If you weren’t living in New York City during the middle-to-late ’90s, it’ll be difficult for you to understand the unadulterated bliss, shared camaraderie, and fevered excitement that filled the boroughs at that time. The Yankees went from ’80s bridemaids to masters of the universe; the loser Knicks reinvented themselves as world championship contenders, but had the misfortune of running into a little train called Michael Jordan Express (followed by the Olajuwan Express, and then the Robinson Express); the Mets finished strong each year. Except for ESPN junkies and the three Canadian transplants that lived in the city during said span, everyone has forgotten how the New York Rangers contributed the wild ride, and at the helm of the ship was a real man’s man: Mark Messier.

Messier was the Babe Ruth of a new generation. Instead of calling a shot, the Ranger’s captain did the unthinkable: he guaranteed a Game 6 victory in the 1994 Eastern Conference finals vs. the the team’s cross-river rivals, the New Jersey Devils, while down in the series 3 games to 2. While any blabbermouth with far too much gumption and too many mics in front of his face can make a similar declaration of victory, Messier backed it up like a mofo by scoring a hat trick in that very game, and venturing on to score the winning Game 7 goal in the Stanley Cup finals vs. the Vancover Canuks. That’s more sack than most could ever dream of possessing.

Mark Messier’s championship-caliber pimp game came home in the form of NHL ’95, but it wasn’t until NHL ’96 that we got the best version of Mess. The Ranger’s center rocks a sweet 91 rating, which places him among the game’s elite. Mess has it all: speed, quickness, deft passing, a strong shot, and best of all, he will punch a mofo in the mouth at the appropriate time. That’s right, NHL ’96 saw the grand return of fisticuffs after a couple of years’ absence (hippie parental groups believed the game caused kids to yank shirts over one another’s heads and slam each other into walls).

I remember using this mid-90s Big Blue squad against my pal Al’s Pittsburgh Penguins and seriously wrecking shop with Messier. Frankly, I’m not sure if it was Messier”s dominance per se, or the high-level of competitive play I’d achieved due to playing NHL ’96 all day, every day during a period of extended unemployment. For the sake of this book (and my dignity) let’s just say it was Mess.

I would cut, spin, and juke my way through the black-and-gold jerseys, do the patented wrap-around-the-goalie-and-backhand-it-in maneuver, and coast to an easy blow out victory. Such was the level of my abusive gameplay tactics. Such was the power of Messier.

Honestly, I could’ve selected any of several Messier incarnations from NHLPA’94, NHL ’94, NHL ’95, NHL ’96, or even NHL’97, but it was this game, this one title, that I recognize as the last great 16-bit Electronic Arts hockey game before polygons and the PlayStation came to dominate the hobby. That’s not a judgement; it’s simply a proclamation that I and many others who consider these outdated titles, which are beautiful in their rawness, as the pinnacle of sports videogames.