Girls Don't Talk to Me Now, Either

With the exception of the afternoon I learned to smoke Kools in Chris R's backyard and that weekend we all went up to the lake and nearly sunk Bryan and Michael's Blazer, I pretty much spent my entire eighth grade year in my basement with this game. Seriously, stockpiled with Tecmo, a bag of Doritos, a two-liter of Dew, my Primus CD, and a handful of Slim Jims, my family might not see me for days. There was the season I notched 100 sacks with Bruce Smith. Or the full-quarter scramble with Don Majkowksi. 5,000 yards with Andre Ware. I once manned every team on the S.F. schedule and dealt the mighty, hated 49ers a perfect 0-16 season.

Now that I've found The Greatest Football Video Game Ever online, I fire it up over my lunch break for a quick dose of eight-bit nostalgia. Playing on a keyboard can't hold a candle to those uncomfortable square NES controllers but all the old strategy is there: Kick it short to conserve time. Sterling Sharpe will always outjump the DB. Derrick Thomas is unstoppable.

Anybody have Travis Staab's phone number? I'm jonesing for a Chiefs/Raiders throwdown.