The Great Photon Phizzle

I couldn’t tell you exactly when Oklahoma’s Photon Laser Tag Arena opened. The first franchise Photon opened in Toronto in June of 1985, and the company folded in 1989 — so, it was definitely somewhere between those two points in time.

It has been said (on Wikipedia) that George Carter III (the inventor of Photon) got the idea for the sport while watching Star Wars. That, I do not doubt. While playing Photon, I felt like I was on an alien planet; like I was really in Star Wars. A transformation took place when we strapped on their twenty pounds of gear. No longer were we high school geeks, sci-fans, or dreamers — we were Photon Warriors.

Jeff was my Photon buddy. The two of us built a friendship in mid-high based on our common love of computers (Commodore 64), music (Motley Crue and Ozzy), and movies (horror and sci-fi). I was short, chunky and sarcastic; Jeff was my tall and lanky straight man. We were the R2D2 and C3P0 of our school. While neither of us could have been mistaken for athletes, there was something about Photon that attracted us like moths to a distant laser beam.

Games of Photon lasted six minutes and cost $3. While it was too expensive for us to play all day, we dropped $10-$20 regularly on weekends. Shortly after our local Photon opened they introduced the Zappy Pass — $30 for unlimited games for a single day. Since you could blast through $20 in an hour at Photon, the Zappy pass made perfect economical sense. I can remember many, many Saturdays where Jeff and I would purchase Zappy Passes and attempt to play every single game. Starting at 10am and going through 1am, the two of us would play Photon, exit the arena, and immediately go get in line for the next game. I have distinct memories of standing outside Photon in the chilly, dark night, crying due to leg cramps. The only breaks we would take throughout the day would be for lunch at Photon (hot dog and nachos) and dinner (hot dog and nachos). To some it probably appeared as if we were simply trying to get the most for our money, but it wasn’t about that. It was about playing as much Photon as possible.

And then there was the summer my family went on vacation to Chicago. Jeff went with us. That same summer, Chicago had just opened a Photon next to my grandmother’s house. By this point in time, Jeff and I had been playing Photon for two or three years regularly. And, in Chicago, we kicked ass. We kicked everybody’s ass. We were so good that two employees challenged Jeff and me, two fifteen-year-olds, to a two-on-two battle — and we kicked THEIR asses! Back in Oklahoma, Jeff and I were good, but against a group of people who had never played the game before … it was a massacre.

I’m not a business man and I don’t claim to know what happened behind the scenes at Photon. All I know is, one day Jeff and I pulled up to our Photon’s front doors and found them closed. Permanently. Initially there were rumors of players pooling their money together, purchasing the building and reopening Photon, but that never happened. Eventually the building was gutted. First, it became a church. Then it became a discount furniture store. Then it burned down, and that was the end of that.

Over the past twenty years, off and on, I’ve been haunted by the memories of Photon. I’ve walked through that playing field many times in my dreams. I’ve tried playing other forms of Laser Tag over the years, but none of them are the same. None of them come close, in fact. Gradually, I came to the realization that I will never again experience Photon.

They say you should never say never, and I guess that is true. While surfing the web one day last year I discovered a fellow by the name of Jim Strother. Jim Strother loved Photon, too. Jim Strother loved Photon so much that he has built his own Photon field. When I discovered this information I thought, no matter where it is, I must go and see there. Then I found out Jim Strother lives just outside Tulsa, about a hundred miles from me.

Jim has been working for the past year or so on getting his brand new Photon center open. He’s posted notes and pictures of his work in progress. An entire legion of former Photon players has been following his updates via forums, newsgroups, and websites. Jim’s new Photon was set to open within the next few weeks, and people from all over the country were set to fly to Tulsa, Oklahoma to re-experience Photon once again. I suspect these people are a lot like me.

And then, bad news. Jim Strother announced this weekend that his Photon will not open. He’s behind in rent — $64,000, to be exact — and has been served eviction papers. I was heartbroken, until I read Jim’s follow up message.

Next weekend, for one night only, Photon will open its doors.

Starting next Saturday at 5pm and going throughout the night, Jim will be running Photon. He’s already issued a few caveats: the pods and computers aren’t 100% tuned and the lobby isn’t entirely finished. I can’t imagine those details would keep a single person away, not the kind of people that were (and are) planning on attending.

For one more night, once again, Jeff and I will be Photon Warriors — although, truth be told, going and seeing the place is more important to me than actually playing the game. To see, hear, feel, and smell that arena one more time … I wouldn’t miss it for the world.