Time: 1994
Place: Our college house on Flora Way.
To Much Time On The Clock.
My buddy Brendan and I are playing Madden for maybe the millionth time that year. The game is very high scoring and we each take the lead back and forth. I'm sure we are playing the '93 version. A solid version we would stick with for a number of years, if memory serves.
Brendan often loses. Badly. That he might win this game is a big deal. For him and for me. He scores with about 7 seconds left in the game.
I don't think he said a word.
We never talked much trash in our house. We just thought it was disrespectful to treat your friend that way.
Usually.
We took it waaaay to seriously, plus there was always an Alpha Male when it came to these games. If you were the best at Madden you probably weren't the best at NHL. Unless you wanted to eat it the next time around keep your mouth shut. That's just how we played. (And, to be fair to Brendan, he did once strike me out in slow pitch softball.) We also never punted the ball (pussy move.) Or kicked field goals for the win (cheap pussy ass move.)
We were crazy and, I might add, flunking out of college.
So I have the ball, after returning the kickoff. Maybe 5 seconds left, Brendan up by 4.
"I'm going to score right now and you can't stop me."
I can't remember why I said it. I was probably pissed off about something in my overly dramatic college life. I was flunking out after all.
I was the Niners and I knew I could. Just get the time to let Jerry Rice run by the corner. Easy money. Been doing it all game.
Just to much time on the clock.
I did. I scored.
Brendan silently put his controller down and went up stairs.
I felt like a dick later. I had insulted him for no good reason. I was a jerk.
From then on the phrase, "To much time on the clock", was our "Dead man walking." Just something the player, knowing he was destined to lose, would say, in preparation for the loss.
To Much Time On The Clock.
My buddy Brendan and I are playing Madden for maybe the millionth time that year. The game is very high scoring and we each take the lead back and forth. I'm sure we are playing the '93 version. A solid version we would stick with for a number of years, if memory serves.
Brendan often loses. Badly. That he might win this game is a big deal. For him and for me. He scores with about 7 seconds left in the game.
I don't think he said a word.
We never talked much trash in our house. We just thought it was disrespectful to treat your friend that way.
Usually.
We took it waaaay to seriously, plus there was always an Alpha Male when it came to these games. If you were the best at Madden you probably weren't the best at NHL. Unless you wanted to eat it the next time around keep your mouth shut. That's just how we played. (And, to be fair to Brendan, he did once strike me out in slow pitch softball.) We also never punted the ball (pussy move.) Or kicked field goals for the win (cheap pussy ass move.)
We were crazy and, I might add, flunking out of college.
So I have the ball, after returning the kickoff. Maybe 5 seconds left, Brendan up by 4.
"I'm going to score right now and you can't stop me."
I can't remember why I said it. I was probably pissed off about something in my overly dramatic college life. I was flunking out after all.
I was the Niners and I knew I could. Just get the time to let Jerry Rice run by the corner. Easy money. Been doing it all game.
Just to much time on the clock.
I did. I scored.
Brendan silently put his controller down and went up stairs.
I felt like a dick later. I had insulted him for no good reason. I was a jerk.
From then on the phrase, "To much time on the clock", was our "Dead man walking." Just something the player, knowing he was destined to lose, would say, in preparation for the loss.
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