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DrFrolf

Fargo, ND - 11/15/14 - Tecmo Ryder Cup

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It's not despicable at all.  You missed a great party, but we did appreciate the love from afar with the video love letter from the Vogt Universe.


 


I cannot thank everyone enough for their attendance at the Ryder Cup.  It was a leap of faith by the Madison guys to let us run with this thing, and it was an even greater leap of faith for all of you to make the trek up to NoDak not knowing if we were even capable of handling one of these things.  It was also a strange format on paper, being out of Fargo and at at two different venues, but I'm glad you guys gave us the benefit of the doubt.  Ultimately, I think our vision was realized, and things went off about as well as they possibly could have.  It was absolutely awesome to get the turnout that we did.  I know Mike and Angie at the Country Club were extremely appreciative of your business, and they thought the whole event was great. 


 


A huge thank you goes out to Knobbe, Mort, the Vogts, Erin Holzbauer, and Dave Murray for sending in videos.  Murray gets one million extra bonus points for purchasing shots over the phone for the group, which was equal parts ingenious, amazing, and generous.  Everyone was in awe of that move all day, from the participants to just the people that came out to watch the event.


 


In addition to Murray's shot buying, there were plenty of other highlights that stand out to me.   First and foremost, the play was fierce and competitive from the start.  North Dakota hung around long enough to make it interesting, which was a great surprise to us.  Other non-play related highlights:


 


- SonofPatBeach's "eat shit Orenga" to Tony via ass message


- SonofPatBeach's numerous seizures, including one explaining that you can't fumble twice on the same play so he was staying inbounds


- Sconnie's offense creation quotes while wearing Leonard Country Club swag


- Hammering boots and snuff with Butt Douglas, the Lodgefather, Frolf, and Bob Nelson on Friday night


- Unveiling eatshitorenga.com, the brainchild of Dave Murray, in the trophy presentation to Team Madison


- The numerous keg stands that occurred, which were started by a girl


- Watching people actually filing into something called the North Dakota Tecmo Hall of Fame


- Witnessing the trading of Tecmo trading cards


- The dance party at the Davenport bar, little of which I remember, other than it being a wonderful time involving a pimp hat.


 


We'll host another event in the future of some sort, and are hoping to get around to a few others in the coming year to repay everyone else for showing up.  As Josh found out, Fargo is surprisingly accessible by plane for those that can't reasonably drive, and hopefully we showed it was worth the time and expense to do so.


 


As a sidenote, I blacked out about the time the keg stands started (standard), and left my coat at the Davenport bar, which also contained my keys.  So I was stuck sitting at Schmitty's all day Sunday with a dead cell phone until the bar opened at 4:00.  Luckily there were plenty of Nintendos around with which to pass the time until the bar opened and I could go to a Motley Crue concert....which is exactly what I needed to be doing after 15 hours of drinking on Saturday.


 


Thanks for all the kind words on here, in person, and on Twitter, and hope to see all of you again at a Tecmo event very soon!


Edited by Leonardite

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Here are the photos I found on my phone from the event, most of which I remember taking.  If anyone else has more to add, please do.  I'd like to say I didn't expect this much naked male butt at this event, but that would be a total lie.


 


post-5154-0-96679900-1416279253_thumb.jppost-5154-0-76848600-1416279479_thumb.jppost-5154-0-90757200-1416279525_thumb.jppost-5154-0-63248100-1416279566_thumb.jppost-5154-0-78444200-1416279622_thumb.jppost-5154-0-87279300-1416279698_thumb.jppost-5154-0-76647200-1416279727_thumb.jppost-5154-0-68645800-1416279756_thumb.jppost-5154-0-27366400-1416279771_thumb.jppost-5154-0-08777100-1416279785_thumb.jppost-5154-0-23206200-1416279803_thumb.jppost-5154-0-27795900-1416279816_thumb.jppost-5154-0-80763900-1416279401_thumb.jppost-5154-0-23596400-1416279433_thumb.jppost-5154-0-54909300-1416279462_thumb.jp


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I'm working on a long-form write-up of the tournament entitled "The Place Beyond the Wasteland," which I hope to publish over the next few days.


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Also, on my behalf, be sure to thank our cab driver Charlotte for the wonderful company as we soared in the night across the agonizingly straight gravel roads, of which it seemed our 15-passenger van would go all the way to the edge of the earth and fall off the side.


