By KELLY TERPSTRA, Courier sports writer
August 19, 2008 10:45 am
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Twenty-four men entered, only one man would leave — unscathed, that is.
Just a single “true champion” would stand tall in his rubber-soled shoes and have that little extra giddy-up when his feet left the cemented parking lot of Ottumwa’s GameStop last Monday night, early Tuesday morning last week.
We didn’t have Good Charlotte’s licks to entertain us like fans did at MaddenPalooza in Pasadena, but our Madden 2009 release party was just as good.
The prized jewel was any true footballer or gamer’s dream, or so it should be — a chance to strap-on the shiny gold belt and declare himself (or herself) the king of all that is sacred and holy (this is Madden speak).
And of course dine on the finest meats and cheeses in the world.
I wasn’t one of them.
Cheap pop, your standard chip fare and a whole lot of smack-talk being bantered about made it a true royal rumble indeed. When the clock struck midnight, Madden’s game would go on sale.
In the meantime, we would play Madden 2008 in a 24-team tournament on the big screen outside the entrance to GameStop, just northeast of the River City’s Wal-Mart.
The tension was palpable as stares sliced through the air. I witnessed countless hard looks and was worried something might go down before the first ball was even kicked from its tee.
No mayhem popped off, but there was plenty of talk — or smack, as we call it — being dished out. That’s par for the course in a “dance” like this. Smack can be a valuable weapon for a sports gamer — that 12th-man on the field or the secret weapon pulled out late in the fourth quarter to freeze your opponent into submission.
These games mean something and no one wants to go home with the dreaded Madden “stare,” a combination of disgust, shame, humiliation, hatred and anger — all wrapped up in a nice little ball that sits in the pit of your stomach. Pepto-Bismol does not help out.
But you also have to remember when smack is being thrown, step out of the way if you can’t back it up, because when “you’re in the jungle, you’re gonnna’ die” (again Madden-speak or maybe random flashbacks of Guns N’ Roses still playing in my head from 1988).
So I tried to grab a vine and sway my way into the stratosphere and into the upper echelon of this bracket.
Now before I could go “Mad Max” on somebody with my video-gaming skills, I had to get a brief rundown from two former Ottumwa Bulldog football players that were in attendance. They went by the names of “Spice” and “Kimbo,” and unlike myself, they had actual competitive-gaming skills. These names used are purely for aesthetic purposes and intimidation, or so I was told.
But I needed to learn the buttons and halfway get an idea of the basic plays that work.
My first problem is I hadn’t played Madden in about four or five years. The second factor that ended my quest for the title abruptly centered around we were all playing XBox. I don’t roll with XBox, man, only PlayStation, bro.
Maybe it was my name as well that didn’t help my chances. I went by the moniker of “Ace.” I was aced all right, the Ace of Spades — the true death card — was tossed my way. There was no recovering.
Kimbo, who advanced to the semis, was even nice enough to coach me during my contest, but I was so wrapped up in the heat of the moment that his pertinent advice deflected off me like a photon torpedo bouncing off the Starship Enterprise’s deflector shield. Ouch, that hurt. I was a mess, my thoughts were jumbled, my adrenaline was out of control. Sack, interception, punt, then finally a completion, albeit a gain of four yards.
My game never showed up. I failed miserably, losing 21-0 in the first round to somebody by the name of Clint A. (I’m sure you know who you are). I also did a no-no as I quit before the game was over, but this was a maneuver implemented so the tournament would run faster and not get over at 2 a.m. I had to keep telling myself this.
Quitters never win, but embarrassment is a spiteful woman that is best not dealt with when you’re already handily beat.
But I definitely need to give a shout out to Brett White for the invitation and the good times. He works over at GameStop and wanted to let people know that the Madden 2009 games are selling like hotcakes. Pour some syrup on those flapjacks, they’re extra good.
By the way Whitey, nice touch with the referee’s outfit, complete with yellow hankie and whistle. I hope that isn’t a violation of some sort for wearing that get-up. I don’t want to get you in trouble.
*******
It’s getting very close to that time.
I can smell it. It’s just around the bend.
As the summer winds down, it means football is just about to take over.
I, like millions of other pigskin purists, are ready for some football.
So I did some research on the Internet and scanned many a roster of Iowa colleges’ websites to find out where some former Ottumwa High School standouts are strapping on their helmets.
I came up with this list, although I’m almost sure there are more Bulldogs out there working hard in training camp.
Central College in Pella has two former Ottumwa stars. Cody Thie is a sophomore tight end for the Dutch. Central has also added the services of freshman offensive lineman Bill Pester, who transferred from Savannah State University in Georgia.
Doug Reyes is a junior offensive lineman for the Simpson Storm in Indianola. Chris Rupe is a freshman defensive lineman for St. Cloud State University.
Jon Rusch is a redshirt freshman receiver for Drake and Mitch Houk is on the roster for head coach Mark Farley’s highly-touted Northern Iowa Panthers. I’ll have more on Houk in the coming days as he’s cracked the two-deep roster at offensive line as a redshirt freshman for the purple and gold.
Courier sports writer Kelly Terpstra can be reached at kgterpstra@mchsi.com.
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