He Just Can’t Quit

An old friend dropped in the other day--one that used to take up a lot of my time back in the early days of personal computers.

It was Shanghai, a simple, seemingly innocent little game I used to play on my first Macintosh laptop.

The idea was simple. At the start of the game, the screen would show a graphic of 144 Mah-jongg tiles (in black and white, in those days) stacked up in a pyramid-like arrangement. Your mission was to find two matching tiles situated on the top or sides of the pyramid that were not blocked by other tiles. Click on the pair and they disappear, freeing up more tiles.

The goal was to gain access to all the tiles, leaving the screen blank at the end. But usually, you’d get only so far before being unable to access any more pairs. Then, you’d either have to call it quits or start up another round with a whole new pyramid.

In some ways, it was similar to Solitaire:

* Winning at both involved a little skill and lots of luck.

* Both called more upon powers of observation than brain power.

* And in both, you could get achingly close to winning, and then get tripped up at the last moment.

But in one way, Shanghai and Solitaire were exactly and disturbingly alike.

They were both incredibly addictive.

I found myself dead tired, late at night, forcing myself to stay awake for “just one more” round of Shanghai, sure that the next one would be a winner. I snuck in little rounds on trips, in airport terminals and over morning coffee.

This was not a noble endeavor and when in the presence of other people, it was definitely anti-social (woe to the person who would look over my shoulder and point out a match I hadn’t seen).

I felt bad about this, until I noticed I was not alone. As personal computers became widespread in offices and homes, I noticed others were also addicted to playing repetitive, simple games. A receptionist in an office would play Solitaire between calls, an accountant would get in a quick round of Tetras before heading home and of course there were others addicted to Shanghai.

Eventually, I tired of the game.

Then last week it reentered my life in the form of a CD-ROM, recently released by the original publisher, Activision, at a retail price of $39.95.

This is a souped-up version of Shanghai, featuring vivid colors, animations, music and sound effects. You can choose to use the original Mah-jongg tiles or instantly switch to tiles depicting science-fiction or fantasy scenes.

You can choose the original pyramid structure or try configurations that vary in complexity. You can play against the clock.

You can even choose to play traditional Mah-jongg (an enclosed booklet explains how the centuries-old game is played in both Chinese and Western styles). For children, included are simplified versions of “Shanghai,” featuring tiles that show household objects or letters of the alphabet.

Finally, you can use the CD-ROM to play Shanghai against as many as four other people connected directly by modem or via the Internet. In this mode, each player is presented with an identical board--the object is to clear it the fastest. (Although the CD-ROM can be used on both the Macintosh and Windows platforms, the modem-Internet mode is only available to those using Windows.)

To play the Internet version, the CD-ROM takes you to a special Shanghai site, where other players from around the world gather. On the evening I tried it, the only other player lurking on the site was a guy named Fred in Minnesota. He was a regular--we played several short games, during which he cleaned my clock all but once.

All the fancy new features are just fine, I suppose. After a few rounds, I turned off the music and animations, which tended to get a bit monotonous. The alternative tile sets were more garish than amusing, and I found myself sticking with the standard Mah-jongg type.

I tried the timed games, but they eliminated the slow pace of Shanghai that I found attractive. In the end, I found myself playing the same old game of Shanghai, with the only major change being the addition of color.

And this time around, I can stop any time I want to. Just as soon as I clear off this next board. Then the next. And the . . .

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Cyburbia’s e-mail address is david.colker@latimes.com.