle, which is even more of a walkover than mine was, Ulfric’s Coil technique boosting the power of his Leaf Blade to obscene levels and giving Marlon’s Water Pokémon no chance to respond. Once defeated a second time, Marlon promptly backflips into the water and swims out of the Gym, presumably to go and ‘chill’ somewhere.
Hugh is delighted that we have earned our Wave Badges – only now, apparently, can we get on with our urgent business. He dispatches me and Jim to check out route 22, west of Humilau City (which Jim, of course, never quite got around to) while he sweeps the southern areas. At this point, Marlon shows up with an interjection. He’s certainly easy enough to find when he wants to interfere… Marlon, unlike every other Gym Leader in the region, not only hasn’t even heard of Team Plasma but has no opinion on their actions one way or the other, because “the ocean accepts all rivers, brah.” Jim points out, somewhat indignantly, that Team Plasma’s past actions, and indeed their entire raison d’être, are pretty much the exact antithesis of the philosophy Marlon seems to be pushing here. The Gym Leader is unconcerned, and wanders off to return to whatever vaguely-specified activity he had been busy with earlier.
Jim and I head for route 22, a wilderness area with paths so convoluted it could hardly be more confusing if it had been designed as a maze. We find no sign of Team Plasma as we search the area. If their ship was here, it’s gone now. I doubt it could have landed anyway; the terrain is so uneven that it would be just about impossible. Just as we are about to give up and go back to Humilau City, though, we find something much more interesting: the legendary Pokémon Terrakion, waiting for us on a plateau. Images flash inside my head: Cobalion, Terrakion and Virizion, together, a blade crashing down on the heads of our enemies.
“What are you waiting for? Catch it.”
Colress is standing behind us. He explains that, as far as he can tell, Terrakion wants to fight Team Plasma alongside Cobalion and Virizion, and is here to test us to see if we deserve his assistance. I shrug and call out Jaime, my Samurott. If this big ugly git wants a swordfight, we’ll give him one. Terrakion has centuries of experience on Jaime, but Water-beats-Rock is a truism as old as the ocean itself. Jaime’s Razor Shell brings Terrakion to his knees, and a barrage of Ultra Balls seals his fate. I turn back to Jim and Colress. Colress applauds enthusiastically, and declares that he has a reward for us – a prototype of the machine he used outside of Castelia City to awaken the Crustle blockade. He hands me a small remote with a big green button on it, beaming proudly. It has not been proven to have any effect at all on Pokémon in battle, Colress notes, but he’s sure I’ll find some use for it. I am about to fire off a snarky comment, but remember the suspicious square boulder in the Seaside Cave, and thank Colress for his gift. Satisfied, he departs, leaving me and Jim to our business. I tell Jim to stay on Route 22 and do one more sweep of the area while I check out the Seaside Cave. Were this any other game, it would probably be nothing, but since this is Pokémon and Nintendo we’re dealing with, there is an extremely high likelihood that the square boulder is a Crustle, and that it is sitting exactly where we need to be.
When I reach the Seaside Cave, I retrace my steps and find the east exit where the great sandstone boulder is still waiting patiently to be cleared. I squint at the remote Colress gave me. He provided no instructions, but the interface seems simple enough: push the big green button. With a dramatic flourish, I point the remote at the boulder and press it. The remote begins to emit a hum, which quickly rises to a high-pitched whine. Nothing happens to the rock. The remote then starts sparking and giving off choking black smoke, which prompts me to drop it. It hits the ground and quietly explodes. I bend over and peer at the remote’s remains, raising an eyebrow. My confidence in Colress’ technology has taken a serious hit. Suddenly, though, I feel the ground tremble ever so slightly. I look up to see the huge Crustle slowly, tortuously getting to its feet. It chitters to itself gently before waddling away. The way is now open. I silently question whether the remote did anything or the Crustle simply woke up on its own, but decide it doesn’t matter. Now that I can get through the cave exit, I can clearly see the Team Plasma frigate sitting calmly in the water just off the beach. I punch Jim’s number into my X-Transceiver and tell him to get down here, then step out of the cave to take a closer look. The first thing I notice is that, this time, the ship’s occupants have remembered to pull up the gangplank. Hmm. Well, I suppose I could just Dragon Pulse my way in. This ain’t my ship, what do I care? Then again, that would attract a lot of attention, and I should probably at least try to- wait, no, I don’t give a $#!^ who sees me; I’m Princess Motherf#$%ing Leia, I’m taking these morons down, and I don’t care who knows. Dragon Pulse it is.
