Everyone loves “Frogger.” Boys and girls, women and men, rich and poor, high and low. Who doesn’t love “Frogger”? It draws its power from our shared memories of powerlessness. Wherever we are now, at one time or another we have all felt the poor frog’s anxiety in the face of the world’s intransigence, its blind and callous disregard for our happiness or well-being. We are not killing anything in “Frogger,” except the occasional fly. It is all we can do to stay alive, avoid the fast cars, snakes, gators and weasels long enough to get a lady frog and make it to the top of the screen for our moment of rest. More than anything else, we’d love to stay in that Frog Haven forever, existing in a state of amphibian bliss — but we are forcibly dislodged, and have to repeat the whole ordeal. Most of our antagonists do not even know we exist. They are not “after” us. We are not a target. We are just in the way.