Recap Of The Race Of The Century: #ColeyTheMick Vs. #DriftSmittyDrift

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Two grown men playing a 20 year old video game for a permanent tattoo or legally changing their birth given name. In the end, there are no winners.

The Race Of The Century. Coley vs. Smitty. I’ll admit, when we made the stakes, I was blinded by Coley’s shit talking ability and the fact that someone who had already died robbing Fenway in The Town couldn’t come back to life and beat me in video games. We agreed that if I won then Coley would get a Mario Kart tattoo. Ho hum. Been there, lost that. Obviously I can’t keep on going around proclaiming I’m the greatest MK64 player on Earth unless the stakes were raised, and upped they were. To the moon. If I lost I must legally changed my middle name, which is after my father, to that of Coley’s choice. Something I didn’t realize would have that much affect on my parents, as they were NOT pleased. Also, a wager was made if I for whatever reason got shutout, I would quit Barstool, owe Riggs $10,000, take the N64, and walk back to Philly. And, yes, you are correct in thinking I know not what I do.

Oh well. A bet’s a bet. And for whatever reason, nobody believed in the kid. The opening odds were PREPOSTEROUS.

Good. I’ve been born and bred as an underdog in a city that feeds off of battling uphill. Granted, myself and my hometown may always be considered the non-favorites because we in fact never win, but that’s not the point. Those odds were a complete kick to the dick of the little respect I hold onto in life. And in the beginning, that line was spot on…

That sweatpants HOF fuck won each of the first 5 races, including a devastating photo finish at Kalamari Desert. Not good for business, morale, or my Mother’s belief she still has a son. Also, we were getting all sorts of heat from the peanut gallery from those who would never have the balls/stupidity to bet these stakes.

Only more fuel to the inner fire (I guess). We started to relax, break open some Oaks, and nickel and dime our way back to reality. By midway through the Star Cup (about 10 races in) I made it a game again. Then came Bowser’s Castle. Depending on your heart and will it’s a course that either turns boys into men or Nate. Needless to say, Coley took a one on the chin so hard I’m surprised the dip pouch(es) in his mouth didn’t explode and take out the entire block.

And that was that. A total backbreaker that took all the air out of the room and wind out of the sails of Coley.

It was essentially game over at that point, but we played it out to the tune of a double digit victory in favor of Philly. Get ready for that parade down Broad St, baby. If the Little League Taney Dragons got one for finishing in third(!!!) then you’re damn right I deserve at least a heroes peasants welcome upon returning to The City Of Brotherly Love.

Credit to Coley. He was an average opponent with a lot of heart. But there was simply too much on the line for me to fail. Plus the fact that my middle name would’ve officially been changed to “Nate” makes the sun shine a little brighter this morning. The amount of shit my father talks on that squirt would’ve put him in the grave if his namesake was replaced with that creature’s. Adam Patrick Smith lives on do disappoint his parents another day.

PS – Still not exactly thrilled about my life choices.

PPS – Pray for Hank’s bank account. The only saving grace is the GlennyBalls Sportsbook has its mathematics based on the theory of potato.