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The Place Beyond the Wasteland (Part 1)


 


Our whole lives, we were always warned about the Tecmo Wasteland: a lawless land west-to-northwest of Wisconsin, in a place now known as Minnesota, where Tecmo legends go to die, retire, or semi-retire. A place where bands of marauders prowled the landscape, terrorizing good Tecmo folk, and leaving broad swaths of destruction in their wake. A place where solo travelers are forced to play Tecmo for their lives in the monstrous sphere of death known only as ThunderDoleman.


 


We had ventured east to play Tecmo – as far as the Ohio River, and lived to tell the tale. We had traveled north to Green Bay, where the winter winds nearly ruined us. We had traveled south along the mighty Mississippi, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, where the beautiful female natives were repelled by our northern garb and tongue. We had even dared to travel southwest to a place called Lincoln, where the jaundiced natives demanded Merle Haggard on the jukebox, and the leaders tamed the wild cats of the region, carrying them on to the field of battle as spoils of war.


 


But beyond the wasteland was unthinkable. We had made brief sojourns into the outskirts of this territory, but only to Tecmo safe houses on the borderlands, where close friends protected us from the hell and fury outside. We didn’t know of anything west of this desolate landscape. Even our friends on the borderlands could only recount horrific rumors told to them by traumatized eastward travelers. As far as we knew, the wasteland extended indefinitely to the bosom of the Pacific Ocean.


 


But one day, we received a telegram from a Dr. Frolf, who claimed to live in a place beyond the wasteland called North Dakota. He invited us to join him for the third Tecmo Ryder Cup. He assured us that his brethren had vanquished the western flank of the wasteland warriors in recent times, in what he called “Wade Wilson’s War,” and had thwarted their imperialist westward expansion ever since.


 


Elated to hear this, we decided to travel to this remote land, in search of the fabled Tecmo Ryder Cup. Our outfit consisted of me, the Rikster, Chet, and Orenga, whose name in the ancient Tecmo tongue means “the one who rolls in refuse.” While my traveling partners decided to risk the drive through the wasteland, I elected to fly over it. Before I boarded my propeller plane, I received terrible news: the Child of Destiny, spiritual leader of prior cups, would not be able to join us. Hardly an auspicious beginning.


 


None of us knew what awaited us in this strange land, but I personally did not expect my bones to return to my native soil. And I know there were others who felt the same, whether they admitted it or not.


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This was an unbelievable time. 


 


Some disjointed thoughts after 2 days of recovery:


 


--The event was a first class operation in every respect as promised by Frolf, Leonardite, BobNelson, and avatar name to be determined North Dakota guy (Bryce)


--Dave Murray is a god among men


--North Dakota storming to the lead in the first few games by throwing down a 49ers gauntlet to open the tournament


--Drinking many Bud Lite Lime-a-Ritas for $2 a can


--Waiting for Mort to randomly show up all tournament long


--The food, the Hall of Fame, the videos, and playing Tecmo in Patrick Bateman's garage with a nice sluice grate running down the middle was an experience I won't soon forget


--Watching a grown man walk into a bar in a giant fur coat and hat


--Somehow turning a Tecmo tournament outside the major city of North Dakota into the biggest party in North Dakota was a feat that I'll never be able to comprehend


--Paying no more than $3 for a beverage the entire time at the bar was a nice bonus


--Passing out in an RV completed the night in style


 


Many, many thanks to Frolf, Leonardite, BobNelson, Bryce, Kelli the curling club bartender, the blonde bartender charging me $2.50 for strong vodka tonics at the bar thing in Davenport, Mort, the Vogts, Erin, the drivers, and Sconnie for being the first person to even come close to being as loud as a Holzbauer. 


 


Great time and as always ESO forever!


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Still in shock that bar didn't have Yukon, Southern, Goldschlager..although if they did, it probably would've allowed for even more debauchery.


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Still in shock that bar didn't have Yukon, Southern, Goldschlager..although if they did, it probably would've allowed for even more debauchery.

 

That bar didn't have time for your crappy city liquor. They only had time for the basics: Jack, Jim, Jose, Pyotr Arsenievich, and the Captain plus Coors Light. 

Edited by qb_browns

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This is Bryce so everyone knows; I’m the one competing against the naked guy in the 8-bit helmet picture.


