“I dance under those lights.” Muhammad Ali.
Brutality apart, fighting and dancing share commonality; a high-level of dexterity, a keen level of fitness and the fact that most of Britain ends up doing either or both after a few too many every weekend. Seeking to test this theory, I took a copy of underwhelming brawl simulator “The Fight”, gaming’s third favourite motion control system PS Move, and pop’s biggest dance crazes of the past three decades.
My nemesis: a green-hooded hooligan from planet ASBO. My plan: a pasting-by-prancing. What follows is a blow-by-glowstick real time account. Seconds out…
The Cheeky Girls – The Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum)
As Transylvania’s inane pop insult strikes up my challenger starts to encroach on my space. I launch into a 360˚ pirouette, thrusting my arms into the air as per the eponymous pair.
#We are the Cheeky Girls#
BANG! I’m pummelled by a right hook. Undeterred, I dance on, stretching both arms out one at a time.
#You are the Cheeky Boys#
Amazingly, I connect with his face. Given the lack of velocity however, I’m barely tickling his chin and he lands several blows in return. Changing tack, I opt for the bridge section instead. Big mistake.
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| Touch their bum. Go on, see where it gets you. |
#Touch my bum#
Unsurprisingly, having to retreat your fists from battle to grab your own buttocks isn’t a tactic often observed in boxing, if ever. He takes this opportunity to pummel me senseless, and the crowd boo my sheer ineptitude. The fight is over, and I have quite literally been handed my own arse.
Los del Rio – The Macarena
Round one down, and onto the automated shuffle of joyless obedience that is the Macarena, a routine everyone in the world knows, except me. It’s often touted as “the dance for people who can’t dance” which I find a curiously self-defeating promotion; would McDonalds advertise themselves as “the restaurant chain for people who don’t like eating”? Regardless, three minutes of YouTube tutorial later and I’m ready.
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| Should a dance really need air flight safety-style instructions? |
I sternly bring both arms out catching my enemy in the chops. A congratulatory award flashes up telling me how shit-kickingly hard I am. Result! Flipping my hands round stuns him further and I’m about to open several vending machines of carbonated Whup-Ass on his ugly mug when I realise my next move is, yet again, a surrender of arms and bum-grabbing.
He rounds on me as I continue with my insipid combat-free steps. Limply, I begin the process again, but despite a couple more light jabs, I’m defeated like a divorcee weeping into his ex-wife’s empty knicker drawer.
Village People – Y.M.C.A
If ever a song could batter a brawler then surely it’s this one? I mean, that menacing moustachioed guy in the leather – you wouldn’t want to meet him up a dark alley threatening you with a piece of piping, would you?
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| The Village People. Real men. |
#Young man!#
I thrust my arm forwards, taking my opponent by surprise. He deflects the blow and returns several mid-rib punches of his own. I suddenly realise I only know the chorus so stand motionless, allowing my beleaguered avatar to accept the defenceless punishment being meted out to him.
I start to feel desperately sorry for the polygons that created him, as if they’re somehow screaming at me, “We could have been contenders! We could have been Kane, dammit! Or, at a push, Lynch.”
Damn. My stupid plan has made poor, powerless polygons wish they were sub-standard video games characters instead of the shirtless schmuck on screen. They need this like I need an Anne Widdecombe sextape – it’s time to fight back.
#YMCA!#
I dance with a renewed vigour, dignity not an option (dignity and I were never the best of friends, but tonight we’ve seemingly parted company for good). Impressively, the ‘M’ smacks my adversary hard on his cranium and I think he’s close to falling backwards, but sadly dodges the remaining letters and quickly dispatches my disco-jigging pugilist with ease.
Black Lace – Superman
If anyone can get me out of this dance floor disaster it’s the Man of Steel, yeah?
“Look at me, I’m Superman!” I exclaim enthusiastically to my wife. She quietly sighs and carries on wistfully browsing old boyfriends’ profiles on Facebook.
Handily, this novelty song is a list of basic instructions so getting my moves wrong isn’t an option. Turning them into a bona fide bare-knuckle beating might take a little more skill, however. We begin.
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| Black Lace. You guys have got my back, yeah? Guys? |
#Sleep!#
Alright, not the best start.
#Wave your hands!#
I’m flaccidly waving “Coo-ee!” at my nemesis. He’s responding with punching. Lots and lots and lots of punching.
#Hitch a ride!#
I jam a thumb in his eye. Better, but each subsequent gesture is met with ever more violent responses. I’m wavering.
#Superman!#
A final surge of superhuman strength sends me sky-high. For a brief moment, I’m convinced it’s all going to be alright. A dancing dust-up wasn’t such a stupid idea; it’s going to end in a victory for boogie-based boxing and everyone will turn not to confrontation and clashes, but co-ordination and coattails. Violence won’t be…oh crap, I’ve missed.
If I’m Superman, then Kryptonite’s just kicked me in the nuts.
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| Bet Christopher Reeve never had to put up with this shit. |
The Gap Band – Oops Upside Your Head
As I sit down I realise my Move controls are no longer in visible range. I’ve broken the game just as my opponent breaks my nose. Ouch.
Dejected and done for the day, I throw in the towel, relinquish the controllers and contemplate the findings of my somewhat foolhardy journey.
They are:
#1 The Cheeky Girls are every bit as rubbish as fighting as they are singing.
#2 The Macarena is tougher than it looks, in more ways than one.
#3 Pausing mid-fight to fondle your own bum cheeks is a really, really bad move.
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Game Over
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