Ten thousand dollars, cash, sat stacked on top of a television in a ballroom at the Philadelphia Holiday Inn. It was all riding on a video game. Lou Tillery, a hotshot gamer from Louisiana, was taking on Young Gunnz, a heavy hitter from New York, in the finals of one of "Gametime" Bobby Morgan's famed underground Madden tournaments. All day long, the room had been filled with heckling and trash talk, as the nation's best virtual football players clashed over and over again. But now there was silence.
Over a hundred ballers-as hardcore Madden players call themselves-and their fans turned their attention away from the nearly two dozen televisions ringing the perimeter of the room and focused with rapture on the showdown in the center. Plenty of them had money riding on the game and nobody had ever seen stakes this big before. "You literally could hear a pin drop," Hank "Hustle Man" Brown says. "It was the greatest game I've ever seen," reflects Antoine "Boogieman" Talley. "There wasn't no heckling involved-there was too much money at stake. Let the players play."
Lou Tillery won, but that's not important. He and Young Gunnz are fine gamers, sure, but ballers come and go. Forget those two, this was Gametime Bobby's show.
* * *
The 36-year-old Morgan is a short, solidly built black man. He's got a close-cropped buzz cut, goatee, and round, alert eyes. Clad in a maroon zip-up hoodie and black T-shirt, tonight he's running his weekly Madden league night at McFadden's Restaurant and Saloon, adjacent to the Phillies' Citizens Bank Park. Keeping one eye on the high-def TV screen he's playing his own game on and the other on the 20 or so league members scattered around the bar, he's down 14-0 to a relative newcomer at the end of the third quarter. Standing just a few feet away, Kareem "'Reem is Back" Robinson, has been riding Morgan all game. Squawking loud enough for the whole bar to hear, 'Reem shouts at the newcomer, "This is the commissioner, my man, whose ass you kickin'!"
Morgan's already thrown four interceptions and when one of his receivers drops a sure touchdown pass in the end zone, he turns away from the TV he's playing on and disgustedly swats at the air.
"You got your ass slapped," 'Reem yells when the game ends in a shutout.
"I did not get my ass slapped," fires back Morgan, stomping away.
"Bobby, there's kids that can score points!"
That $10,000 showdown was three years ago, and gambling has become less visible on the underground Madden circuit since then. But interest in Electronic Art's bestselling football video game franchise continues to skyrocket, both among the average video gaming public and in the hardcore baller community. Morgan-who by day works as a LAN/Network Analyst for IMS Health, a pharmaceutical marketing firm, and pulls in extra money stocking shelves at Toys "R" Us-has harnessed the game's surging popularity to turn Philadelphia into perhaps the most sizzling Madden hotbed in the country. In the process, he's positioned himself as one of the most important leaders of the underground network nationwide.
Of the four national underground tournaments generally held each year-so called because EA remains unaffiliated with them-Morgan hosts two of them right here in Philly (the next one's in March) and helps organize a third, usually held in Las Vegas. His duties also include managing the EA sponsored weekly league nights and other smaller tournaments scattered throughout the calendar. In short, by rounding up the TVs, buying the consoles, securing the venues, and paying minute attention to the million other details that go into running a successful tournament or league, Morgan provides Philadelphia ballers with an unparalleled media playground.
EA is evasive on why it chooses to throw sponsorship dollars behind the league nights, but not the tournaments. They claim there are too many tournaments to keep track of, but in light of the strong position they've taken against betting on their game, the most likely answer is that they want to stay away from the underground tourneys' rampant gambling scene. Morgan and his legion of ballers represent EA's most loyal and hardcore customer base, though, so the company can't alienate them either. Michael Johnson, EA's Football Community Manager, says that he talks to Morgan nearly every week, listening to any suggestions for the game Morgan might have and discussing "the buzz" in the community. EA even flew Morgan and other "community leaders" from across the country down to their Orlando studios to preview the game's 2007 edition. Essentially, EA, a multimillion-dollar company, is beholden to a guy who works weekends stocking toy store shelves with their games.
