Courses like "Tolkien in Online Gaming" are swindling desperate students

To be fair - this course is probably really fun if you like MMORPGs.

Science fiction is a great vehicle for satire, since it lets writers isolate the embryonic madnesses of the present and cultivate them, through the medium of elapsed theoretical decades, into true absurdity.

In 2011, visual effects artist Freddie Wong created a YouTube comedy series called Video Game High School: a pastiche of countless American coming-of-age stories set in a near future where students go to school to study the theory and practice of video games.

Its protagonists are flunked for not spending enough time gaming, and compete not for places on the school football team, but for a chance to make the school First Person Shooter squad. VGHS’ jocks are just different nerds, in a world that values skill in games with the same ferocity as our own values academic and sporting talent.

These reversals make for lots of fun tropic subversion, but also nod heavily to societal reality. The show presents an end-state to the growing cultural acceptance of games as a hobby for well-adjusted adults, a growing industry, and a credible art form.

It’s far from complete fantasy. Competitive pro-gaming, televised and flooded with sponsorship money, has been commonplace in Korea for years and is an inevitability in Western markets.  The games industry represents a respectable and rapidly growing slice of the global economy. Barely a week goes by without a media debate on the case for games as art, and magazines embed journalists in online wars.

And now, students can enrol on online courses to study Tolkien as applied to online gaming. Here is a course where students meet their tutor online in a polygonal Shire, and spend seven weeks "discovering the culture heritage of online games" to achieve a certificate of completion.

For a start, I’m not going to bash Coursera, the educational technology company on whose platform the course appears, for this. Giving free online access to education is a phenomenally good idea for the world, and initiatives like Coursera run a staggering number of useful courses. This is just not one of them.

I’m also not going to splutter derision at this from some imagined cultural height. It would be very easy to plough into a generic howl about the dumbing-down of academia, "mickey mouse" courses and grade inflation, of the kind some pundits use to soothe their own fear and incomprehension of a changing world.

But people should be able to study what they like, and - to be fair - this course is probably really fun if you like MMORPGs.

A friend of mine who works in the field of Terrifyingly Advanced Mathematics takes Coursera courses for fun. Some are about astrophysics, but others are about the history of rock - a course he told me is "probably no sillier than the online gaming one".

But, crucially, he already has an Oxford maths Phd. He isn’t studying Chuck Berry and The Monkees in the hopes of getting a job out of it.  

Every year, hordes of young people leave school with a meagre set of grades, facing the prospect of a "no room in the inn" labour market that is especially brutal at entry level. They are desperate for higher education - for anything that will give them an edge in earning a living - and are willing to do an awful lot, even take on staggering debts, to get it.

On the half-sunk ship of the austerity job market, courses like "Online Games: Literature, New Media, and Narrative" are offering them no more than a comedy foam hammer to use in the bloody struggle for the lifeboats.

But if the course is free, you may argue, what’s the problem? Surely sensible people can do this sort of thing for a laugh while earning their real qualifications?

In answer to this thought, it’s worth remembering it’s not only money people invest in their education - it’s hope.

The introduction to the online gaming course entices prospective students with the following blurb: "The twenty-first century gaming industry has become a creative and economic powerhouse.  It engages the talents of some of our brightest writers, artists, composers, computer engineers, game theorists, video producers, and marketing professionals, and in 2012, it generated an estimated $64bn in revenue."

This language drips with the implicit promise of work and a slice of economic pie. For a desperate young person in the early hours of the morning, staring at a grim set of exam results and facing the prospect of taking on a huge financial burden to get into university, it might just be seductive enough to spark the delusion that a job in the games industry is only seven short weeks away. It’s a cruel prospect.

There are questions Video Games High School never had to answer, because it was a comedy show: what kind of economy could support massive educational establishments devoted only to gaming, and what schools would train the rest of the vast workforce required to keep it going? What happens to the VGHS graduates that don’t make a professional games team?

While we may well be moving into a future where pro-gaming is big money TV sport, where culture pundits discuss stories told through the medium of XBOX, and where games coding is as large and respected a profession as mechanical engineering, it is - sadly - a much greater leap to a world where anyone can get a job just by doing what they enjoy.

Would you like to meet your tutor online in a "polygonal Shire"? Photograph: Getty Images

By day, Fred Crawley is editor of Credit Today and Insolvency Today. By night, he reviews graphic novels for the New Statesman.

