By Kyle Roberts
Men don’t grow up; we just grow old — The Internet
A few weeks ago, I received the offer of a lifetime: my kid brother, who has found himself working long hours for a local fast food chain, had a brand new PlayStation 5 at his house. It was one he bought a few months ago thinking he’d have time to play it in his spare time.
Turns out, a full-time restaurant job doesn’t leave much time for recreation, leaving a brand new PS5 gathering metaphorical (and soon-to-be real) dust.
With my wife and kids over at his place for dinner, my brother walks in with the shiny console, a pristine white coating and shaped like a Star Trek contraption, with both controllers looking as sleek as a new Tesla.
“You can have it,” my brother said. “Free of charge.”
Without hesitation, I responded with two surprising words: “No thanks.”
Befuddled, my brother looked at me sideways. “I said it was free.”
“I know,” I responded, feeling the child inside me dying a little more than a normal day of getting older. “I just can’t do it.”
You see, there is one reason and one reason alone that I politely declined this incredible offer: EA SPORTS College Football 25, a video game franchise that is returning for the first time in over a decade where you, the player, take your favorite university on a road to glory, building a dynasty that can last for decades at a time. It’s literally the only reason I’d want his PlayStation 5.
Now, people who have known me for decades are asking themselves if I’m okay, or if I’ve been body-swapped. In fact, I nearly failed out of Louisiana Tech because of the time I spent on my PlayStation 2 playing college football games in the early 2000’s (Naturally, I’m dating myself).
NCAA football video games had borderline consumed my life in college. There was something magical about being a complete non-athlete in real life and being in charge of a college team virtually. You’d play a realistic schedule every year in games that would last an hour of real time. Doing the math, which you’d have to ignore my undergrad GPA to assume I could do math at all, each season would be around 14 hours of real life consumed to get through each season and in a year while waiting for the next installment, we’d play 25 seasons. And then, there was a recruiting section that added four extra hours at a time between the seasons.
So, I cringe to report this: in any given year, I’d give up 350 hours of real life, equaling 14 24-hour days cumulatively around the clock. Meaning two entire weeks of a calendar year were gone at the altar of the NCAA football gods.
Now, I will admit: it was not all bad at all (Again, ignore my undergrad GPA), because in the midst of playing countless hours of football, it turned out to be exponentially more fun when I was playing within our tight-knit friend group.
For nearly my entire pursuit of my bachelor’s degree at Louisiana Tech, my closest friends (Bret, Binni and Alan) would all be playing, as well. We’d pass a PS2 memory card back and forth, begging each other to get their game in so we could advance the week. Innumerable nights at the Baptist Collegiate Ministry house had the living room TV bright with whichever school’s colors we were playing or competing with.
And when we were mostly getting married (pre-kids of course), we added a couple of others into the fold (Fox and Charlie). I even put together a point system that had real life implications: the winner got a free dinner at Tokyo Steakhouse in Monroe with the rest of the guys ponying up the cost (Somehow I won; imagine that).
As I reflect on those years, the nostalgia hits like a virtual outside linebacker. Laugh if you want, but strong friendships that have endured decades were forged through the days playing against each other and nights trying to recruit our new teams for the upcoming “season.” We’d negotiate times, places, food — you name it to spend those four hours going after non-existent four star and five star recruits.
But “time” has a way of changing things. Priorities shift. Families grow. And fast forward to now: through the lens of my 41-year-old self as a dad and husband (and many other hats), I can’t fathom giving up 14 days to ANYTHING that doesn’t include my wife and family. Sure, we have other fun things to do to fill our time. But EA SPORTS College Football 25 for Judith and the girls? That’s a sell not even Don Draper could pull off.
That same “time” now is a non-negotiable in a way it wasn’t in my twenties.
I can now for certain say the “No thanks” was earnest and sincere. Because I know that as much as I’d like to run things back with the guys (from the comfort of our own homes, thanks to online play), I wouldn’t be able to give it 100 percent. In fact, turning down the PlayStation 5 and the chance to buy EA Sports 25 is better than trying it and not giving the gang my best to keep up with our own dynasties.
So, to my old crew — if you happen to get the new EA SPORTS College Football game and start your own dynasty together: I wish you nothing but the best. I hope you’ll text me all the fun things you’re doing, the national championships, and the Heisman races.
Even though I won’t be with you, I’ll be cheering for you all from afar. And just know that I still cherish every single hour (day, week, whatever) that we put into it.