* * *
Madden debuted in 1989 as a jittery, highly pixilated computer program, but over the years has evolved into a stunning high-tech simulation. By jabbing and tapping their control pads, gamers today can command their players to do virtually anything, from sprinting to stiff-arming to loading up for a trademark NFL big hit. The graphics have become so advanced that this year's edition promised that, for the first time, players' hair would obey "real world physics" (in other words, the manes of long-haired NFLers now bounce appropriately in the wind). EA has sold over 53 million games since 1989, and this past August, 2 million Americans rushed out to buy copies of the 2007 edition in just its first week of release. The game has even spawned a reality show on ESPN, and forecasting real life NFL games through Madden simulation has become a network staple.
Madden may have become a mainstream mega-hit, but Morgan focuses on the much smaller underground network. He doesn't play competitively much anymore, instead choosing to run the show from behind the scenes.
"I'm more like the godfather," Morgan says.
Like any good boss, he has a mob of loyal followers and a pocketful of trusted consiglieres in his Gametime Philly club. Boogieman sneaks games in at work at the Philadelphia Housing Authority and claims to have hustled as much as $90,000 from Madden bets in one year. Jerome "Putt" Philips also likes to hustle, and is already training up his teenage son to become a hardcore baller. Jimmy "Franchise" Harris has played so much that his wife chucked his Xbox out the window. Hustle Man played so much that his wife chucked him out. A wide-bodied former college football player, Hustle Man says he would get off work at the sheet metal plant at 3:30 p.m., and before he could even get home, three people would usually be waiting at his door to come play. "And we'd be down there 'til 2:00, 3:00 in the morning, every night," he says in a deep, soothing voice.
"Needless to say, she is no longer with me. That's okay, I got Madden."
He's also got Morgan. So while the commissioner was straining to lock in on his screen in the back corner of the bar, he had to keep a watch out for all the ballers gathered around the five other HDTVs ringing the room.
"They're like kids," he says, now leaning against the round bar in the middle of the dimly lit room, "Got to hold their hands."
They may act childish, but the assembled ballers are for the most part middle-aged. Far from a gathering of techie computer nerds, the get-together has a hip-hop feel, as baggy jeans, sweats and Timberlands are the norm. By organizing events, Morgan gives Boogie, Putt, Hustle Man and their peers a common meeting ground. Playing together, challenging each other and exchanging trade secrets has allowed the Gametime Philly ballers to acquire a national reputation for excellence. "Philly's probably, you know, I'd say number one," says Mario Theodule, a tournament organizer from California's Bay Area, over the phone. Israel "Swammi" Charles, another national tournament organizer from Florida, credits Morgan for creating a superior "Madden environment."
Morgan, who distances himself from the gambling scene, says he hasn't benefited financially all that much from this "environment," but his ballers certainly have. Boogieman especially thrives on it. "I got started for the sole purpose of money," says the pudgy six-footer. About four years ago, the owner of his local barber shop, a baller who goes by "Forty," had made a practice of touring the city's barber shops and cleaning out challengers for as much as $1,000 per game, Boogieman says. Before long, though, Forty developed a reputation and the bets dried up. That's where Boogieman-then merely Antoine Talley-came in.
"Forty would go into a barber shop and everybody would bet with Forty," he says. "And I would come in, they'd think I'm a sucker, but me and Forty was together. So everybody'd put all their money on Forty. So it'd be like four, five thousand dollars and Forty would throw the game. It started out as a little scam." From there, Forty started to teach Boogie the ropes of being a competitive baller and introduced him to Morgan's league. When he first started out at Gametime Philly, Boogie says the other ballers, far more knowledgeable and skilled, "were beatin' my head in."
"But me being a competitive person, I hate losing, so I would just go home and sit there and play all day long." Before long Boogie had started to do well in tournaments and rose to the rank of number two in the country. At about that same time in 2004, Boogie claims that he, Forty and another baller named "Big Gene" received an offer to bet on Madden against one of then-76ers superstar Allen Iverson's cousins, with AI himself laying down the money. Iverson was on holiday in Las Vegas at the time, so Forty, Big Gene and Boogieman-who also claims to have hustled Baltimore Ravens star linebacker Ray Lewis and Tennessee Titans running back Travis Henry-immediately booked flights to America's gambling Mecca.
