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It was always frustrating playing my one of my friends in Sega hockey as kids.
The correlation is painfully obvious.
So that pixelated player, no matter how bad his rating, will probably score.
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Even when he enters the game’s locker room the other players taunt him.
“You know you only scored because of the awful code, right?”
“Whatever,” he says, concealing a single tear.
Where Are They Now?
How this carries them through life always remains to be seen.
That’s also how I look at anyone who eats the last piece of bacon at breakfast.
Winning is, after all, part of the point.
You take too scenic of a route through life and you’ll never get anywhere.
What I’m trying to say is that I could kill my friend at that game today.
Just be thankful that neither of you are the button masher.
That guy’s probably in prison now.
