The Away Controller
- Lee Murray
- Apr 19, 2026
- 3 min read
It would have been '99 I think, a weeknight and lads' night at Keith's. Bring your own booze to the main event: the ISS Pro Evo tournament.
I'd drawn Argentina; Batistuta's shot power was the best in the game, and I knew it. First round, Croatia. Decent side, but I was fancying my chances.
Then my first opponent, incidentally Keith himself with a glint in his eye, handed me the player 2 controller.
The away controller.
The controller had seen better days. It went beyond being 'well worn'; the left analogue stick was 'sticky' and the R1 button didn't always register. The away controller was the equivalent of a rainy away night at Stoke.
The boys knew but nothing was said, it was the luck of the draw. For now the challenge was to be on my absolute A-game to defeat Croatia and get off to a good start in the World Cup tournament with it, an achievement in itself.
Keith's bedsit
Keith lived in a bedsit above a restaurant in Sale, Manchester at the time. I remember when you went in, on the left wall he had a big Trainspotting poster with the 'Choose Life' dialogue from the film on it. The room was smoky. Usually there would've been about 6 of us, sometimes the chef from downstairs would join in, everyone squeezing in and making do with sitting on the sofa and chairs or floor.
The game kicked off. I made a strong opening, keeping the ball well. I tried to overwhelm opponents with quick play and my fast reflexes. A big part of Pro Evolution was knowing your player and their strengths, so with Batistuta and his shooting prowess it was about getting it to him and in the right position and letting his shots go.
We both had chances but it was pretty tight for most of the game. Keith had a couple of shots but I pulled off decent saves, which I let him know about. My controller nearly let me down as I tackled a player and it went too hard; Keith wasn't happy. The controller nearly cost me a red card, but I survived it.
The moment
The game, which we used to set to 10 mins of play time for each match, was nearing its end when I suddenly got the ball to Batistuta on the left-hand side, a few yards outside the box; perfect to cut in on his right foot.
This was it, the moment I'd been waiting for. I held down square and R2 to get the power just right, a goal was a formality…
Clunk went the R2 button.
And the shot flew way over the bar. Keith chuckled and then went on to score at the other end in the last minute, to earn a close, well-fought 1-0 victory. I'd been done by the away controller, proper done. I was wounded but I took my beating, opened another can of Stella and looked on to the next game.
The nights that stopped happening
There were a lot of those nights. Before everyone had a mobile in their hand, before the group chat replaced Keith's room, before we'd all drifted into our separate lives. Just mates, a telly, a PS1 and a shitload of alcohol, ripping it out of each other.
We haven't done one of those nights in over 20 years. Nobody decided. It just stopped happening.