Boogie says that the three of them arrived at Iverson's hotel on the Strip and went straight up to his room. From the moment they arrived and Forty picked up the sticks to play, the hustle was on. Forty intentionally kept the games close, Boogie says, stringing AI and his cousin along, making them believe that they almost had him that time, and that they would finally get him next time. AI and his cousin kept piling on the bets, Boogie Man recalls, but kept on losing. Boogie doesn't remember the exact winnings, but says it was surely thousands of dollars. The trio split the money equally amongst themselves and with their bankroller, a friend who went by "Mizz," and hopped on the first plane back to Philly.
Easy hustles like this may be a thing of the past, though. Thanks to increased media exposure, underground ballers have become better known over the years, and the suckers that once seemed to be waiting in every barber shop and on every corner have faded away. Online play has also helped dry the well-Morgan's Gametime Philly ballers used to uncover and exploit glitches in the game, but now, since players can take each other on over the Internet, it's impossible to hoard secret plays.
Still, Putt says, "We have to stay sharp. Because you never know when you're going to get that call to come get that hustle bet in. There's always somebody who knows how good we are, who has people who think they're as good as we are, and they'll be bettin' tons of money."
* * *
About a week before that night at McFadden's, I sat down to chat with Morgan at Cavanaugh's Restaurant and Sports Bar in West Philly. He was wearing the same maroon hoodie, but this time it was over a bright red button down shirt with the "Toys 'R' Us" logo emblazoned on it. It was a Sunday afternoon, and speaking over the raucous NFL bar crowd, Morgan explained that he had just come from the toy store. He looked tired, and his normally wide eyes drooped noticeably as his body sagged back into his chair.
But then again, Morgan's never been huge on sleep. In 1994, after financial constraints forced him to drop out of college at Temple, he started out working at IMS Health with three 12-hour shifts per week. A former walk-on at Temple's Division I football squad, Morgan also signed on to play wingback for a local semi-professional football team called the Conshohocken Steelers. Practicing four times a week with games on Saturday nights, he played nine years with the Steelers, quitting only after a torn ACL slowed him down.
Leaning forward in his chair, Morgan rolled up his right Toys "R" Us sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his bicep-it was the familiar Pittsburgh Steelers helmet with "CONSHO" written above it in big block letters. "Football is my life," he said.
Around the same time that he was starting with IMS and the Steelers, Morgan became hooked on Madden. He'd always been into football video games, but now he struck up a particularly intense rivalry with two friends, June and Julius. They all worked night shifts and would get home in the morning "wired up."
"We would go play from 9 o'clock to about 2:00 in the afternoon. Got no sleep," Morgan said. "We used to play for like five bucks. We would all put our money on the PlayStation and play; the winner would take all. It's beer money, but it got to be competitive."
Word spread quickly about what was going on, and soon other friends wanted in.
"Three turned to four, four turned to eight, and then we ended up putting together an organized league on Sundays. That's where it started. Eight turned to 16 and 24 real quick." Morgan would compile stats and, out of the money from the modest $25 entry fee, provide chips, soda and ice. Word continued to spread, and by 2002, the league had bulged to 48 players and outgrown the one-room apartment. Since then, the league's location has bounced around for a couple years before finally landing at McFadden's.
As his league grew, so did Morgan's connections. In South Florida for the 2002 Nationals, one of big annual underground tournaments, he struck up a friendship with Theodule, who was trying to organize a "Ballers Club Alliance" of Madden clubs nationwide. After Theodule successfully threw the first Mega Bowl in Las Vegas-the national underground tournament that offered at the time a record high $10,000 in prize money-their partnership became firm. Morgan and his already strong Gametime Philly crew entered the Alliance, making it the premier underground Madden organization in the country. With his national connections established, in 2003, Morgan was finally able to throw his first big time tournament in Philly. It was called "Put up or Shut Up," and boasted a $3,000 payout. Over 100 ballers from all over the country posted the $100 entry fee and competed.
"Ain't nothing like a Gametime tournament," Morgan says, flipping through a portfolio of past event pictures. "Where you gonna go where you gonna see this kind of layout?"
