Scott Larson Computer Mark Price might have just hit three shots in a row, but my heart is the one that is on fire. And it burns with nostalgic passion for you Original NBA Jam Arcade Game.
Original NBA Jam Arcade Game, how do I love you? Let me count the ways.
For one, our love was not based on appearance or convention. You were six feet tall and three feet wide, much bigger than girls my age. Yet there we stood, face to face, hour after hour, dancing like only lovers can.
There was a comfort between us. When I was 14 talking to real girls made my stomach turn in summersaults. But not you. The only thing you turned in summersaults was Brad Lohaus or Kevin Johnson as they threw down monster slam dunks on my computerized opponents.
Thirdly, most people yell at adolescents for pushing their buttons. But not you. You gave me that outlet; you let me touch all three of your buttons: shoot/block, pass/steal, and turbo. I probably didn't tell you this enough, but that turbo button fueled my love for you every bit as much as it boosted automated Mitch Richmond.
It wasn't fair what other people said about you. Like that you were big-headed. That was hardly your fault. As a matter of fact, it was a feature that I could activate with a special code. Giant cartoon heads, that was the kind of stuff that made you so special. That Dominique Wilkins and Stacey Augman combo had skills as large as their skulls. And for that I applaud you. Big headed man! If yelling BOOM-SHAKA-LAKA after an above the scoreboard windmill dunk is prideful, than I don't want to be humble.
It wasn't always perfect between us, I know that. I can imagine your hurt when I would play Iron Man Ivan Stewart's Off Road Racing, or when I would kick you as hard as I could after you would beat me with a steal and full court shot with under a second left. But we always made up. And you always welcomed me back each Saturday afternoon, greeting me with my own initials on your high-score screen.
Well Original NBA Jam Arcade Game, 1993 was a long time ago. A lot has changed since then. The whole landscape of the league is different. Horace Grant and James Worthy have hung up their goggles, and neither a virtual nor a real life Waymon Tisdale has dunked in years. No one plays stand up video games anymore, and your once jaw-dropping graphics aren't quite so magical.
But I still think about you.
Some of my friends, they tell me they see you from time to time: at auctions, in obscure rural bowling alleys, or autographed by Scott Skiles and for sale on Ebay. But to tell you the truth, I don't even know what I would do if I saw you. Perhaps it is best we just remember each other by what was, by what we had.
Happy Valentines Day Original NBA Jam Arcade Game.
Signed With Love Forever,
Scott Larson
Born in Chicago and raised on a steady diet of Harry Caray game-calls and Michael Jordan Nike commercials, Scott Larson recalls this as a magical period, one which peaked during the Bears '85 Super Bowl season.
A steady stream of older cousin's Notre Dame and U of I sweatpants kept him clothed throughout adolescence. Every pair of which was perpetually grass stained at the knee from trying to beat the Brubaker twins at various playground sports each afternoon.
He did not make the seventh grade basketball squad, but got his revenge by simulating the entire season on a Nerf hoop in his bedroom, shattering several school records and the plaster on the dining room ceiling in the process.
In short, he loves sports. A young lifetime of playing them and watching them at every opportunity has left him with no regrets except for those sweat pants. He can be reached at scott.larson@atomicsportsmedia.com. © Copyright by Atomic Sports Media, Inc. |
