I Was Cheated
It had been a day. One of those long, endless to-do list days…and on a Friday! I had grand Bag Tag ambitions: build out our new product, tinker with my writing project, maybe whip up some new merch. But alas—Friday night was calling my name and convinced me to abandon the chair and give myself a lil treat for the week.
Naturally, I turned to video games. My digital bubble bath. I fired up the PS5 with a simple goal: decompress with a little Fortnite. Truthfully, I planned to cruise around in a car, blast tunes, and casually hunt down the poor souls actually trying to win. It’s silly. It’s relaxing. It didn’t happen.
I got sucked into the trap.
NCAA 25.
I was supposed to be on a break. A clean break! Our Dynasty League had already wrapped up nine glorious seasons and we’d all mutually agreed to pause until the new game drops. We had a whole month to do literally anything else. And yet, like a moth to a flame or a raccoon to a trash can, I was back.
So there I was, booting up a quick “just one game” (famous last words). I'm down 6-0 at half. I ccore to close out the 3rd. Pick off my opponent’s next throw to start the 4th. Boom. Up 14-6 with two minutes left. Victory was so close I could smell the Gatorade bath.
Then... my defense turns to Swiss cheese, and lets the guy tie it up with a 2-point conversion. Fine. Whatever. I still had 45 seconds to work some magic. And work it I did—methodically marching to the 15-yard line and lining it up perfectly between the hashes.
11 seconds left. I’m milking the clock. I’m feeling good. At 5 seconds, I start tapping timeout like a woodpecker on Red Bull. 4 seconds. C’mon, timeout. 3 seconds. Why aren’t you working? Suddenly—BAM—“Your opponent is experiencing connection issues.”
Oh no.
2 seconds. The error box disappears. Spam that timeout! 1 second—boop, error pops back up. I’m now in OT, I was furious. But then the dude rage quit.
Cool, I think. That’s a win. He ran from the smoke. As the menu loads back up, I stretch, ready to enjoy my victory.
Record: 6-3.
…Huh?
I was 6-2. Now I’m 6-3. Wait. WHAT?
I scroll. I double-check. I scream into the void. The game gave him the win. HIM. The quitter. The laggy coward. The rage quitter got the W.
Unacceptable. Outrageous. Borderline criminal.
So, like any level-headed and extremely calm individual, I clipped the whole game and filed a report. I want justice. I want EA Sports to issue a public apology and a parade in my honor.
Did this game mean anything? No. I’m still ranked #1 in my Road to the CFP. I still made the tournament. Will EA or PlayStation do anything about it? Absolutely not. But that’s not the point.
This was supposed to be me time. This was supposed to be relaxing. And instead, I got bamboozled, betrayed, and bopped by some dude with Wi-Fi powered by a potato.
And I will not be silenced!