A list of active NFL players that were featured in Nintendo’s Tecmo Bowl and Super Tecmo Bowl. It is my opinion that Super Tecmo Bowl ranks in the upper echelon of early 90s video game perfection just under Sega’s NHL 95.
This weekend the wife and I attended a house warming party where the drunken host, Tyler, broke out his Nintendo console for a fix of Super Tecmo Bowl. I played in two games going .500 for the evening. I took the Kansas City Chiefs to victory in game one, dismantling my opponent with ease as the Nigerian Nightmare shredded the feeble defense of whoever it was I was playing against (the team escapes me as I was six gin and tonics into the evening and up by two touchdowns before I could blink). In game two I was handed my ass in a rematch of Super Bowl XXIV. I foolishly chose the Denver Broncos (who could not win a big game in this era if their lives depended on it) and a young, mistake-prone John Elway tossed four picks to give the 49ers a decisive victory.
It is sometimes tedious to conjure up witticisms and find reprehensible links for this website, so I love it when any of my readers do the work for me. This morning CH sent me an email poem about slut teacher:
Lesbian encounters and dating a Backstreet Boy, Posing on top of a muscle car, Tyler says, “She’s not really that hot.”
Last night, I drank $2 Coors products with my Fantasy Football compatriots at a local watering hole. Humorous events unfolded. Here are some highlights from the evening:
I mention to Tyler, the David Blaine lover, that the British were planning a flash-mob event underneath his stunt over the Thames. I proclaim that Blaine is just a poor man’s Harry Houdini. Tyler proclaims, “Fuck you and the limeys,” and begins a staunch defense of the man he no doubt wants to experience sexual intercourse with. Just like every other Monday night, the entire table ridicules Tyler immediately after he opens his mouth.
The bar has televisions displaying numerous sporting events. Last night, Monday Night Football, game four of the ALCS and WWE Raw were on simultaneously. At one point during WWE action, Stone Cold Steve Austin offers his wrestling rival’s old lady a beer. She refuses said beer. Stone Cold persists. She finally sips the beer and it disgusts her. Upset by the turn of events, Stone Cold grabs her by the nape of the neck and power bombs her tee-totaling ass to the canvas. A great lesson can be learned from this and that is if your bitch does not like beer, than you should power bomb her.
Conversation turns to Denver Bronco running back Clinton Portis. Wife of CH cracks off a slew of comments about the man. He is an idiot. She saw him at a bar once and he ordered a glass of White Zinfandel. She delivers the big funny when she utters, “His goatee looks like a goddamn pussy on his face.” (Wife of CH is a master of random comments. She once said of identical twin NFL athletes Tiki and Ronde Barber: “Tiki is more attractive because he has caramel skin.” During a Monday Night game between Denver and St. Louis (and after drinking an excessive amount of wine) she called Kurt Warner’s wife, “A fucking dyke” and summed up the pathetic Denver Bronco defensive performance with the simple comment, “Bitches”).
My friend Tyler likes David Blaine. That makes my friend Tyler stupid. This is all you need to know about David Blaine: he is a poor man’s Harry Houdini. Tomorrow, Blaine will begin 44-day stint of isolation without food, suspended over the Thames River in a clear plastic box.
I hate magicians and endurance artists. They are attention whores that remind me of a pathetic kid I grew up with who always had the coolest toys and nobody to play with. I would go over to his house, endure his incessant whining, play some Nintendo, eat scrumptious snack food that his mom made and then peddle my Huffy home. That kid is now in jail for dealing drugs. Little FYI.
Friday. Work late to complete a corporate Flash presentation that nobody will pay attention to. After work, I play in a coed softball game where my team wins 26-4 and the opposing team’s third baseman catches a ground ball with her face and breaks her nose. Immediately following the game a torrential downpour ensues and I sprint to my car leaving my glove on the field. I roll to Tyler’s house and play College Football with the Slushy Gutter Crew. At one point in the evening Tyler pours me either a glass of bourbon, scotch, or whiskey. I drink it and proceed to kick his ass with Virginia Tech 30-14. On the way home I realize that I left my mitt on the softball field.
Saturday. I attend my company picnic and run the corporate Flash presentation I put in long hours over. Surprisingly, people pay attention, laugh and tell me good job. After the presentation the picnic continues at a nearby park with a luau theme and a pig roasting. I eat heaping platefuls of swine and mingle with coworkers. Jake, Gay Joe and I make fun of some pasty kid trying to play football. We call him “Mary” and giggle like the dickheads we are. Joe tells us about his homosexual encounters the previous evening. Hula dancers many years past their prime shake their asses for our amusement. I volunteer to dance with them, throwing my inhibitions into the wind like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. I perform a dance with pom-poms and hip gyrations. I win the grand prize in the company raffle (a $200 gift certificate to the Flagstaff House). After the picnic, I attend a lesbian wedding with Monica, Kaye, Aaron, Nels and Kerry. We quickly become the obnoxious drunk table at the reception. A plant is passed around and the recipient of said plant gives a toast. A diverse blend of people wishes the couple well including a militant lesbian with an attitude problem and a sexual predator with disheveled hair holding a kid that liked to hit people in the face. I share my toast with the happy couple, lifting my glass and saying, “Here’s to eating pussy.” They laugh hysterically. I love the lesbians and wish them the best. We roll to Monica’s crib for a nightcap. I discover Kaye does not like playing drinking games with me. Monica informs me she picked up my softball glove up after our game. This makes me happy.
Sunday. I wake up at noon with a screaming hangover. I pour a glass of water and take ibuprofen. I watch Panic Room on digital cable. I drink a glass of water. I make a trip to Home Depot to buy some sandpaper and steel wool. I drink a glass of water. I strip paint for four hours. I drink three glasses of water. My Mom calls and invites me to dinner. I drink a glass of water. I drive to my parents house and eat spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. We discuss home improvement. I go home to play a game of College Football. Colorado State beats Wyoming 21-3. Nels picks me up for our hockey game. I tally a hat trick and an assist. I drink seven glasses of water. Mark throws a shoe at Nels’s face. I come home and take a shower. I go to sleep. If anyone asks me what I did this weekend, I will say, “Nothing.”