NBA Jam

Here’s what I think about telepathy: it’s up to no good. Whenever I feel like someone might be attempting to communicate with me using only their mind, I do the responsible thing and leave the room immediately. I just don’t want to be a part of that sort of tragedy. It starts off innocent enough; someone raises their eyebrow at you meaningfully across the table, either to indicate that they want to love you like it’s the 60s (or 70s, even) or that they are about to say something Oscar Wildeish — something churlishly witty. Something like: “More people every day succumb to the madness of Marriage. Luckily for me, I’m a dandy and that sort of thing really doesn’t fly in this time period.” And then you reply with something scathing like: “Well, dandyism was a common trope among literary figures of the late 19th century. To associate it with homosexuality, and the pertinent ban on sodomy, is putting the horse before the well-adorned cart, so to speak. Perhaps you meant to say that, being an alleged homosexual, Oscar Wilde was unlikely to experience marriage in the traditional sense. But that would actually be incorrect, as Oscar Wilde married a woman named Constance Lloyd in 1884 and had two children with her. Really, you are just revealing yourself to be a dunce of the first degree.” And then your friend will likely begin to gesticulate wildly with his left arm, indicating that you should really STFU. That’s where you draw the line, my friend. Leave the room at once. Have none of this so-called non-verbal communication. It leads to the horrible road of telepathy. What we have in NBA Jam is a perfect example of a couple of gents who let the whole mind reading business get a bit too far. It is to the point where, without any communication at all, one player (you) can tell the other player (him) to throw the ball (round) into the net (also round, but only when viewed from the top or bottom). This is completely unnatural, and I wont have anything of it. For the longest time in this game I was sure that I was controlling both players, like you do in the sports games these days. But then I realized, I was actually only one of them! First – disappointment. Then – HORROR. MIND CONTROL.

GIVE... IT.... TO...... ME.... *excitedly rubs temples*

The other was nought but a zombie at my disposal. This is the equivalent of realizing that the person you have loved for six years is really just an extension of your body – say a nipple. At first, I thought I was controlling both the nipple and myself, but at different times. Then I thought that the nipple was a separate entity altogether, and I loved him for it. THEN I realized that the nipple was attached to my man-boob!!

NEVER AGAIN WILL I BARE MY CHEST!

Satan is at work here, I know this!

Otherwise, the game is pretty dickery-doo. I played this one as a kid so it made me all nostalgic.

It’s also pretty boring, like real basketball, once you realize that the teams basically score each time and if you go in for a dunk you will never bloody miss.

The moral of this story is this: never trust anything with anything related to NBA. It probably has something to do with mind control.

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