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Media Tour: Part One

Media Tour: Part Two


This picture basically got ruined by a guy trying to pose with the "playbook," thus casting a huge obliterating shadow on most of it. It's still worth pulling your face in tight to the screen to read the brilliance that is this game plan. Up + A might not vanquish all, but I have to admit that I never had a Tecmo play to pick during Jager Bombs before.

In the background is an HDTV beaming out Tecmo radiance. While graphically glorious, home Tecmoers have discovered thatthese trojan horses from the future have made Tecmo a more maddening experience. In addition to rendering Duck Hunt completely fucking useless (peace be upon its name,) there is a delay in controller commands when controlling Tecmo. It was impossible to make split-second decisions with Excellent Bruce on a tube TV. Requiring more lead time than that for Bruce control is unrealistic, and frankly, a kick to the Buffalo johnson.

I promise that these two really were playing a game, but the flash washed out the image on the television screen. Not that any of you noticed anyway, because you're all mentally undressing the gay cowboy.

Speaking of gay, Boomer makes an improbably perfect addition to the Village People.

This was just a small sampling of the bracket, complete with the sweet L.T. Capitol logo and the Joel Hilgenberg Region. If I remember correctly, I got beaten out in the Jeff Bostic, which is a sentence I'm very satisfied to have now used in real life.

The mariachi crew carried this around Logan's and it was a big hit. I can safely report this phrase was considerably less popular at the dance clubs later.

I had a boatload of these things growing up. Vinny Testaverde lost his helmet and my Junior Seau had a withered leg stand that made him behave like the limited edition "Junior Polio." My collection could not match up in quantity, nor pristine condition, with this table of awesomeness. Not only did all of these players have fully functional limbs, but none of their owners apparently chewed on them like I did to Gary Gaetti's bat. Wrong sport? Whatever.

Rocking the Fargo-Moorhead RedHawks cap, Joey starts crunching numbers to see if he will advance out of the three-way 2-1 logjam at the top of his group.

Rocking the North Dakota math, his face betrays his disappointment as he calculates he is eliminated. Fortunately, his number fumble made this a false alarm, and he was on to the play-in game.

I appreciate the understated charm of this t-shirt. I also appreciate the billiard light, which asked and answered the only important question of the day for me.

While this tournament was going on, Madison was in the jaws of the big union protest outside of the State Capitol. Being only a block away, the protesters were filtering in and out during the day to grab a beer and some food. The sheer bewilderment on their faces at the assembled throng of early 90's video gamers was hilarious, but still not as funny as the fact that they all had to separately bargain with the restaurant for their tabs.

Aikman was no match for Browner during the play-in game. While I was pulling for Joey, I was distracted with soothing the pit left in my stomach by Art Monk's feebleness at the goal line.

Sara graciously inducted me into the Orenga/"AverageTSBPlayer" cheering group with a five-cent harmonica that almost makes noise. I will treasure her hospitality and her Bob Dylan device until Tecmo VIII.

Browner, Boomer, and Bob. The Tecmo Triumvirate.

Looking forward to Tecmo VIII, where I hope to advance further in the tournament, and also hope to have my phone-shaped leg tumor removed by then.

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