I’ve never been what you’d call a “gamer”.

Sure, I own a console. It’s outdated by now. I like to play the odd game. But that’s about it.

I’m almost forty. Old enough now that when I was at the height of my “gaming” years, all that really entailed was getting together with friends to play Mario or Castlevania, or Excite Bike, or Punch-Out. Maybe Sonic if a friend had a Genesis, which no one does anymore.

Keeping up with the latest trends in gaming was never interesting to me. I have a lot of interests; reading, watching movies and television, listening to music. But gaming? It was never a hobby. More like a pastime.

Like most pastimes, I don’t really understand when someone makes a lifestyle out of it. Today the gaming scene isn’t aimed at the casual gamer. You get accused of being a “n00b” if you aren’t up to date on everything. It’s almost a religion.

So I leave it alone, and have been content to do so for several years now. For the most part, the gaming world has also left me in peace.

There was one time, however, when the gaming world decided not to leave me in peace. In fact, the whole experience was enough to turn me off gaming for life.

It happened at a pretty low time in my life. I had just had my ex-wife file for divorce from me, and I had moved back in with my parents while looking for a new place to live. I had recently gotten a new job after the one I had been at fired me for all the time I missed due to divorce proceedings.

My new job was as a systems analyst for a major company. I was one of many, a cog in the machinery, but I had been in a few jobs like this in the past and they all operated differently. Some of them you only had to care about while you were there, while others expected you to bring your work home with you, and I had not yet figured out which kind of job this was.

So when the call came, and I didn’t immediately recognize the voice or the number, my first inclination was that it was probably someone at work. My mother answered it, and I heard from across the room a mail voice ask if Brandon was there. Mom handed me the phone.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hello, is this Brandon Coates?”

“Yes…who is this?”

“Um…I need to confirm some codes.”

At this point, I still thought this was a work call. I didn’t recognize the voice at all, but I didn’t know everyone at the office yet. Maybe this guy needed me to confirm my employee ID or something. Or perhaps he needed to make sure I had all the access I needed for the systems I was going to be helping maintain.

“What sort of codes?” I asked.

“Look, the fucking codes you provided aren’t working,” said the voice. At this point I began to realize this wasn’t a work call. I was momentarily stunned, unsure how to respond to this jackass who was already getting hostile with me. His next words removed any doubt that he’d gotten the wrong Brandon Coates. “For NBA Live. On xBox 360.”

I’m only barely aware of the game system called xBox. I’ve never played a game on it nor did I ever plan to. Also, my job had nothing whatsoever to do with game systems.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you have the wrong number.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” The dude was really angry now. More angry than he should be over something as simple as dialing the wrong person in the phone book. “You’re Brandon Coates! You said so! Now fix these goddam codes or fuck you, fuckin’ BrainDaddy punk!”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again.” He was still yelling as I hung up.

I didn’t give the matter a second thought. Likely the guy was just pissed and said some things in the heat of anger that he would regret when he calmed down later.

But a couple of days later, I got another call. This time my father answered it, and after a moment, handed the phone to me with a concerned expression on his face.

I took it and said hello again. The voice on the phone was not the same man who called before.

“Brandon Coates?”

“Um…speaking.”

“Listen, fuck you, BrainDaddy. You’re a fraud and a joke. If I see you again, you’re fuckin’ dead.”

I couldn’t help it. I got pissed. “Listen, fucknugget, you’ve got the wrong guy! I told your buddy a few days ago that I’m not the Brandon Coates you’re looking for and this call is harassment!”

“Yeah? You like it? Wanna suck my dick?” I hung up. I almost couldn’t muster the restraint to keep from hurling the phone across the room.

“Who are these people, Brandon?” my father asked. The look on his face made me realize that he was concerned, not for his son who was being harassed for the crime of sharing a name with another guy, but concerned about his son who might be involved in something dangerous. I hadn’t said anything to them about the last call other than “wrong number” but a second call, from an obviously different person, cursing me out and threatening me? Dad was sitting close enough to me that I know he heard the other person’s threat. His suspicions were raised.

My parents and I get along okay, but to say they haven’t always been on board with things I pursue is an understatement. For one, they were against my marrying my ex-wife to begin with, and several times in my life I’d had money problems. I could tell by the way my father asked “Who are these people” that he fully expected me to answer, as if I knew. He likely thought they were money lenders or worse, wondered if I’d started selling drugs or something.

The truth, in this case, would truly set me free, at least as far as he was concerned. “They think I’m this other guy who has the same name,” I said. “They keep calling me BrainDaddy. They think I’m involved with the xBox 360 or something. I have no idea what they want, but they won’t believe they have the wrong guy.”

“Well, these calls need to stop, son,” said Dad, the tone in his voice exactly the same as the one he used to use when I was in school. “These bad grades need to stop, son.” Just the same tone, like the calls were my fault.

I honestly didn’t know what to do. Contrary to whatever my father’s suspicions are, I have never been involved in any criminal activity, and I didn’t know how to deal with harassing phone calls. Also, a naive part of me thought the calls would stop on their own. That sounded like the easiest way to deal with it.

And for about a week, it was. And then, one Saturday when I had nothing else to do and both parents were gone, the phone rang.

I took one look at the caller ID and let it ring. The number and caller’s name were blocked. It would most probably be someone calling for Mom or Dad. I had made it a point to not answer their phone if they weren’t there. After all, I had a cell phone and most people who needed to contact me would use that.

My parents are very old-fashioned people. They don’t have voice mail. In this case, it was probably a good thing they didn’t, or it would have been them that heard the message. They still had an answering machine, as if it was still 1988, and, like all answering machines, it didn’t give a shit about privacy.

Blasting through the house loud enough that two senior citizens could hear it no matter which room they were in, came the following message.

“BraaaaaaaainDaddyyyyyyy…” drawled a gravelly voice. The person on the other end sounded either like they had just woken up, or was drunk, or had a bad cold. “I saw you at GameCon….sooooo beautifuuuuul….it was like lightning through my penis, man…you’re gonna take my dick up your ass so sooooooooon…..”

There was more, but it was just muffled curse words. I let it finish, and then I immediately erased the message. I decided it was time to get serious. Clearly they weren’t going to stop. I could hardly believe what was going on. These people, all of them sounding like young men in their early twenties tops, had taken what I was starting to realize was an online vendetta way over the line. Their actions were bordering on illegal, and I knew I had to do something before they decided to…who knows? Show up at my parents’ doorway armed?