As I deliberate on the problem, Marlon backflips out of the water and greets me. I give him a sarcastic “sup, yo.” Marlon is here, apparently, to repeat what he told me and Jim back in Humilau City – that, like him, I need to be open and accepting of all peoples and creeds, which is why he doesn’t want to fight Team Plasma. After all, they’re probably perfectly nice guys, deep down. I tap my foot on the sand, waiting for him to get to the point. On the other hand, Marlon continues, I clearly need a hand here, so he’s just going to help me out a little bit and then be on his way. He leaps back into the water, swims back out to the ship, does some sort of spider-climb up its side, hops over onto the deck, slides out the gangplank, and flips back over the side into the water. He gives me a jaunty wave, tells me to “keep it real, yo” and swims off.
Y’know, Marlon, there’s a difference between a philosophical commitment to balance and neutrality, and plain old indecisiveness. What you are doing is definitely the latter. Thanks for the assist though.
Anyway. Jaime, Sansa, Tyrion, Barristan, Daenerys, Bran… come on out, everyone. Time to storm this b!tch.
With Opelucid City frozen, it’s difficult to get around. We find ourselves sliding all over the place on sheets of ice, and our paths are continuously blocked by great crystal spires. Of course, the Team Plasma grunts aren’t doing too well either. Drayden seems unwilling to reveal exactly where the ‘DNA Splicers’ we’re supposed to be protecting actually are, so Jim and I are forced to sweep the city, pulverising as many Team Plasma members as we can find. Eventually I locate Zinzolin, outside the Opelucid Gym. Oh, I realise, well duh. Where else would Drayden keep a ridiculously valuable set of artefacts with apocalyptic powers? Zinzolin greets me and we shoot the breeze for a while about the nature of pain. Zinzolin feels there is a certain purity in suffering, and wishes to spread this transcendent experience to the rest of the world in a form of social Darwinism. His views are extreme, but his dedication to practicing what he preaches and embracing suffering himself is admirable. Zinzolin thanks me for the compliment, but suggests that we need to get on with our business. I sigh and agree. Can’t this guy be my rival instead of Hugh? We could just hang out and debate philosophy; it would be awesome. He has actually come a long way since our last battle, mere days earlier; he has picked up a second Cryogonal and evolved his Sneasel into a Weavile. This time, though, I have grown tired of the cold, and call out my Arcanine to bring a swift end to the battle. Cryogonal’s epic special defence aside, Ice Pokémon are not well equipped for the kind of onslaught Barristan can lay down. Zinzolin graciously bows out, leaving me to guard the Gym. Drayden and Jim soon arrive, having finished sweeping the city, and Drayden tells us to wait outside while he fetches the DNA Splicers from his lair. Minutes later, he brings them out to show us: a set of elongated pyramidal objects, striped in black, white and grey. Huh. So these are the magic devices that will… well, presumably fuse Kyurem with either Reshiram or Zekrom to create those terrifying bastards on the box art.
Suddenly, a member of the Shadow Triad is here.
Equally suddenly, he is talking as though he has successfully stolen the DNA Splicers. What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Shadow Triad Person? Drayden is holding the splicers; they are right there in his-
With a curious sinking feeling, Jim and I turn back to Drayden.
