NeoDeity
03-04-2005, 03:16 AM
March 3, 2005
By Chris Vavra - 03-03-05
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The challenge had been made. I looked at my contenders with confidence. Confidence that they would fail. They were vying for the prize - ten measly dollars. That’s it. Only gets you one game rental at Blockbuster, but they didn’t do it for that reason. They tried to make themselves feel good about themselves and make me feel bad. The goal: break 1’09 flat on the first race course on Super Mario Kart. First one to do it would be the owner of a cold ten bucks and a new sense of dignity. The game was on.
The first race course of the SNES Super Mario Kart, Mario Circuit 1, is a simple course with four turns. There are a few obstacles, but nothing major. It becomes a test of speed and reflexes. They believed it could happen. I didn’t think it could. I didn’t believe that I could even beat my own time, but so it goes.
The first time trials had me laughing inside. The times were okay. They were clocking in at around 1’11 to 1’13. They weren’t doing bad, but they weren’t making the turns. I wasn’t even making the turns, but I was doing pretty well for myself, all things considered. Last time I touched the game was May 2004. Nine months. In that time I could have banged a chick and had a baby by now. Thank God that never happened or I wouldn’t have made it this far; I would have been disowned, excommunicated, and crucified, and maybe not in that order.
This is what happens when you’re raised in a family who is one half hard-line Catholic.
But, I’m getting off the subject. The first night went through with none of us getting to that time of 1’09. I came the closest. I made a time of 1’09.4 or so, and that didn’t even break my best time. I was using the best character for the course, which is Mario, and this was the best I could do. I didn’t even scratch my best lap time, which was around 13.2 seconds. My friend, Ed, came the closest with a 1’09.6. By the time we were done, everyone had taken a couple of tries and no one was cracking that elusive time barrier.
Three days later, I came home from school bored and wasted mentally. Couple of tests on crap I won’t remember five years from now, even if I try to remember it. So, I went to the basement, turned on my tiny TV, and went to work on Mario Kart again. I think being alone and without any distractions helped. I managed to break my time of 1’09 with relative ease, clocking in a time of 1’08.4. Part of the trick of getting that time was I managed to master the third turn, which is a slight curve with a pipe to prevent people from taking a real cheap shortcut. I managed to get the turn so close that I almost touched it, but not quite. My lap record didn’t go down much. I managed to knock off a tenth, but nothing more. I felt a great sense of pride, reached for my victory beer. Too bad there wasn’t a Corona in sight; I had to settle for root beer instead. Just as good, really.
I returned to school the next day, telling them that the times had been knocked down, but the bet was still standing. At first, they thought I was full of shit. Hell, I thought so too. I mean, I had been going on and on that first night that I wouldn’t be able to beat it, and here am I taking a half-second off the time. For all you rednecks that love NASCAR racing, you know how much a half-second is (stand in awe of me or get the hell out - I don’t give a damn).
They came back to my house that Saturday. We were supposed to play poker, and we did. I was out five bucks because I’m a pansy and didn’t know when to pull the trigger. God must hate me in the game of poker, but he loves me in the game of racing. I had more bad news for them. The time had been shaved down to 1’07.9 seconds. There was more moaning and groaning, which I was taking some delight in. They were still struggling with the time of 1’09. Ed, who is a Kenyan look-alike but with lighter skin, was the only one coming within breathing distance, and he was still close to a second off.
He turned the tables on me a little bit. He offered me two bets.
Bet #1: Beat the current record five times.
Bet #2: Break the 1’07 barrier.
Ten bucks riding on each. I stroked my goatee and I decided: What the hell? I said I would do it. Even before the poker game started, I hit the record twice. I made times of 1’07.7 and 1’07.8. The latter came first. Then, I decided to stop for a moment and we played poker. As mentioned above, I lost money for being a pansy.
Afterwards, I became the center stage. I sat down and started to go to work. Some of them focused on the Bulls game on the other TV in the basement, but I stayed focused. After four times that hovered around the 1’08 mark to the 1’09 mark, I came out swinging and sliced into the record books with a time of 1’07.5….boy, I thought that was cruising. I had mastered the last turn, which is a wide U-Turn, but staying on the inside can make lap times go down into the low 13 mark if it is done well. I had set a new lap record. I forget what it was, but I’d like to think it was around 12.95 seconds. That’s very fast, seeing as you can’t botch a turn and you have to get the corners right on the money.
Someone said, “Damn, you’re just chipping away at it. You’ll have that 1’06.9 in no time, man.” I didn’t reply. I was too focused on what I was doing. I was thinking about the money, mostly, but I knew where the job was. I made another record, knocking another tenth off the time. Less than a half-second stood away. The ghost is most helpful when doing the time trials because you are able to learn from the mistakes of the ghost and make tighter turns, better turns, and you know when to accelerate. It is a handy little visual device. After five botched efforts that all ended on the second turn, which is a tight left, people became disinterested. I was closing in on ten dollars. All I needed to do was break the record once more, so I focused on that. I thought 1’06.9 was out of my reach anyways, and I focused on below 1’07.9. That’s all I needed.
