When I hit levels in the 30's it started getting harder. I needed to ask for lives. I discussed strategy with Katarina. The word saga was starting to make a little bit more sense.
On Level 97, I got desperate. Two weeks in on 97, I was on twitter asking @deana_bo to come to my house, and beat it for me.
Asking random people on twitter to come to your house and play Candy Crush Saga, isn't like riding around in a van and offering candy to kids, is it? It feels a little too close. Now I am thinking Deana might have cause to be afraid of me, since apparently I tired to kidnap her via Twitter.
Is "Candy Crush made me do it" a legitimate defense?
I took a break for a couple of days to prove that I did not need Candy Crush in my life. Then I came back to beat Level 97. Now I am stuck on Level 107. (Hey Deana, what are you doing this weekend?)
I thought I understood the saga of Candy Crush...until I tried to teach Thomas how to play, and learned the true saga.
He did fine in the early levels (that is how they pull us in), but the jelly levels proved to be a struggle.
I started giving him advice. He was receptive, if a little disgruntled by the amount of progress I had made since we started playing. I was happy to help him.
I told Thomas he needed to cross two special candies to clear more of the board in one move. He did not know this was possible, so we spent several lives setting up a great move. He was very focused on seeing something blow up or a lot of pieces disappear.
Can you see the move?
It was perfect. I pointed at the screen, "Match the three yellow candies, and you will finally have your big move." I tapped on the appropriate pieces for emphasis.
"Okay. I'll match the yellow pieces..." he said as he reached for the mouse.
"NO! No! No! NO! What did you do? Why would you do that? What is wrong with you?"
He had moved the green stripy piece sideways - connecting the three yellows, and making it impossible to cross the stripy green and polka dot chocolate pieces.
It was a tragedy.
All those moves. All those lives. Wasted. Lost. No big clearing of the board.
Thomas looked up at me, and said, "We can try again, right?"
"Yes. But you can't do that again."
We both started to giggle at the absurdity, and I said, "This makes me think of that scene in The Office when Erin did not use the word apoplexy in her Scrabble game."
The Office scene: Oscar and Pam help Erin play Scrabble. They play until she has one turn left. Pam wants her to get the satisfaction of playing the winning move. Oscar reluctantly agrees, and gives her a big hint," Erin, I will have apoplexy if you lose. Do you understand? Apoplexy is what I will have." She nods happily, gives Oscar a look of understanding, and makes the move. A sad sound comes from her phone, indicating her loss, and Oscar begins to have a breakdown. It cuts to Erin saying, "I played ape."
I helped Thomas set up another perfect move, and pointed carefully at the correct pieces on the screen. "You want to get the stripy piece by the polka dot chocolate one."
Time slowed. In my concentration, I forgot to breathe for a moment.
This was it.
Thomas' hand moved the mouse. He clicked.
A quick swipe of his wrist, and....he moved the wrong piece.
He moved the wrong piece, y'all. I could hardly believe it.
I screamed. He screamed. Katarina screamed. There might have been tears.
And then I had apoplexy.
Do you play Candy Crush Saga?
Who wants to come to my house, and beat Level 107 for me?