God damnit, Drayden, you were physically holding the stupid things in your hands, how could you-? Oh, you know what? Never mind. Teleporting ninja bull$#!^. Whatever.
The Shadow Triad ninja gloats briefly, then flees through the city with his magic shadow ninja speed. The three of us stare at each other, wordless, for a full ten seconds before we split up and run through Opelucid City at breakneck speed hunting for the Shadow Triad. I make it all the way to the city’s eastern entrance before finding one, who challenges me to come and take the splicers if I want them. With an Absol and a pair of Pawniard, he’s certainly no slouch at battling, but nothing Barristan and Daenerys can’t handle. Once defeated, the ninja admits that, actually, he doesn’t have the DNA splicers at all – he was just buying time for the others to escape. With that, he blinks away. I spend the next five minutes reciting Catullus 16 in Latin at the top of my voice. Just as I am in danger of running out of ancient words for violent sexual abuse, Jim turns up. He has also battled a member of the Shadow Triad, and has had similar ill luck. Well, there were three ninjas, and there were three of us, so if I didn’t get the one with the splicers, and Jim didn’t get the one with the splicers… As we discuss this, Drayden arrives and wails that the Shadow Triad have escaped.
GOD DAMNIT DRAYDEN YOU HAD ONE JOB.
Hugh and Cheren arrive just in time to avoid doing anything useful, and we hold an impromptu council of war. Cheren’s friends at the climate institute have detected another massive temperature drop near remote Humilau City, which probably means that Kyurem is there – with Team Plasma. Drayden dejectedly tells us that he can’t come, since he has to protect Opelucid City (because he’s done such a wonderful job of that so far) but Hugh and Cheren proclaim the vital urgency of this quest and dash off, Cheren to get more information from the climate institute, Hugh to investigate Humilau City. Jim and I depart as well, flying back to Undella Town at top speed. As reluctant as we are to get further involved in any of this nonsense, Team Plasma’s theft of the DNA Splicers surely indicates that their plans involve not just Kyurem but Reshiram and Zekrom as well, and possibly the creation of something else more powerful than any of them. When we arrive in Undella Town, we immediately dash to the newly-opened Marine Tube, the clear underwater tunnel leading from Undella to Humilau City. This thing reminds me a little of the tunnels in the Kelly Tarlton’s aquarium in our home city, Auckland, but on a massive scale. I glimpse some enormous Water Pokémon swimming in the ocean around the tunnel, but there’s no time to stop and watch – Hugh has made it quite clear that we are on an urgent mission! We soon arrive in the tropical paradise of Humilau City, a resort town built primarily on wooden walkways raised above the shallow sea, a little reminiscent of Pacifidlog Town in far away Hoenn. Upon our arrival we are greeted by Hugh, who will surely want to co-ordinate our efforts in this desperate, frantic hunt.
“We’ll get the DNA Splicers back for sure! So you should focus on defeating the Gym Leader first!”
O…kay. So, um… no rush, then?
Hugh is, I can only assume, confident that his obsessive hatred of Team Plasma and bloodhound-like ability to hunt them down will sort everything out in due time without undue difficulty. Jim and I are less certain and, unwilling to waste time on anything as frivolous as a Gym challenge, scout out the areas around Humilau City. I head south and leave Jim to go west. Humilau City is separated from Undella Town by a stretch of pristine tropical coast, dotted with tiny sandy islands. There is no sign of Team Plasma anywhere. I also check out the Seaside Cave that leads into Undella Bay, but find nothing out of the ordinary. There is another exit from the cave on the east side, but it is blocked by a large square boulder suspiciously similar to the group of Crustle Jim and I encountered outside Castelia City so long ago. Hmm. I poke the boulder a few times, and even have Jaime, my Samurott, hack away at it with Razor Shell a couple of times. No effect. Where’s Colress when you need him? I throw my hands in the air with exasperation and return to Humilau City. Jim, to my surprise, has not left the city yet. He explains, sheepishly, that he can’t find the way out. I stare at him in disbelief. I was gone for hours; how hard could it have been? Apparently, the walkways of Humilau City don’t all link up, and he can’t figure out how to get to the far west side of the town. We walk around the city for a little while, and I point out that we are allowed to walk beneath the platforms as well.