So, I went along and I felt good. I was relaxed. The first two laps went pretty well. I was holding my own with the ghost. It was just ahead and it seemed to be slowing down and I was moving ahead. All the better, I thought. After three laps, I had a decent lead. After four, I was probably several car lengths ahead. I was hitting all of the turns, nothing was stopping me. After four laps, I had a time of just below 54 seconds, which registered about halfway through lap five.
Holy crap, I thought. I might hit the big one. I cruised through lap five and people were starting to notice at this point. As I approached the finish line, the time was reading 1’06. It clocked in .05 short of 1’06.99. I had won ten bucks, but I wasn’t satisfied. Everyone was telling me that I should go on, I should go for the gold. They went to get pizza at that time; like every red-blooded Yankee at 10:45 on a Saturday, they were starving for a pizza. I told them to go on ahead. My friend, Matt, and I decided to stay, seeing as he wasn’t hungry and neither was I. He also wanted to see “history made”.
I dunno if I would call it that, even now. I thought I would be in nirvana if I hit the magical mark of 1’06.99, and it would help me pay off a gambling debt that I was about to owe, which was a five dollar bet at the beginning of the NBA season that the Bulls would not win thirty games. Well, it’s March and they’re sitting on fucking 29. I was screwed (and still am). Might as well swallow my pride and do it with dignity, I reasoned.
Anyways, I took a few minutes off to get the one thing guaranteed to get my nerves back, and that was Pepsi. After a few cups, I was ready. The first eight tries were bad. I came close a few times, but I kept yapping my mouth off, which was distracting me from the task at hand. I decided to just shut up and my friend said he would, as well. The others had not come back from pizza yet.
My eleventh try was magic. Everything worked so well. I was flying through the course and making the ghost kiss my ass. When I was done, I had not only broken the mark, but I had beaten it by more than .15. I was king. I was god. I was everything you could want and then some. I left the results on the screen so everyone could see what I had done.
Final Lap Results:
Lap One: 14.8 s
Lap Two: 13.4 s
Lap Three: 12.9 s
Lap Four: 12.9 s
Lap Five: 12.8 s
So, my friend owes me twenty bucks, which he has paid with dignity and honor. That reminds me… I have to get ready to eat my humble pie before my friend, that cheapskate bastard. The Bulls are one win away from thirty and me being out of five bucks. He’ll burn in hell for this when it comes time to play fantasy baseball. I’ll make sure my team wastes him.
Regardless, since that fabled day three weeks ago, the game has not been touched. It is almost a shrine now, and maybe that is the way it should be.
By Chris Vavra - 03-03-05
Print Email
The challenge had been made. I looked at my contenders with confidence. Confidence that they would fail. They were vying for the prize - ten measly dollars. That’s it. Only gets you one game rental at Blockbuster, but they didn’t do it for that reason. They tried to make themselves feel good about themselves and make me feel bad. The goal: break 1’09 flat on the first race course on Super Mario Kart. First one to do it would be the owner of a cold ten bucks and a new sense of dignity. The game was on.
The first race course of the SNES Super Mario Kart, Mario Circuit 1, is a simple course with four turns. There are a few obstacles, but nothing major. It becomes a test of speed and reflexes. They believed it could happen. I didn’t think it could. I didn’t believe that I could even beat my own time, but so it goes.
The first time trials had me laughing inside. The times were okay. They were clocking in at around 1’11 to 1’13. They weren’t doing bad, but they weren’t making the turns. I wasn’t even making the turns, but I was doing pretty well for myself, all things considered. Last time I touched the game was May 2004. Nine months. In that time I could have banged a chick and had a baby by now. Thank God that never happened or I wouldn’t have made it this far; I would have been disowned, excommunicated, and crucified, and maybe not in that order.
This is what happens when you’re raised in a family who is one half hard-line Catholic.
But, I’m getting off the subject. The first night went through with none of us getting to that time of 1’09. I came the closest. I made a time of 1’09.4 or so, and that didn’t even break my best time. I was using the best character for the course, which is Mario, and this was the best I could do. I didn’t even scratch my best lap time, which was around 13.2 seconds. My friend, Ed, came the closest with a 1’09.6. By the time we were done, everyone had taken a couple of tries and no one was cracking that elusive time barrier.
Three days later, I came home from school bored and wasted mentally. Couple of tests on crap I won’t remember five years from now, even if I try to remember it. So, I went to the basement, turned on my tiny TV, and went to work on Mario Kart again. I think being alone and without any distractions helped. I managed to break my time of 1’09 with relative ease, clocking in a time of 1’08.4. Part of the trick of getting that time was I managed to master the third turn, which is a slight curve with a pipe to prevent people from taking a real cheap shortcut. I managed to get the turn so close that I almost touched it, but not quite. My lap record didn’t go down much. I managed to knock off a tenth, but nothing more. I felt a great sense of pride, reached for my victory beer. Too bad there wasn’t a Corona in sight; I had to settle for root beer instead. Just as good, really.
