The whole night was a blur of Elite Crushers. After laying waste to Darren three games in a row, the pizza was delivered, which I'm sure felt like a life raft for him. I thought he was mad at me because he was barely saying a word as we devoured pizza, but that also could have been because Wyatt drunkenly rambled the whole time. Wyatt had a fifth beer with his food.

"I'm tellin' ya, I'm beating that computer tonight," Wyatt said for the seventh time as we ate our pizza.

We were all hoping to beat the computer. Darren gave it a shot playing as Aqua-Axe, and he hung in there pretty well. He took off about 40% of the computer's health bar before losing. I performed at a similar level, maybe slightly better, but the article online wasn't kidding. The modded computer difficulty was brutal.

With Wyatt being 5 beers in, he played against the computer and was able to take off 90% of its health before losing. "This game is a joke!" Wyatt hollered, cracking open his sixth beer of the night and finishing his six-pack. Wyatt kept going. He was a little closer to stealing a victory each time but kept falling short. "This is impossible!"

I had never seen Wyatt so zoned in on the game. His eyes were glued to the screen. I don't think I ever saw him blink. He took a few gulps of his last beer between each match. With the steady rise of his blood alcohol levels, his percentage of taking off the computer's health bar increased bit by bit.

The bloody madman, he was going to do it.

Darren and I were stitched to the couch. It was like watching one of those classic sports games on TV, except it was happening live, and I was actually intrigued.

"We should livestream this," I whispered to Darren.

"What's that I hear!?" Wyatt hollered.

"Oh, uh-uh, it's nothing.”

"Nuh-uh! Tell me what you said! Are you trying to break my concentration or something?" Wyatt still had his attention on the screen, deciding what stage he wanted to play at next.

"Wyatt, keep your voice down. My mom is going to bed soon. She doesn't need your loudmouth keeping her up!" Darren whispered.

"I just want to know what the fuck he said," Wyatt quieted his voice but was still sharply irritated. He shoved the last beer can in his face and finished the drink.

"He said we should live stream this."

"Oh yeah? Why? What's the big idea?" Wyatt finally glared at us, looking away from the TV for the first time in an hour.

"Because it's fascinating how high of a level you're playing at! People love watching good matches, and what we are witnessing right now is an epic classic. It deserves a broader audience than just me and Darren!"

"Well, I'm glad that we're not streaming it. I don't want the world to see me getting my ass handed to me by the computer."

"Hey, man, you're not,” Darren said, “I was searching on my phone a few minutes ago to see if anyone has beaten these new brutal computers from this mod, but there hasn't been anyone. Then again, not many people have the mod, but still. You can find like, anything on YouTube. Not this, though.”

Wyatt stewed in silence and then proceeded to play another match. It was Toxic-Javelin and the expert computer level, Rabid-Savage. The game was unbelievable. They exchanged quick 4-hit combos, and the momentum reversed, then it reversed again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Wyatt hurled off a javelin spike to Rabid-Savage’s chest after a dodged swipe. Then the computer retaliated but only with five hits; Wyatt held a slim lead. Each second felt like a minute.

Oh my god, he's going to do it, this crazy bastard, he's really going to do it.

VICTORY - TOXIC-JAVELIN, the game shouted.

Wyatt leaped in the air, knocking over his beer can and plate, but both were empty. "I did it! You can't touch me, Dayzees. I'm better than you. I'm the best! I'm the best fucking player in the league, ain't no fuckin' playing around! I'm at the goddamn big boys' table! Wooooooo!"

Darren shot up out of his seat and smacked Wyatt's hand with an earthquake of a high five. "Let's go! That's how it's done right there!… But we really have to keep it down. I think my mom is getting ready for bed."

"Wake her up, tell her what just happened. She just witnessed history," Wyatt said, pacing around the room in a hardened fury. He looked ready to break apart the sturdy plastic controller.

Darren got in Wyatt’s way whispered, "I'm not gonna wake my mom up. She doesn't care about this game. Besides, she didn't witness history. Gordie and I did.”

"We're goin' to New York," Wyatt said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"We're goin' to the major in New York this year. We have to. We gotta, ya know? We might be able to win something, or hell, at least make a splash,” Wyatt said.

"I don't know about that, Wyatt. Gordie and I don't really have much money to do something like that. The summer is where I get a lot of hours at the grocery store."