Jim spends the next hour cursing under his breath and muttering about how Humilau City is a silly little add-on anyway, feels like it was tacked on at the last minute, and doesn’t add anything important to the game. I am forced to agree that it doesn’t really seem to serve much purpose other than to provide an excuse for a new Gym and an alternative road to the Giant Chasm and the Pokémon League. It’s not even like Humilau City is Unova’s only tropical resort town. This does not stop me from sniggering at Jim as we wander back towards the Pokémon Centre. On our way, we are confronted with Humilau City’s Gym Leader, Marlon, who springs out of the water to greet us in his own idiosyncratic fashion. I wasn’t aware before meeting Marlon that “sup, yo” was a greeting that anyone actually used, but apparently it is. My poor rigid classically-educated brain has trouble keeping up with him; I half expect him to start calling me “dogg.” I quickly decide to cover up my discomfort by demanding a battle. Marlon tells me to “chill” and meet him later at his Gym, “yo.”
The thought briefly occurs to me that I am now wasting time on something as frivolous as a Gym challenge. I dismiss the notion, rationalising that I have seven of these damn badges now – one more couldn’t possibly hurt, right?
Wow, really loving all your articles and posts! That’s awesome that you like the Grass type; they don’t get enough love. But I gotta know: what’s your opinion on the Ground type in general? For the longest time it’s been my favorite (but that might be nostalgia talking since I used to love Sandshrew when I was 8). Now that I’ve looked over some of your posts about Pokemon designs….I do notice Ground has a lot of rather generic looking desert animals with no particular extraordinary powers, lol
Ground… Ground is sort of odd because, aside from Normal, it’s the element with the fewest proper defining characteristics. Many of them are either subterranean or desert creatures – and let us note that these are two extremely different things, and that there is really no reason to clump them together while separating Rock. This seems to be the deal for most Ground-type attacks, but not all Ground Pokémon are anything like this. What, for instance, makes Marowak a Ground-type? What makes Garchomp a Ground-type, other than having the Sand Veil ability (which is shared by Cacturne)? What makes Nidoking and Nidoqueen Ground-types? You mention Sandshrew, and I think perhaps it is worth noting that, as of his introduction in Red and Blue, Sandshrew never actually learned any Ground attacks on his own – Sand Attack being considered a Normal-type attack at the time, which really makes you wonder why they labelled Sandshrew a Ground-type in the first place. In Gold and Silver, of course, Sand Attack became Ground-type, but the newly introduced Sandstorm was a Rock-type attack, and has been ever since. The first Sand Stream Pokémon, Tyranitar, was a Rock-type also. Sort of makes you wonder why other sand Pokémon, and the sand-based attacks introduced in Ruby and Sapphire, didn’t follow suit. The only thing I can think of that they all have in common is that they live on the ground, and even that goes out the window when you encounter bloody Gligar and his nonsensical Ground/Flying type. It might be instructive, furthermore, to question why Kangaskhan, Dunsparce and Stoutland, to name a few, are not Ground-types.
I’m honestly not sure Ground really needs to be a type at all. It has very little in the way of thematic unity or purpose, and if I had been doing this ten years ago I might have suggested eliminating it entirely and splitting all of its belongings between Rock and Normal (although this would happen at the price of making Normal even larger and more nebulous than it is already). You asked for my opinion on the Ground type, and I suppose I’ve given it… I don’t really ‘get’ it. This is not to say that individual Ground-type Pokémon are poorly designed; some of them are, of course, but others are amazing. It’s just that the type as a whole is such a vague and, frankly, poorly thought-out idea that they don’t really have anything in common as a group. Is it really necessary to have two ‘miscellaneous’ types?
