I parked opposite the house. Leading to the car, from where I'd pulled away, was a worrying, inch-deep gouge in the road. This was a consequence, I discovered, of having had my front offside wheel stolen in the night. They'd been professional about it; at least the car had been propped up on a brick, like they do in cartoons.
My immediate concern was that I might've damaged the axel somehow; the back plate had ploughed a furrow in the tarmac, taking the full weight of the car. Fortunately, there was a mechanic's garage at the top of the road, and so I dashed the 200 yards or so up there to see if somebody would be kind enough to give my Jocelyn a quick once-over. Jocelyn was the name of my car.
The garage shutters were down, but there was a light on in the office next door. I knocked, and it was answered by a shifty-looking young man who was smoking a cigarette.
"I've had my wheel stolen," said I. "Would you be able to have a look at my car?"
"You want me to have a look at your car?" he sputtered, as if it were the most unreasonable request in the world to ask of a mechanic.
"Yeah, if that's ok. I'm worried I might've damaged the axel."
"...Alright," he shrugged.
So back we went down the road, all 200 yards or so, and he crouched down and had a look under the car. He poked around at the axel a bit, and umm-ed and ahh-ed.
"It looks alright," he said, after a while. "I mean, I don't really know."
"Would you need to get it up on a ramp?" I asked.
"I suppose," Shifty replied. "I can't see any damage though. But, y'know, I don't really know."
Then his brow suddenly furrowed, He'd suddenly thought of something. Something important: "Wait... did you want a mechanic?"
"Yeees," I replied, tentatively. "That's why I knocked on your door."
"Nah, mate," he said, utterly confused. "We're not a garage. The garage is next door. We're a chocolate wholesalers."
Now, you might be asking what any of that has to do with Overwatch. And it's simple really: it has absolutely nothing to do with Overwatch. Literally nothing.
But it is quite a funny story, and at the time it happened I thought that one day I might write it down. And now I have.
Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if you're appalled that I've wasted a) Your time, and b) Most of this review on an entirely unrelated anecdote about my Jocelyn. But by the same token, at least I haven't wasted my time by writing a review of Overwatch in which I use more or less the exact same language I used on my Battleborn review, earlier this week.
So go back and read that, then take out anything I said about the campaign, and then read the bit below, and we'll be on the same page.
Overwatch is a Team Fortress 2 rip-off, only with 21 characters - each with their own backstory and abilities (albeit fitting into one of four categories: offensive, defensive, tanks, heal-y dudes), and the bonus of being quite good.
It even lifts the art style. There's no single-player mode as such, no campaign.
You and your six-person, mixed ability, team have no choice but to play online, against other six-person squads. Team-based play is to the fore, with you having a better chance of victory if you ensure there's at least one of each character type on your team.
It's good. It's fast. It's polished. There is a giant German, armed with a big hammer. And a ninja, and an archer. And someone with a jetpack. And a gorilla.
It's better and more focused - in every area - than Battleborn. It doesn't really do anything revolutionary, but is very good indeed at what it does, and might be the sort of thing you'd like if it sounds like the sort of thing you usually like. And that is the review. GOODBYE! Sssss.
SUMMARY: Another game like some other games, but better than most of them.
SCORE: 500 chocolate wholesalers out of 557 chocolate wholesalers.