"Got projection screens, got TVs here, got TVs all around the perimeter, we got switches onto the projector."
"All the big players come to my tournaments."
The big players may all show up for Morgan's events, but EA stays away.
"The Madden Challenge is a big production to pull off," EA's Johnson says, referencing his company's own in-house annual tournament. "We simply don't have the bandwidth that we'd like to do four or five or six national tournaments."
Nevertheless, they have found the "bandwidth" to sponsor leagues, like the one Morgan hosts at McFadden's, across the country. They don't operate the leagues-where there tends to be much less gambling than at tournaments-like they do the Madden Challenge, but still lend a helping hand and plaster league materials with their logos.
EA's anti-gambling stance has had some effect though. The gambling scene has calmed down lately, and Boogieman reports that ballers are wary of getting on EA's bad side. Doubtless, though, betting still exists. "I have to say you're not allowed to do it," Morgan says, "but it still goes on like anything else."
Morgan thinks that EA likes the leagues better than the tournaments because they're more organized, but Boogie Man believes EA just wants to stay away from the betting scene.
"They don't want to be a part of gambling at all," he says. "They're real strict with it. So everything's more hush-hush, not as out in the open. You will never see $12,000 on top of the TV, not now. That's all we had. We didn't have those sponsorships, we didn't have nothing to lose."
Today, the betting has simply moved behind the scenes. Boogie claims to have made as much as $6,000 wagering in hotel rooms before tournaments.
"The hotel rooms the night before the tournament is where all the action is," Boogieman says. "I live right here, but I get a room at the Holiday Inn the day before [an event] because that's where all the money's going to be at. You know you can't gamble at the tournament anymore, so you gamble in your room the day before."
***
If Morgan's tournaments are the grand showcase for Philadelphia's best ballers, then Boogieman's North Philadelphia basement is their laboratory. Dimly lit by just one hanging light bulb, only shreds of daylight can seep into the room through the small basement windows. A dirty maroon carpet covers most of the floor and stuffing pops out of the armrests on the black fabric couch at the room's center. If anyone else wants to sit, they can use one of the plastic patio chairs scattered about the place. A gigantic rear-projection TV dominates the center of the room, flanked by two 27-inch tubes stacked on milk crates. Boogieman, Putt, Hustle Man-who are all in their 30s-and other Gametime Philly members will spend hours down here, working on their games. They've been known to bring in an extra set, and have four TVs all firing at once.
Watching Boogieman play against Putt's up-and-coming son, Jerome, Jr., it's clear just how much better they are than the average gamer. Their fingers move fast enough to make a court stenographer jealous and their strategies are thought out and precise. Boogie, for instance, likes to play with the New York Giants because of the exceptional height of their receivers, even removing star running back Tiki Barber from his lineup in favor of the less talented, but 6'4" Brandon Jacobs. By toggling his left joystick to throw the ball high, Boogie Man puts his receivers in a position where he can make them leap (a tap of the yellow "Y" button) and tower over the shorter defenders.
"We take control of every aspect of the game," Boogieman says. "When we're catchin' a ball, we're catchin' a ball ourselves.If anybody messes up it's you, you can't blame it on the computer."
Back at McFadden's, all the practice time Boogie logs in his basement is paying off. Playing as the New England Patriots, he's locked into a 10-10 tie against the Philadelphia Eagles and time is winding down. Changing his play at the last second, Boogie sends his receiver on a streak down the left side of the field and connects with him on a long bomb from Tom Brady for the go-ahead score. While he puts the finishing touches on his victory, Morgan scrambles around, trying to get everything in order. If there's any betting at all on league nights, it tends to be pretty tame, but Franchise-the baller whose wife defenestrated his Xbox-says that if he plays Boogieman later, there'll be at least a little money on the line.
At one point, Morgan calls for everyone to pause their games, shut up, and listen to an announcement. League play would be suspended next week, on account of EA throwing a pre-release party for the new Sony PlayStation 3, he says. The ballers will have a chance, Morgan continues, to play Madden on the new console before it's even released in stores. There will also be a DJ.
"Feel free to bring your girlfriends," he concludes. Snickers go up in the crowd.