I returned to school the next day, telling them that the times had been knocked down, but the bet was still standing. At first, they thought I was full of shit. Hell, I thought so too. I mean, I had been going on and on that first night that I wouldn’t be able to beat it, and here am I taking a half-second off the time. For all you rednecks that love NASCAR racing, you know how much a half-second is (stand in awe of me or get the hell out - I don’t give a damn).
They came back to my house that Saturday. We were supposed to play poker, and we did. I was out five bucks because I’m a pansy and didn’t know when to pull the trigger. God must hate me in the game of poker, but he loves me in the game of racing. I had more bad news for them. The time had been shaved down to 1’07.9 seconds. There was more moaning and groaning, which I was taking some delight in. They were still struggling with the time of 1’09. Ed, who is a Kenyan look-alike but with lighter skin, was the only one coming within breathing distance, and he was still close to a second off.
He turned the tables on me a little bit. He offered me two bets.
Bet #1: Beat the current record five times.
Bet #2: Break the 1’07 barrier.
Ten bucks riding on each. I stroked my goatee and I decided: What the hell? I said I would do it. Even before the poker game started, I hit the record twice. I made times of 1’07.7 and 1’07.8. The latter came first. Then, I decided to stop for a moment and we played poker. As mentioned above, I lost money for being a pansy.
Afterwards, I became the center stage. I sat down and started to go to work. Some of them focused on the Bulls game on the other TV in the basement, but I stayed focused. After four times that hovered around the 1’08 mark to the 1’09 mark, I came out swinging and sliced into the record books with a time of 1’07.5….boy, I thought that was cruising. I had mastered the last turn, which is a wide U-Turn, but staying on the inside can make lap times go down into the low 13 mark if it is done well. I had set a new lap record. I forget what it was, but I’d like to think it was around 12.95 seconds. That’s very fast, seeing as you can’t botch a turn and you have to get the corners right on the money.
Someone said, “Damn, you’re just chipping away at it. You’ll have that 1’06.9 in no time, man.” I didn’t reply. I was too focused on what I was doing. I was thinking about the money, mostly, but I knew where the job was. I made another record, knocking another tenth off the time. Less than a half-second stood away. The ghost is most helpful when doing the time trials because you are able to learn from the mistakes of the ghost and make tighter turns, better turns, and you know when to accelerate. It is a handy little visual device. After five botched efforts that all ended on the second turn, which is a tight left, people became disinterested. I was closing in on ten dollars. All I needed to do was break the record once more, so I focused on that. I thought 1’06.9 was out of my reach anyways, and I focused on below 1’07.9. That’s all I needed.
So, I went along and I felt good. I was relaxed. The first two laps went pretty well. I was holding my own with the ghost. It was just ahead and it seemed to be slowing down and I was moving ahead. All the better, I thought. After three laps, I had a decent lead. After four, I was probably several car lengths ahead. I was hitting all of the turns, nothing was stopping me. After four laps, I had a time of just below 54 seconds, which registered about halfway through lap five.
Holy crap, I thought. I might hit the big one. I cruised through lap five and people were starting to notice at this point. As I approached the finish line, the time was reading 1’06. It clocked in .05 short of 1’06.99. I had won ten bucks, but I wasn’t satisfied. Everyone was telling me that I should go on, I should go for the gold. They went to get pizza at that time; like every red-blooded Yankee at 10:45 on a Saturday, they were starving for a pizza. I told them to go on ahead. My friend, Matt, and I decided to stay, seeing as he wasn’t hungry and neither was I. He also wanted to see “history made”.
I dunno if I would call it that, even now. I thought I would be in nirvana if I hit the magical mark of 1’06.99, and it would help me pay off a gambling debt that I was about to owe, which was a five dollar bet at the beginning of the NBA season that the Bulls would not win thirty games. Well, it’s March and they’re sitting on fucking 29. I was screwed (and still am). Might as well swallow my pride and do it with dignity, I reasoned.
Anyways, I took a few minutes off to get the one thing guaranteed to get my nerves back, and that was Pepsi. After a few cups, I was ready. The first eight tries were bad. I came close a few times, but I kept yapping my mouth off, which was distracting me from the task at hand. I decided to just shut up and my friend said he would, as well. The others had not come back from pizza yet.
My eleventh try was magic. Everything worked so well. I was flying through the course and making the ghost kiss my ass. When I was done, I had not only broken the mark, but I had beaten it by more than .15. I was king. I was god. I was everything you could want and then some. I left the results on the screen so everyone could see what I had done.
Final Lap Results:
Lap One: 14.8 s
Lap Two: 13.4 s
Lap Three: 12.9 s
Lap Four: 12.9 s
Lap Five: 12.8 s
So, my friend owes me twenty bucks, which he has paid with dignity and honor. That reminds me… I have to get ready to eat my humble pie before my friend, that cheapskate bastard. The Bulls are one win away from thirty and me being out of five bucks. He’ll burn in hell for this when it comes time to play fantasy baseball. I’ll make sure my team wastes him.
Regardless, since that fabled day three weeks ago, the game has not been touched. It is almost a shrine now, and maybe that is the way it should be.