A single, perfect, pixelated shallot .
“Coach,” said a rookie sideline reporter, her polygonal hair clipping through her microphone, “the league has issued a new mandatory snack for halftime. It’s… an onion.” retro bowl onion
“Don’t you cry!” screamed the league official, pointing a stiff, pixelated finger. A single, perfect, pixelated shallot
With two minutes left, down by four, Coach Spud called his final timeout. He looked at his players: faces smeared with onion juice, burps smelling of sulfur and regret. He walked to the sideline cooler, reached past the Gatorade, and pulled out his secret weapon. With two minutes left, down by four, Coach
And from that day on, the Retro Bowl awarded the MVP a golden onion ring, and no one ever spoke of the raw ones again.
“It’s… spicy water?” muttered Guard #64, tears streaming down his blocky cheeks.