To be perfectly honest, before the age of 10, I really disliked football. I hated the concept of “downs”; it just seemed to bring the otherwise kick ass action to a sudden and screeching halt. I hated the flags; seemed too prissy for a sport in which 300-pound men knee one another in the groin for a living. I also hated those very same sloppy-assed 300-pound linemen with double guts who didn’t fool me into believing that they were true athletes. I hated the human Nyquil that was Pat Sommerall (well, I think everyone did).
The extent of my football love was watching Sweetness perform the Super Bowl Shuffle in the single greatest music video ever made, owning The Fridge’s G.I. Joe action figure (any athlete good enough to become a Joe was alright with me, even pseudo-athletes like Sgt. Slaughter), and rooting for the San Francisco 49ers, the greatest team that the NFL ever had the pleasure of presenting to the American public.
There are three things that are to be expected in a game of Tecmo Super Bowl: big plays, lots of swearing, and Joe Montana airing it out to Jerry Rice for an easy six. Or to Rathman across the middle. Or delivering a hand-off to Roger Craig. Or watching Ronnie Lott hammer offenses into mush. I think it’s quite safe to say that no other squad in the game inspired as many fistfights in the early ’90s than this Bay Area juggernaut.
It would be a sin to start with anyone other than Joe Montana, the Niners Hall of Fame quarterback. He bore four Super Bowl rings, the manliest jaw line to ever grace sports, and a name that male porn stars look to the heavens and cry “why didn’t I think of that!” Videogame Montana possessed the same winning qualities as his flesh and blood counterpart: an accurate arm (his 81 Pass Control rating is tied with the enigmatic QB Bills as best-in-game), good throwing strength (51 Pass Strength), and perhaps most importantly, a squad of eligible receivers that I could take to the Super Bowl on multiple occasions with my aging thirty-something year old arm. That last bit wasn’t meant to slight the man within the least, but to illustrate why the 49ers offense as a unit is listed here and not its individual members: there’s just so much talent that it’s difficult to discern the individual reasons for San Fran’s spectacular offense and defensive prowess. They were just that stacked.
Any gamer using the 49ers will quickly learn that Jerry Rice is Montana’s primary receiver, and with good reason. Rice is the single biggest pain in the ass in Tecmo Super Bowl, and this aggravation lies in the fact that one mistakenly believes that he can contain him – - I idiotically thought that by putting three men on Rice, that I’d shut him down. I now belittle myself with scorching words for being that far off the mark.
Rice burns three defenders almost as simply as one, and does so in most dramatic fashion; he is the master of the infamous “Tecmo Leap” where he jumps up to pull down a high pass while cemented-footed defenders stay bound to the turf. Rice is also quite adept at the “Tecmo Dive” where he would look like a low-flying Superman who was dead set on grabbing overthrown 98-yard Montana bombs that seem just out of reach, but somehow, miraculously ending up in 81’s butter-soft, yet masculine, hands (his Reception rank, coincidentally, is also 81, which is matched only by the Los Angeles Rams’ Henry Ellard). Just like real life, Montana to Rice resulted in many a sob from opposing players, and in Tecmo Super Bowl, that was often me shedding salty dischage onto an old, worn, NES dogbone controller.
One of my most horrifying memories of Jerry Rice’s antics came against my friend Gabe who was a master of all things Tecmo Super Bowl. The score was tied 14-14, but I was threatening with the ball in his red zone. I was using the Raiders when I made the mistake of calling a play for Marcus Allen instead of Bo Jackson. Don’t get me wrong, Allen’s not a bum by any means, but I tried to be cute and mix things up a bit – - and the bastard promptly fumbled. Although Gabe’s Niners didn’t advance more than five yards after scooping up the fumble, it was the following play made me want to pull a Cobain and place a shotgun squarely in piehole.
Gabe ran a play action pass that I totally bit on. Gabe had all day to find an open receiver while I foolheartedly chased a running back that didn’t have the ball. Montana uncorked a long, long bomb, to Rice who had no defenders within his zipcode. As Gabe began to do taunting play by play (“He’s at the 40…now the 30…the 20…), the rage built up so much that I jumped up from my seat and tossed my dog bone controller so hard that I accidentally yanked the NES to the floor, resetting the game. I (pathetically) tried to argue that because Rice, technically, did not score, the game had entered “do over” status. But both Gabe and I both knew that a) no defender was going to tackle Rice and b) since I didn’t have LT on my team that I wouldn’t have been able to stop the extra point. Damn Gabe. Damn Rice. Damn anyone that looks like either of ‘em. Unfortunately, the 49ers had plenty of other weapons at its disposal.
The Niners backfield of Brent Jones and Tom Rathman combine to make a devastating one-two punch. Jones is only one of four running backs with a 69 Reception rating, which is tied for best-in-game; Rathman along with only a handful of others, possesses an incredible 94 Hit Power rating, which means he’ll pretty much bulldoze any defenseman that has the sack to attempt to make a tackle (his 56 Reception rating aint too shabby, either). A wise San Francisco couch would alternate these two, a sure-handed receiver and a strong runner, for maximum impact.
After years of lengthy, lengthy bouts of therapy (which consisted of me repeatedly kicking the ass of the scrubbiest 49ers player on the planet, Levell Miller), I have come to peace with my relationship with Tecmo‘s San Francisco 49ers as I’ve learned several truths: Firstly, Joe Montana is my daddy. Secondly, I’ve learned that even in the least skilled hands, Rice is a god-level receiver that will get his yardage, regardless and that I am a peasant unworthy of tackling him. And finally, if Ronnie Lott is in the vicinity of the pass, the offense may as well just walk off the field.
At this point, I know what you’re asking: If the San Francisco 49ers’ offense is so unstoppable, why isn’t it ranked in the top slot of this countdown? Simple. I value and respect an individual Gamebreaker more so than an entire squad of overpowered star athletes. Much like the Baseball Stars‘ American Dreams, the Niners are worthy of being hard-banned in tournament play because they can make a scrub good, and a good player damn near unbeatable. A single player isn’t broken; a multiple members of the squad are.
To truly understand how great San Francisco was in this time frame, I should mention how difficult it was to pick a version of the Niners to include in this post. As great as this team is in the NES version, its Genesis/SNES incarnation in the first 16-bit Tecmo Super Bowl is just as good, especially with the speedy Steve Young looking very much like the west coast’s take on Randell Cunningham. But nostalgia prevails as the NES Tecmo Super Bowl was a vital element of my childhood.
