If you still don’t know, The Wizard is the most seminal coming-of-age-video-game-road-trip-movie-that-Fred-Savage-made-in-1989 of all time. Fred Savage and his little freaked-out brother make an awesome death-defying voyage across the country so the kid brother can compete in this colossal video game tournament in California and become the greatest gaming champion the world has ever known.

It’s powerful, riveting entertainment. Siskel and Ebert gave it five thumbs-up, and I’m pretty sure Rex Reed called it “a manifesto of epiphanies.” It inspired me, dared me to dream of something greater than my tiny little town, and if you still haven’t watched it yet, do it right now, you lazy little punk.

Also, I didn’t actually lose the video. I just wouldn’t give it back, because the movie was that fucking good.

The late fee was so damn big by this point I couldn’t even show my face in Blockbuster. I was straight-up banned, man. But I could see the gigantic cardboard sign they’d posted right by the counter—for the very first, one-time-only…

Blockbuster Video Game Championship.

And guess what? This tournament, with elite competitors coming in from all over America, was taking place at Marine World, in California.

California! Just like in The Wizard.

My eleven-year-old jaw, already so damn angular it could cut glass, just dropped. This was what I had been waiting for. I was gonna ditch this two-SNES town and go on my very own epic journey across the nation to prove myself at the biggest, most Blockbusting video game tournament of all time. Just like Fred Savage in the Apocalypse Now of video-game-road-trip movies.

I mean, so what if I already lived in California? So what if my house was only a fifteen-minute walk from Marine World and the only thing my stupid little town was known for was that it offered really convenient parking for Marine World? You think I let that bullshit stop me?

It was meant to be. I was gonna hit the sidewalk and make my name.

I sat my parents down for a little talk. I was pacing in front of them in my tactical jacket and wraparound specs, and I was like, “Mama, Papa, Dr Disrespect isn’t like the other little eleven-year-olds out there in He-Man pajamas still afraid of the boogeyman and the top bunk.”

“But you love He-Man!” Mama protested.

“Dr Disrespect is his own man,” I said, gazing into the middle distance. “And I’m gonna hitchhike by myself across the country, and at night I’m gonna sleep in burlap sacks on the side of the road, and during the day I’m gonna play video games for food and cold, hard cash, and I’m gonna compete in the Blockbuster Video Game Championship in Marine World, and I don’t care what you say!”