I Pissed Myself Playing NBA Jam

So I set out a a goal a couple weeks ago to do three posts a week on this blog. Last week was an epic failure, as I did not post a single thing. Sure, I could use the holidays as an excuse, but honestly, I had way more free time than normal last week. I was just really lazy. To punish myself, I will share an embarrassing story.

I once pissed myself playing NBA Jam. I was far past the age where I should have been peeing my pants, but I stand by the decisions that led to this outcome.

Kirby Puckett was my favorite baseball player growing up. Because of that, my family took a little vacay up to the Twin Cities to catch a baseball game and go to the Mall of America. The baseball game was rather uneventful. Kirby Puckett nearly threw me a baseball after my brother hollered at him, but his throw went to the little douchebags to the left of us who brought gloves to the game. I also remember being along the third base line at the front of the second level and still being scared to utter anything that Kirby Puckett might hear, because he was basically a god to me at that point in my life.

Anyway, the Mall of America. I was a ten-year-old boy (Yes, I was ten at the time of this, not a big deal. Let's get past this) who had to think malls were stupid, because that's what boys do. Still, this mall was legit. It had a roller-coaster that looked safe, which was important, because I was a gigantic pussy as a child.

They also had an arcade, which is the only other thing that I remember about the world's biggest mall. NBA Jam was the hottest game at the time, and I had it all to myself to destroy the evil computer gods in basketball with my two homies, Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant. Pippen was my favorite player, so he took all the shots, while Grant was there for rebounds and moral support.

So, surprisingly, because I was a ten-year-old with limited coordination, I was kicking ass at NBA Jam. After winning like two or three games in a row, I was playing the Charlotte Hornets. I had realized that I had to pee for quite a while, but I had already put my quarters in, so I certainly couldn't leave the machine. So, there I was, ten-years-old, battling the Charlotte Hornets in a back-and-forth battle, while doing the peepee dance. As time was ticking down, I stopped doing the dance, and the pee came trickling down. I was pissing down my leg while battling Kendall Gill and Larry Johnson. I knew this was bad, but goddamn, did I want to bash in the Hornets' brains, and I really didn't want to let Scottie down. Unfortunately, I ended up losing the game. I was finally able to leave the machine and let the rest of my pee out in a urinal, you know, like most three-year-olds are able to do.

There was literally piss running down my leg at one point, and I was hoping that me wiping it away like it was sweat would be a smooth maneuver. I am assuming that at least one person from my family noticed, and I would just like to thank them for not saying anything. I have been holding this story in for 18 years, as sharing it any earlier would have probably led to a lot of lot of sessions with a psychiatrist.

Much like letting that piss out while playing NBA Jam, I feel relieved.