Alright. So I’m constantly having nightmares that I’m gonna catch this Rona and phase out. Most of you don’t know but I was born purple with collapsed lungs, and almost didn’t make it. Coupled with my asthma, and allergies triggering it all, my anxiety is warranted. So I’ve thought about it and I NEED to get this off my chest. I’m probably going to get emotional, so bare with me, but I need to put this out there- to honor my brother in case anything happens to me.

Both of my younger brothers are super Amadeus type video game players. It never mattered what style game it was, give them a day or two and they had it mastered. Growing up Rob was the OG in the neighborhood, and basically everyone’s final boss when competing in any fighting game. In 1997, N64 debuted one of the finest games to ever exist: 007: Goldeneye. (If you know, you KNOW) Rob ended up being so good at it NO ONE could beat him. Kid was untouchable and went on a running streak for MONTHS without a solitary loss. There are old neighborhood kids from the infamous SPP who could attest to this majesty- it was brutal. So one day, after many defeats all of us peasants decided that whoever could beat Rob- just once, would take home the title. I mean we were all desperate at this point and Rob would agree to anything if he could keep playing and kicking our asses. It wasn’t fun for us anymore; our rule was the controller was yours until you lost, and Rob hadn’t let it go for months. Quitting to play capture the flag outside was better than taking loss after loss.

So it’s my turn. I pick Oddjob because…duh? He’s a midget in a bowler cap, and Rob allllllways chose 007. I don’t know what happened that match. Honestly its all a blur. Yet somehow, by the grace of God I hid myself in a crouch, and blasted him in the face as he turned a corner. I’m pretty sure I levitated and blacked out. When I awoke, Rob, and every other child in that room stared at me in stunned silence. “Rematch me right now!!” Rob yelled, because it’s hitting him full force- the magnitude of what just happened. See I’m already cracking a smile, an ear to ear grin of absolute glee. I broke the turds streak. Me. ME. His older (and wiser) sister. I’m sputtering and stammering now, the gravity hitting me like a ton of bricks. None of our dude friends could do it- NO ONE. Now everyone is laughing, and Rob is getting angry, “Rematch me NOW. NOW”. He lost and the controller was, by law, supposed to go to someone else, but he’d held it in his hand so long he couldn’t let go. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. So I did the only sensible thing I could think of.

“No. No man….I… I retire. I’m never playing this game again. I beat you.. I’M the best. I won… I retire”. Stunned silence. No one had ever been so controversial yet so brave before. He was furious, and unable to process the magnitude of what had befallen him. This was the number one game at the time, what we spent all out free time playing. He couldn’t fathom anyone refusing to play a match, much less forever?? I know he threatened me with mental violence, probably physical as it was 1997. But what I need to get off my chest, what you NEED to know, is…I never, ever, EVER played that game again. For the rest of my life. Not any variation. Because, by physics, math, and quantum theory technically I’m still the champion. I retired with the title, and as long as I stay retired Rob can never challenge me to a rematch again. I’m still the winner. I still hold that title Rob. I will DIE being the conclusive champion, and don’t think for one second that will not be one of my last worldly thoughts. If I die tomorrow, or when I’m 90, I’m going to usher the nurse nearer with my finger. When she gets down close enough, slightly, slowly, with my final breath, I’m going to whisper “tell that bitch Rob I’m still #1” and then the heart monitor machine is going to flat line, heralding me to the great beyond. That right there is the ultimate, and eternal, Female Savino win.