I once rushed for 900 yards in one game with Emmitt Smith on NFL 94 on Super nintendo. Also, the Rangers pitching staff on the Original Ken Griffey Jr. baseball had a team ERA under 0.50 for the whole season. In short, unless it was a homer, Â you weren't scoring. My defense was impregnable.
But my best achievement came one drunken night my sophomore year of college. We were playing the original WWF game for Playstation, the one where you had to be a prodigy to do a body slam, much less the Rock Bottom. Anyhoo, I made some ugly fat wrestler a week before, but it got deleted, unknownst to me. I tried to find it, hit the wrong button, and ended up with Default, a 150-pound white dude in black underwear.
My friend was the *****-ass Shamrock with his endless boring grapple holds. My friend is also a video-game *****, who naturally excels at the damn things. And he gets every break to boot. So the match starts, and I mash buttons. I somehow get the upperhand and get Shamrock out of the ring, where I proceed to beat him down for exactly 9.5 seconds. Jump in before the count of 10, and voila, DEFAULT WINS, MOTHER****ERS! That's what I shouted in my drunken stupor, before everyone else in the house told me to shut up. I told them to go to hell, I won with default.
Me = dork.