Last Sunday, the city of St. Louis played host to the EA Sports 2005 Madden Challenge, a nationwide video game football tournament open to the public. In what will most likely be remembered as the only perk of being a sports writer for Student Life (besides the babes), the good people at EA Sports graciously offered to register a writer to participate in the tournament, free of charge. There was only one person on the StudLife staff-and possibly in the general population-able to tackle (virtually) this opportunity; one man with the knowledge of NFL football, the experience playing video games in his room instead of making friends, and the willingness to skip out on seeing his parents at the tail end of Parents’ Weekend. Unfortunately, my roommate Max Kaftal wasn’t available. That’s when I knew that this was my golden opportunity. It couldn’t be that hard to beat up on some snot-nosed little brats, considering that I’ve been playing video games for the better part of my life. As I thought about it more, I realized that competing for a chance at a $50,000 grand prize is practically kid stuff when rationalized totally unrealistically. Armed with this false sense of confidence and my personal video game/relationship/Indian Swami coach, senior Krishna Murali, this tournament was mine for the taking.

As I stood in the hallowed halls of the Union Station Mall, my entire life flashed before me, an instant so intensely uneventful that I struggled to maintain consciousness. I determined that I would play as the red hot Minnesota Vikings, believing that the combination of Daunte Culpepper and Randy Moss would be too much for opposing players to overcome. Plus, purple is this fall’s hot color. Once we entered the tournament area, Krishna and I received a bag filled with such goodies as a free t-shirt, a mini strategy guide for Madden 2005, and some Best Buy coupons. The promotional shirt, despite being an extra large, was comfortable for both me and Krishna-provided that we were inside it together. After signing in, my trustworthy coach and I pored over the tiny strategy guide, which contained such pearls of wisdom as “press down on the Line Audible button then push up to spread the defense.” Equipped with this knowledge, it was only a matter of time before I would school my opponents!

Seeing as I had an hour to kill before my first match-up, Krishna wisely suggested I load up on carbohydrates and electrolytes at the Sbarro’s in the food court. That’s when my whirlwind journey almost ended before it even began. As the mall security officer approached me and my swarthy looking companion, my mind began to race with trepidation. The courteous brute informed Krishna that his sideways BoSox hat must either be worn straight forwards or backwards, in accordance with mall dress code. Wisely, Krishna straightened the cap and the crisis was averted. We escaped with only some mild racial profiling and a feeling of uneasiness in the pit of my stomach; though, in retrospect, that was most likely the result of the Sbarro’s buffet more than anything. You know, it’s only when you almost lose someone to a completely fabricated mall bylaw that you truly realize how important they are to you. Without Krishna, I probably would never have learned the basics of a the 3-4 defense, how to manage the clock properly during the fourth quarter of a close game, not to mention as how to holla at girls’ moms, do drive-bys, and pour 40′s on the sidewalk in honor of Biggie and Tupac (Rest in peace, homies).

It was time to make history, and nobody, especially not some guy with a mean goatee playing as the Indianapolis Colts, would stop me. After struggling through an initial drive of three and out, I informed my opponent that I was still learning the controls. After laying out Peyton Manning few times, I busted out a nasty 20-yard scramble with Daunte Culpepper followed by a long touchdown bomb to Randy Moss. Mystified at the sight of cyber Randy jumping over three defenders to pluck the ball out of the sky, my opponent’s frustration was not assuaged by my explanation that “It’s fricking Randy Moss. It don’t matter-none of this matters.” Despite repeated quarterback sacks and my promise to “put that redneck Manning on his back if goes no huddle one more time,” my opponent was able to rally from two touchdowns behind in the second half and force an overtime session. As the visiting team, I chose tails, knowing that “It’s always tails, man,” as Krishna reminded me. Despite the fact that the coin came up heads, the usually pathetic Vikings defense managed to force my opponent to punt, and I nailed a 48-yard field goal with kicker Aaron Eiling as the period ended to give me my first victory of the afternoon.

My victory celebration was short-lived, however; my next opponent was ready, and apparently there was no time allotted for a post-game massage or ice bath. I knew immediately that I was in trouble when my next opponent began selecting specific playbooks and defensive schemes. As his Seattle Seahawks tore through my porous defense, I began to mash buttons furiously, with little results. Suddenly, my strategy of calling only Hail Mary passes for Randy Moss was not working so well. Something must have been wrong with my mercurial wide receiver; after the fifth dropped pass in quintuple coverage, I began to ask Randy “How the (expletive) did you not catch that?! You’re fricking Randy Moss! What the [expletive] am I paying you for, for [expletive]‘s sake!” Despite Krishna’s plea to “be easy, dog,” the only thing being dropped more frequently than my pass attempts was my torrent of f-bombs. As I continued to pass and cuss myself into oblivion, I knew that my chances were not good. Yet I was only down 7-6 with a minute thirty seconds to go in the fourth and the ball in my hands. Sadly, it was not meant to be; my insistence on throwing 50-yard heaves while shouting “Go get it Randy,” to my star player resulted in my ultimate undoing. I pictured the disappointment in the eyes of little Jimmy from the hospital; I had promised the boy three home runs that game, forgetting that it was a football video game. Though little Jimmy would soon be dead and my pockets did not dance to the tune of $50,000, not all was lost. Because of my ignominious defeat, we could make it back in time for Krishna to play in the second half of his flag football game and keep his streak of an interception in each of his first three games alive (he did). While I may have missed out on winning any money or fame, I did come away with the fulfillment that comes with the realization that I am remarkably well-adjusted compared to most of the social misfits who win these things. Until the Virtua Tennis for Sega Dreamcast tournament I have waited my entire life for comes to St. Louis, I’ll be satisfied knowing that I stood in the face of virtual adversity and came away with a free t-shirt. But until that day arrives, I will work to combat the prejudice of mall security guards as well as the soft bigotry of low expectations.

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