Freebie Friday QWOP

Here at Citizen Game, we’re mighty fond of a bargain. But how do you know if a cheap or even free game is worth your valuable time? After all, you could be out walrus wrestling, or reading poetry to molluscs, or whatever it is important people do these days now that we no longer have an economy.

Luckily, our time is worth almost nothing at all, so we’ve plumbed the depths of the Intertubes to bring you our latest feature — Freebie Friday!

This week, we’re looking at QWOP.

Sometimes, we like to think that we’re a bit special, a bit too good for the low-ball challenges that game designers regularly throw our way. Lego Batman? Easier than running over landlocked penguins with a combine harvester. Assassin’s Creed? I don’t know what Desmond keeps whining about, those Templars are a push-over.

Thankfully, in my capacity as gaming-journalist-at-large (by which I mean I’m fat), I constantly meet people who are far better than me at button-and-stick manipulation, and prove it by trouncing me at any game I choose. Still, at least my solo playing experiences are free of humiliating failure, right?

Wrong. Those wonderful and not-at-all-twisted developers really like to kick a man when he’s down. Case in point is QWOP, a flash “game” created by genuine doctor Bennett Foddy, a bloody-minded and frustrating coordination puzzle that casts you as the only athlete competing on behalf of an unnamed and presumably grossly underfunded nation, given that they seem to have neglected to inform your avatar of how to run correctly.

Each key — Q, W, O and P — corresponds to a movement in the muscles of your left and right things and calves. Your goal is to use your muscular mastery to propel your third-world competitor over the finish line in a straight dash along a level track.

Sound easy? Have you ever tried really thinking about the myriad movements your body makes to let you put one foot in front of another? It’s enough to make you never want to get out of bed. Even reduced down to four major groups, the pinpoint timing required leaves my brain in pieces. Still, there is something oddly compelling about trying desperately to pilot your clumsy chum, only to see him accidentally pirhouette through the air and slam head-first into the astroturf.

My personal best so far is 7.3 metres. Come take me on, if you dare.