No good
It’s lunchtime on a dreary September day and a murder of schoolchildren are crammed into my brother’s bedroom. They’re huddled around a screen watching a great sporting drama unfold.
But it’s not an All-Ireland final, Clare having already dispatched Offaly days before and Dublin yet to avenge their fall at the final fence the previous year.
It’s not an Ireland international either, though the bitter aftertaste of Peter Stöger’s hat-trick in Austria’s Euro 96 qualifier win still lingers like gone-off goulash.
Instead, they’re watching a 16-bit gladiatorial drama unfold as my brother, Niall, and I go head-to-head in Madden 95. I’m losing by 21 points early in the third quarter. It hurts, not just because this is some Romulus and Remus type struggle, but because he doesn’t even like football and I’ve decided it’s my new favourite sport.
Playing as the Dallas Cowboys, he used Troy Aikman, Michael Irivin, and Emmitt Smith to absolutely destroy my LA Raiders team in the first half. But don’t cast him as some sort of Bill Belichickian coaching genius in your mind’s eye. Instead picture a piece of button-mashing performance art.
After a stern half-time team talk — and a Capri Sun — my team finally started to get their act together with back-to-back scores in the third quarter to keep me in the hunt. Trying to kill the game as a contest, the Cowboys go for it on fourth down midway through the fourth quarter, but the Raiders defence steps up to the plate and forces a stop.
‘Fucking hell, Steve. You might just win this,’ whispers Brian Kirwan as both the tension and smell of Lynx becomes overbearing. A quick hit to #81 — or Tim Brown as his parents called him — gets me in good field position before #44 barges over for the game-tying score from 5 yards.
Just as it looks like the contest is heading for overtime, and eight teenage boys having to explain why they’re late back to school, an uncharacteristic fumble from Smith gives me possession on the Cowboys' 40-yard line and sends the group into the type of frenzy usually reserved for hearing double maths has been cancelled.
With a mix of luck, skill, and pressing the wrong button once, I eventually work the ball to the 28-yard line before the drive comes to a halt and I’m left with a 40-yard field goal attempt for the win.
With 12 seconds left, this is it. The Raiders have a chance of making the best comeback in National Football League history; Madden 95, games played exclusively in Monasterevin edition.
Silence floods the room to chest level but you can hear my heart beat in Kildare Town and my brain is working so fast it could make the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs. Jeff Jaeger lines up the kick. He’s been flawless with his extra points but he’s attempting this one from Pluto.
I slow my breathing down, become one with the controller, and initiate the kick. The power is perfect. The direction is flawless. The kick is good, the kick is good, the kick… is no good.
It has dropped short.
Silence evolves into disbelief before morphing into schadenfreude. “You gobshite,” someone screams. “How’d you miss that?” asks someone who has never seen an American football in his life. My chin hits my chest, my controller hits the floor, my spirit hits rock bottom.
But the game’s not over. My brother still has six seconds left. Seeing my disappointment, he does what any good family member would do and takes advantage of my weakness. He runs a simple stretch play to the left. Every single Raiders player who has ever donned the Silver and Black momentarily forgets how to tackle. And he takes it to the house.
The Cowboys win and I’m left to lick my wounds in geography class.
But the lesson that day was not about how ox bow lakes are formed or what the capital of Turkmenistan is. Instead, I learned that sports, and particularly the Oakland Raiders, are synonymous with disappointment.
History would repeat itself over and over for the next 15 years. From taking JaMarcus Russell as the number one overall pick, only for him to gain more pounds than points, to starting the Patriots dynasty with the infamous Tuck Rule game, the Raiders have become the laughing stock of the NFL.
In a league where the Cleveland Browns exist, that’s quite an achievement.
And it shows no signs of getting better. Over the past year they’ve given Jon Gruden a 10-year, $100m dollar contract before allowing him trade away their two best players in Khalil Mack and Amari Cooper. Then, in March, they sent a third and fifth round pick to the Pittsburgh Steelers for the services of Antonio Brown, the best receiver in football, as well as giving him a three-year, $50m deal with $30 guaranteed.
Brown never took a snap as a Raider.
He missed all of pre-season, first by burning his feet in a cryotherapy machine, and then threatening to retire because the NFL wanted to make him wear a helmet that didn’t increase his risk of concussion.
Then, on the eve of the season, Brown published a letter the Raiders had sent him regarding fines on his Instagram, threatened General Manager Mike Mayock, apologised to his team-mates, had his guaranted money taken away, and released a video featuring a secretly taped phone call with his head coach before again taking to Instagram to demand a release. All within 48 hours.
The team did release him and all those jokes about him joining the Patriots became less funny the minute he did just that.
The Raiders, meanwhile, became the laughing stock of the NFL once again.
Without Brown, the Raiders went into the first game of the season against what, on paper, was a formidable Denver Broncos defence and were widely expected to lose.
But the little team that couldn’t became the Autumn Wind that could.
Rookie Josh Jacobs had two scores and 85 yards. The new number one receiver — as of two days ago — Tyrell Williams had six catches for 105 yards, and a score. The much maligned Derek Carr was 22 of 26 for 259 yards and a touchdown.
But, because of decades of supporting a terrible team, I know it’s the hope that kills you. And I know the Raiders won’t be challenging for hardware come the first Sunday in February — or the first Sunday in October for that matter— so I’m not getting carried away.
And even though the season is looking a little brighter, with an inkling of identity creeping its way into the team, I will always view the Raiders through the lens of that lunch break in my brother’s bedroom.
They’re good. They’re good. They’re… no good.
[Note: Since publication, Antonio Brown has been accused of rape and sexual assault by his former trainer. The 31 year old denies the charge]
