George Foreman’s face looks like a tiger that fell two hundred feet and landed face-first.
Like the fallen tiger, though, Foreman remains fierce, if rather stunned.
That’s my assumption, at least. You see, even though I have reviewed almost every single boxing game so far, I don’t really know much about boxers, or boxing itself, a.k.a. the “sweet science.” In fact, I would say that such a moniker would be better used to describe, say, baking.
Boxing, as I understand it, involves little pie, or even no pie at all.
What it does involve is punching. This game certainly has it. It has two pixellated renders of photo stills of various torsos, all of which I assume are from real boxers, sliding around the screen and jerking back and forth from still frame to still frame as they punch.
This grim slideshow was difficult to watch. It was like Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots in the Uncanny Valley Arena. Combine this with Foreman’s already slightly unsettling face, which I can only describe as “pleasantly retarded,” and I could not stomach more than one round of trading ridiculous punches.
Since this game is completely awful besides the suprisingly super fucking badass soundtrack of squeadly synth guitar over chugging chords, let’s talk briefly about George Foreman, aka Big George, and his weird fucking marshmallow face.
Big George is a two-time heavyweight champion, an Olympic gold medalist, and the oldest man to win the heavyweight championship (at 45 years old).
George has ten children – five girls and five boys. The five boys are named George Jr., George III, George IV, George V, and George VI. You can’t fucking make this shit up, folks. Their nicknames are Monk, Monk II, Monk III, Monk IV, and Barry.
Let’s pause for a moment, and reflect on that.
Consider also that these children have probably inherited their father’s face, all five of them. Imagine him gathering them close for a loving embrace, all of them with faces that look like three couches mashed together. Let us hope, for their sake and the sake of anyone who ever sees this, that his face is the result of years of punching, and not genetic.
George Foreman is also a Christian minister.
Most importantly, though, Big George gave us all the George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Grilling Machine – the George Foreman Grill. He has made more money off that thing than his whole boxing career, and with good reason! A marvelous invention, as are all its spinoffs. I have a knockoff of the Foreman grill myself. Its delicious bounty haunts my waistline every day.
So I salute you, George Foreman, although you’ll probably have to pull your cheeks out from in front of your eyelids to see it. I salute you, and your mighty fists, and your wonderful grill, and I forgive you for the terrible game that attempted to profit from your fame.
In closing: meat is the new bread.