I grabbed all my shit and I booked out of there—the Blockbuster Video Game Championship was going to start in just thirty minutes!

After all my wrong turns, all my epic adventuring, how the hell was I gonna make it? I didn’t even know where I was!

Suddenly, like a Chariot of the Gods, racing down the road came the answer I’d been waiting for. The Lift of Destiny. The ride that would bring me to the end of my personal odyssey of fame and fortune.

A blood-red 1991 Lamborghini Diablo.

Now that was the way to travel.

I sprinted after it as it drove by—thankfully my highly developed calves and preternatural speed made me more than a match for its 5.7-liter V-12 engine. Also it was stuck at a red light.

“WAIT!” I screamed, waving my powerful arms. “HELP ME! I NEED A RIDE TO THE GREATEST BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO GAME CHAMPIONSHIP THE NATION HAS EVER KNOWN! HELP ME, PLEEEEEEASE!”

The sleek, tinted driver’s-side window slowly went down.

And guess who was at the wheel?

Fred MF-ing Savage, that’s who.

“Fuck you!” Fred Savage said. “I hate children! Now, stay away from my beautiful car and go to hell!” And just like that, he rolled up his window and peeled out in a cloud of smoke.

I couldn’t believe it. Fred Savage was not that nice!

I dropped to my knees in despair, just as my parents pulled up next to me in the Dodge Caravan.

“Mama, Mama!” I wept. “Help me! Fred Savage seemed so nice in The Wizard! And The Wonder Years too! My life is a lie—I don’t think I can make it to the end of my quest!”

“But you’re standing at the entrance to Marine World,” my mom said. “Like, five feet from the door.”

I looked up and peered through my tears. “OF COURSE I KNEW THAT, MOM!”

My competitive fire was rekindled! My quest for greatness burned hotter and angrier than ever before! So I got up, dusted myself off, and walked proudly through the giant metal doors. Right after I borrowed $50 from my parents for the entry fee.

Inside was the most massive, epic arena of battle I had ever seen. Mightier than the Colosseum of Rome, more ancient than Stonehenge, more alien than Area 51, and truly worthy of two of the greatest Fortune 12 companies of all time—Blockbuster coming in at number six and Marine World trailing just behind it at number eight.

In front of me was a vast hall full of row upon row of state-of-the-art Sony Trinitron TVs. There must’ve been two or three hundred of those babies—all glowing and flashing like every one of their 640 x 480 pixels was alive. And man, back then, that was a shit-ton of pixels.