When my dad & I played Tecmo Super Bowl
Justin Brouckaert
I always chose the 49ers even though we were Lions
fans because the 49ers were my favorite NFL team
that actually had a shot. Every play I blitzed Ronnie
Lott up the middle & stuffed Barry at the line. Tecmo
Barry was pretty good, but he couldn’t dance like the real
Barry, just like how I could run fly patterns for my dad
in our front yard but in a pick-up game even the easiest
passes bounced off my hands. Instead of football
I played soccer & instead of soccer I ran & instead
of running I broke both my knees with fractures so
tiny I felt like I was lying when I tried to explain. Detroit
hates Barry for leaving early but maybe he was just
trying to minimize the pain. Now I bet he’s somewhere
wiggling his toes & drinking hard lemonade & we’re
still freezing our asses off in this city saying You can’t
just quit to a man who doesn’t even exist anymore.
When we weren’t playing Tecmo we were sharing
the same life on Super Pitfall for the NES until
Playstation came & then we were racing head-to-head
on Test Drive 5. Then there was Gameday ’98,
a game I loved like family but played alone for years
because my dad struggled with controls that weren’t
just A/B plus D-pad & even though I had a different
quarterback this time around, our games always
ended with Jerry Rice streaking down the sidelines
& me running up the score. Like Barry, one day
I just gave it all up, stopped playing before my fingers
went like my knees. I mean, I don’t fuck with it
anymore, unless I’m drunk with my friend & he wants
to play Madden & then for an hour I get to spin,
sprint & make hard cuts on the turf without my joints
snapping in protest. My dad & I find other things to do
together now, like watching football instead of trying
to be it, or charging his remote-control helicopter
& taking it for a spin down in the valley. We’ve lived
like this for years, except the last time I was home
he surprised me by firing up Gameday like it wasn’t sixteen
years old & making Barry look like the nineties
all over again. I sat for a while & watched Gameday Barry
looking seven years older than Tecmo Barry, seven
years smarter than Tecmo Barry, shaking defenders like he
always used to do, like I’m sure he misses now, even
just a little, no matter where he is. My dad didn’t ask
me to play & I didn’t ask either—even though it’s
what I really wanted—because I can’t remember whether
the X-button is left or bottom-center anymore
& anyway my dad looked pretty locked in, thumbs jumping,
making moves I had forgotten a long time ago.