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The joy of only winning once: why England should be proud of 1966

We feel the glory of that triumphant moment, 50 years ago, all the more because of all the other occasions when we have failed to win.

There’s a phrase in football that I really hate. It used to be “Thirty years of hurt”. Each time the England team crashes out of a major tournament it gets regurgitated with extra years added. Rather predictably, when England lost to Iceland in Euro 2016, it became “Fifty years of hurt”. We’ve never won the European Championship and in 17 attempts to win the World Cup we have only won once. I’m going to tell you why that’s a record to cherish.

I was seven in 1966. Our telly was broken so I had to watch the World Cup final with a neighbour. I sat squeezed on my friend Colin’s settee as his dad cheered on England with phrases like “Sock it to them Bobby”, as old fashioned now as a football rattle. When England took the lead for the second time I remember thinking, what will it feel like, when we English are actually Champions of the World. Not long after I knew. It felt good.

Wembley Stadium, 30 July 1966, was our only ever World Cup win. But let’s imagine what it would be like if, as with our rivals, we’d won it many times? Brazil have been World Champions on five occasions, Germany four, and Italy four. Most England fans would be “over the moon” if they could boast a similarly glorious record. They’re wrong. I believe it’s wonderful that we’ve only triumphed once. We all share that one single powerful memory. Sometimes in life less is definitely more.

Something extraordinary has happened. Few of us are even old enough to remember, but somehow, we all know everything that happened that day. Even if you care little about the beautiful game, I’m going to bet that you can recall as many as five iconic moments from 50 years ago. You will have clearly in your mind the BBC commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme’s famous lines, as Geoff Hurst tore down the pitch to score his hat-trick: “Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now”. And it was. 4 - 2 to England against West Germany. Thirty minutes earlier the Germans had equalised in the dying moments of the second half to take the game to extra time.

More drama we all share: Geoff Hurst’s second goal. Or the goal that wasn’t, as technology has since, I think, conclusively proved. The shot that crashed off the cross bar and did or didn’t cross the line. Of course, even if you weren’t alive at the time, you will know that the linesman, one Tofiq Bakhramov, from Azerbaijan (often incorrectly referred to as “Russian”) could speak not a word of English, signalled it as a goal.

Then there’s the England Captain, the oh-so-young and handsome Bobby Moore. The very embodiment of the era. You can picture him now wiping his muddy hands on his white shorts before he shakes hands with a youthful Queen Elizabeth. Later you see him lifted aloft by his team mates holding the small golden Jules Rimet trophy.

How incredible, how simply marvellous that as a nation we share such golden memories. How sad for the Brazilians and Germans. Their more numerous triumphs are dissipated through the generations. In those countries each generation will remember each victory but not with the intensity with which we English still celebrate 1966. It’s as if sex was best the first time. The first cut is the deepest.

On Colin’s dad’s TV the pictures were black and white and so were the flags. Recently I looked at the full colour Pathe newsreel of the game. It’s the red, white and blue of the Union Jack that dominates. The red cross of Saint George didn’t really come into prominence until the Nineties. The left don’t like flags much, unless they’re “deepest red”. Certainly not the Union Flag. It smacks of imperialism perhaps. In 1966 we didn’t seem to know if we were English or British. Maybe there was, and still is, something admirable and casual about not knowing who we are or what is our proper flag. 

Twelve years later I’m in Cuba at the “World Festival of Youth” – the only occasion I’ve represented my country. It was my chance to march into a stadium under my nation’s flag. Sadly, it never happened as my fellow delegates argued for hours over what, if any, flag we British should walk behind. The delegation leaders – you will have heard of them now, but they were young and unknown then – Peter Mandelson, Trevor Phillips and Charles Clarke, had to find a way out of this impasse. In the end, each delegation walked into the stadium behind their flag, except the British. Poor Mandelson stood alone for hours holding Union Jack, sweltering in the tropical sun. No other country seemed to have a problem with their flag. I guess theirs speak of revolution; ours of colonialism.

On Saturday 30 July BBC Radio 2 will commemorate the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final, live from Wembley Arena. Such a celebration is only possible because on 16 occasions we failed to win that trophy. Let’s banish this idea of “Fifty years of hurt” once and for all and embrace the joy of only winning once.

Phil Jones edits the Jeremy Vine Show on BBC Radio 2. On Saturday 30 July the station celebrates the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final live from Wembley Arena, telling the story of football’s most famous match, minute by minuteTickets are available from: www.wc66.org