"Fuck that!" Wyatt hollered, but Darren hushed him with a menacing point of his finger. "Okay, bro, just to put things in perspective, you could win $50,000 just from winning the doubles bracket."

"Yeah, but you have to split that in half," Darren argued.

"What? twenty-fiiiive th-th-thousand? That's still waaay more than what you’d make the entire summer working at the goddamn grocery store. Play a game -a game you love- and win some money for it? Or spend your whole summer bustin' ass at a job you hate?"

"It's a chance, you drunken idiot. It's a gamble. We'd still be going up against Dayzees and whoever his teammate is. Amaya and her teammate. Smith and RaunchDressing. We don't know how good these teams are. Not to mention a trip like that would cost me a lot of money."

"You s-stole games from Dayzees."

"That was only one game, dammit!" Darren yelled with a whisper. He shook his head and sighed. He turned away from Wyatt, who sat down, but Darren paced around the room.

"I think our best bet is to just wait next year for the next Chicago tournament and rely on that. That way, we don't have to worry about traveling expenses that we can't afford. Besides, we can still get to Miami if one of us lands in the top 8 singles bracket in Chicago," I said.

"Maybe…" Darren was still pacing the room.

"What do you mean, maybe? The Chicago tournament is the most important one," I protested.

"I'm not denying that at all, but the thing about that is that the committee actually looks at who has been in the top eight in the other three major tournaments. Let's say, for example, that one of us finished the Chicago tournament ranked 8th, but we didn't play in the other tournaments. Then let's say that 75K has finished eighth in the other three majors but finishes 9th in the Chicago tournament. The committee can give the Miami spot to 75K if they feel he is more deserving."

"Has that happened before?" I asked.

Darren nodded solemnly. "It has only happened once, but not to 75K. He's always in the top eight, but if one of us bozos gets eighth only once, we have to hope and pray that no one else is consistently reaching the eighth spot before us. You see what I'm saying?"

"Ugh. Yeah, I see your point. You're not wrong," I looked away from Darren and instead zoned out deep in thought at the wall to the left. The Miami Tournament felt so close a week ago, but it started to feel like a pipe dream. "Does the doubles bracket have any consideration? Like if you and Wyatt teamed up?"

"If Wyatt got in the top eight in singles and the top eight in doubles, that's worth consideration. I don't know for sure, but it would make sense.” Darren placed a chair in front of the TV and picked up the controller. "I wanna piece of this brutal computer again. I'd be down to do doubles. Any you guys want to play?"

I smiled and picked up the other controller. Happiness was burning like a sparkler in my chest.

Before we started playing against the computers, a thought crossed my mind. "Hey, we should play some local tournaments at game stores or something. You know, get some practice in a tournament setting. That way, it doesn't feel like we wasted time in the ‘off-season.'"

Darren grinned. "That's what Wyatt and I used to do back in the day. We'd totally be down… Or, at least, I am. We'll have to talk to Wyatt when he's sobered up."

We checked on Wyatt, and his eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open. Wyatt was slumped over and started to snore.

"Let's talk to him tomorrow," Darren said.

The rest of the night was spent playing a few more games with Darren, and we did teams against the computers. We didn't have luck beating them, but we were formidable opponents. I think if any of the tournament players tried out this mod, they'd have the same result, except for maybe Dayzees. We only played for an hour longer before going to bed.

"Hey, Darren, could you give me a sleeping bag or something so I can sleep on the floor?" I asked him, but he looked at me with a mischievous smirk.

"Why don't you sleep on the couch?" He asked.

"Wyatt is in the way, he already fell asleep, so I don't care if he has a couch."

Darren stood up and lifted Wyatt off of the couch, and carefully placed them on the ground without any blankets or pillows. "He'll be just fine. He can sleep through anything after a night like this, believe me."

We chuckled. Wyatt was sleeping like a rock. "His neck looks pretty crooked, though," I pointed out.

Darren moved What’s head back like an artist touching up a sculpture. Much to my surprise, Wyatt was still asleep.

"You want to see somethin' really crazy?" Darren slapped Wyatt's face. A rosy tint appeared on his cheek, but Wyatt remained motionless and continued his snoring.

"That's cruel.” I laughed, shaking my head.

"Goodnight, Gordie, see you in the mornin'. Let's look up some tournaments tomorrow, eh?"

If I was a dog, my tail would have been wagging a million miles a second. "Sounds great! Goodnight!"