Heavy tells me that I'm not ready to take on Fool - or any other pro, for that matter. He tells me I need more seasoning before I can step up to that level. He also thinks it's a really bad sign that I still haven't connected my machine to the Internet. He says I'm "techno­tarded." But, being a good pal, he invites me to a mini Madden tournament he's hosting. There's a $50 entry fee, those who place in the top three will be paid, and there will be about 20 competitors. It sounds good to me. I tell him I'll be there. Hey, it's not a competitive gaming league, but even Derek Jeter had to pay his dues in the minors.


The Heavy Kevy Invitational
I could bore you with the details of how amazingly I played, of long touchdown passes and fantastic interceptions. I could tell you about how, unexpectedly, I blazed through a field that had more than one Madden Challenge veteran in it (Heavy and his friends regularly play in the tournament). I could tell you that I took first place and won the sweet, sweet cash. I could tell you all of that … but I'd be lying. In actuality, I got smoked. I lost two games in a double-elimination tournament by incredibly wide margins - the wizards at MIT probably think it's mathematically impossible for a person to be so terrible at something.

SO, WHERE DOES that leave me? Well, after nearly two months of training and numerous beat downs, I've become abject. It appears that I'm not cut out to become a professional gamer. (You're safe for now, Fool, but sleep with one eye open.) It seems that I'll have to keep doing what I'm doing - stringing together words in the hopes that some publication with deep pockets will have mercy on me.