No Good: How John Madden set me up for heartache
A version of this piece was first published in September 2019.
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 tiny 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. I’ve chosen the Raiders because John Madden used to coach them, and he seems cool. I’ve also got my hands on some NWA tapes and they support the Raiders and they’re definitely cool. I am not cool, but I fancy my chances here.
Afterall, you can’t cast my brother as some sort of Bill Belichickian coaching genius in your mind’s eye. Instead picture a piece of button-mashing performance art from someone who hasn’t a clue about the sport.
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, with 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 Raiders, are synonymous with disappointment, no matter what city they call home.
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 are often 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. Just in the last few yearsthey’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. Gruden, it then turned out was a massive racist, misogynist and more, and was let go by the team earlier this year.
Just a few short weeks later, former first round pick Henry Ruggs III, a player finally looking like he might live up to his potential, decided to drink and drive, killing 23-year old Tina Tintor after losing control of his car while driving at over 250kph. He was released by the team later that week.
Without Ruggs and Gruden, the Raiders went from looking like a certain playoff team, to what every football fan has come to expect over the past few years. A joke, and not a very funny one at that.
And me supporting them is partly John Madden’s fault. Not just because of his lending his voice to the video game — though that certainly played a huge role — but also because Madden was the greatest coach in football.
Sure, he might not have as many rings as other coaches do — though he won over 100 games and a Super Bowl in 10 seasons — but John Madden knew how to teach people football. Whether that was players, other coaches, TV viewers, or video game players. Before Tony Romo was breaking down what was about to happen on a play, Madden had the CBS Chalkboard where he showed viewers how a play was successful. This might seem run of the mill now, but Madden invented it.
He was so good at it, than in 1994 Fox paid him more money to call football games than any NFL team paid its starting quarterback. When you consider Pat Mahomes earns $45m per year today, that speaks to how highly he was valued.
But as much as I’ve endured decades of supporting a terrible team because of Madden’s inextricable link with them, I was genuinely sad to hear of his death this morning. He was one of those larger than life people who just seemed like they’d go on forever.
Because of John Madden, his voice, his coaching career, I will always be a Raiders fan. But I will also always view them through the lens of that lunch break in my brother’s bedroom.
They’re good. They’re good. They’re… no good.