 


I’d like to thank everyone for making the trip to North Dakota and being part of festivities. Dr Frolf and Leonardite are owed the majority of the credit for the planning and heavy lifting. As Team North Dakota has known for some time, and everyone in attendance now knows, Frolf lacks the ability to do anything without complete devotion and with even an ounce of half-assedness.


 


I was surprised waking up Sunday morning, in a room with at least 10 other people, being told Madison had retained the cup. After the cobwebs had lifted and remembering the true outcome, it still felt like somewhat of a moral victory for Team North Dakota. We did have a lead early in the tourney as mentioned, when Barry made a second half comeback with the 49ers to upset Chet with the Falcons. Although finishing the tourney in 4th place (last) I think Team ND showed they are a worthy participate in the Tecmo Ryder Cup.


 


I’d like to thank everyone again for making the long lonely trip to the middle of nowhere. While the Tecmo was awesome, the partying and getting to know everybody was even better. I’ve remember about 30 different things that happened the last couple days and burst out laughing to myself. Looking forward to making the trip to Madison next year and hopefully the ryder cup wherever that’s held. Hopefully we can host another event in ND in the future and outshine last weekend.  


 


I was feeling pretty good by the end of the night. 


 


post-13085-0-85269700-1416348336_thumb.j


 


 


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>http://youtu.be/pRwQ_YaWzns

 

made this public so I can be embarrassed by all my non tecmo friends as they watch it.  Then laugh at there lack of understanding

 

with the snow today i finally have some free time.  first time in 3 months.  anyways the pics and videos are great.  here is a link to my small part in the ryder cup.  great job.

 

 

 

btw:  next year you can put this event in Russia and there is a good chance I'll be able to bring a 4 man crew along with my sales team to destroy this event.

Edited by mort1237

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btw:  next year you can put this event in Russia and there is a good chance I'll be able to bring a 4 man crew along with my sales team to destroy this event.

 

Mort Posse? Nah we gotta change it up. The Mort Militia?

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The Place Beyond the Wasteland (Part 1)

 

Our whole lives, we were always warned about the Tecmo Wasteland: a lawless land west-to-northwest of Wisconsin, in a place now known as Minnesota, where Tecmo legends go to die, retire, or semi-retire. A place where bands of marauders prowled the landscape, terrorizing good Tecmo folk, and leaving broad swaths of destruction in their wake. A place where solo travelers are forced to play Tecmo for their lives in the monstrous sphere of death known only as ThunderDoleman.

 

We had ventured east to play Tecmo – as far as the Ohio River, and lived to tell the tale. We had traveled north to Green Bay, where the winter winds nearly ruined us. We had traveled south along the mighty Mississippi, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, where the beautiful female natives were repelled by our northern garb and tongue. We had even dared to travel southwest to a place called Lincoln, where the jaundiced natives demanded Merle Haggard on the jukebox, and the leaders tamed the wild cats of the region, carrying them on to the field of battle as spoils of war.

 

But beyond the wasteland was unthinkable. We had made brief sojourns into the outskirts of this territory, but only to Tecmo safe houses on the borderlands, where close friends protected us from the hell and fury outside. We didn’t know of anything west of this desolate landscape. Even our friends on the borderlands could only recount horrific rumors told to them by traumatized eastward travelers. As far as we knew, the wasteland extended indefinitely to the bosom of the Pacific Ocean.

 

But one day, we received a telegram from a Dr. Frolf, who claimed to live in a place beyond the wasteland called North Dakota. He invited us to join him for the third Tecmo Ryder Cup. He assured us that his brethren had vanquished the western flank of the wasteland warriors in recent times, in what he called “Wade Wilson’s War,” and had thwarted their imperialist westward expansion ever since.

 

Elated to hear this, we decided to travel to this remote land, in search of the fabled Tecmo Ryder Cup. Our outfit consisted of me, the Rikster, Chet, and Orenga, whose name in the ancient Tecmo tongue means “the one who rolls in refuse.” While my traveling partners decided to risk the drive through the wasteland, I elected to fly over it. Before I boarded my propeller plane, I received terrible news: the Child of Destiny, spiritual leader of prior cups, would not be able to join us. Hardly an auspicious beginning.

