Retro Bowl Onion ((full)) Link

He held up the wilted, half-eaten shallot. “Sometimes,” he said, tears finally falling (for which he was fined $5,000), “you just need a smaller layer to win the big game.”

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.

Then the onions arrived.

Touchdown. Championship.

“It’s… spicy water?” muttered Guard #64, tears streaming down his blocky cheeks. retro bowl onion

Within minutes, the locker room became a portrait of suffering. The quarterback tried to hide his onion inside his helmet, but the stench clung to his gloves. The kicker, a delicate soul, simply held his onion and sobbed. Coach Spuf watched as his star wide receiver bit into the onion like an apple, shuddered violently, and then curled into a fetal position.

“Don’t you cry!” screamed the league official, pointing a stiff, pixelated finger. He held up the wilted, half-eaten shallot

The second half was a disaster. On the first play, Barry took the handoff, but as he cut left, a single tear blurred his vision. He fumbled. The onion, still undigested, gurgled in his gut like a dying dial-up modem. The opposing team—who had smuggled in a case of hidden ranch dressing—scored 21 unanswered points.