 

None of us knew what awaited us in this strange land, but I personally did not expect my bones to return to my native soil. And I know there were others who felt the same, whether they admitted it or not.

nice.  you really should be writing children's books.  just for the record we are still waiting for your first trip into what i like to call New Land.  I mean others call it New York State and New England, New Jersey.  Its just beyond the Vogtier on the map.

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Like a slumbering giant I believe this video coupled with a bad ass buffalo winter storm has truly woke up sir morts tecmo spirit. He cant stop laughing watch the nfl films tecmo stuff as we speak. I went 4 and 6 vs him today...as was first time he played since nyc tourney. Good to see morts "blood and battle" tecmo mode back.

North Dakota Tecmo: Is There Anybody Out There?

>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrcLR_0RiIw&feature=youtu.be

Edited by red98sethuthut

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The Place Beyond the Wasteland (Part 2)


 


“There are two eyes in the human head – the eye of mystery, and the eye of harsh truth – the hidden and the open – the woods eye and the prairie eye. The woods eye looks for closeness, complexity, and darkness; the prairie eye for distance, clarity, and light.”


 


These words from the late essayist and Tecmo explorer Bill Holm, who perished in the wasteland in 2009, haunted me on my overland journey to North Dakota. Flat prairie land crawled all the way to the horizon in every direction. The familiar trees and hills of my homeland had been devastated by a massive glacier here, millions of years ago. Could such a prairie, on the fringe of unspeakable darkness, be a beacon of light? Could this place, teetering on the edge of madness and calamity, provide clarity? I would have my answers soon enough.


 


I was retrieved from the airport by Dr. Frolf, who as luck would have it, spoke my language. He was driving some sort of extended buggy that he referred to as a “molester van.” I never did learn which branch of medicine he practiced, but his calm demeanor and friendly smile put me at ease. He provided me with a tour of the city of “Fargo,” the name serving as a literal warning to all that approached: “Go…..Far.…” Indeed we did.


 


He drove me to a place called Leonard, where the first half of the Ryder Cup would take place. The bulk of the journey was over a primitive dirt road. When I arrived in the remote outpost, I was overjoyed to see my teammates had arrived safely, though I learned later just how harrowing their journey through the wasteland was. The Cup started with videos of far-flung members of the Tecmo tribe, from the turbulent Buffalo lands to Lincoln, and even my own daughter made an appearance. Up to that point, I had assumed these brutes were Tecmo savages only focused on survival. But once I saw the unveiling of the Tecmo flag, as well as the Tecmo playing cards, I began to realize just how sophisticated their culture was.


 


As tournament play started, the One Who Rolls in Refuse (TOWRIR) struggled mightily. Just then, the tribe presented us with a magic potion known as Yukon Jack, procured via bartering with Canadian barbarians on the hinterlands. Once I drank the potion, my head began to swim, and I began to lose control of my cognitive Tecmo functions. The next few hours, I stumbled through my games in a Kerins-like daze of fear, mediocrity, and grunting. At one point, I saw a wild man drop his pantaloons outside the building to expose a warning message written on his fanny: “Eat Shit Orenga,” it read. He vanished as quickly as he appeared.


 


Luckily for the team, the Rikster, or “The Bearded Beacon” in the native Tecmo tongue, was able to hold off relentless attacks from our opponents, and keep us in contention. At one point, he summoned the spirit of Andre Waters (learned in this tutorial), who rose from the dead to deliver an INT and fumble recovery TD to Chet ("he who checks down" in the the ancient language).


 


After this, the North Dakota tribe announced a new “garbage” round, where only the Seahawks, Patriots, and Colts could be used. Were they not aware of TOWRIR and his ability to sustain his Tecmo offense for months on refuse alone?  The North Dakotans appeared to share our taste for garbage Tecmo, but couldn’t wallow in the filth long enough to hang with Madison in this round.


 


With the standings tight, it was time to take a break, and head to the second site. I hopped in a pickup truck with the natives, who drove me down the great dirt road toward Tecmo immortality.


Edited by sonofpatbeach

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The story that SonofPatBeach is authoring can no longer be topped. I can only hope he will continue to bathe us in his journey of discovery. I am offering two pleasure sacrifices via Tecmo trading cards to entice his infinitely deep lexicon reservoir . 


 


#50 -- Grogan and Testaverde


post-8376-0-01646000-1416575681_thumb.jp


 


#24 -- ???????


post-8376-0-27981400-1416575670_thumb.jp


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