Believe it or not, I once held a world record. Well, almost.

Despite a life that’s been more pub lunches and Paul Heaton gigs than trophies and titles, there was a moment—just one—where I achieved greatness. And no, it wasn’t for eating the most pies in three minutes or spearing baked beans with a cocktail stick (although I might fancy my chances at both).

In 1991, I broke the world record for Nintendo Golf. Yes, you read that correctly.

The NES: My Weapon of Choice

For me, the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) remains the greatest console ever made. I’d spend hours in front of its chunky grey box, working my way through the pixelated perfection of Tetris, Mario Brothers, Micro Machines, Slapshot, Nintendo Tennis, and my true love—Golf.

Golf was a game of patience and precision, a simple mechanic built on timing and calm. I wasn’t just good at it—I was obsessed. The hours I spent honing my skills bordered on monastic.

Chasing a Dream (and Avoiding Homework)

As a certified gaming geek, I subscribed to the official Nintendo magazine—not for reviews or cheats, but for the high score section. This was pre-internet, remember. One issue featured a young American, acne and all, holding the record for Nintendo Golf at 16 under par. I knew I could beat that. My regular game would see me hit 14 or 15 under. With enough dedication, and perhaps fewer distractions (and less toast), I knew 17 was within reach.

The Night of the Record

Then it happened. A Sunday night. I remember it clearly because Rory, my brother, kept shouting at me to hurry up so we wouldn’t miss the start of London’s Burning. I was 14 under with four holes to go. The pressure was real. Bayleaf and Sicknote would have to wait. I played the last holes like a man possessed. I don’t recall the precise breakdown, but I ended with a par on the 18th—finishing 18 under par. I’d beaten the world record by two shots.

Picture It Didn’t Happen

I leapt from my chair, screaming for Rory to grab the camera. To verify a high score back then, you had to photograph your TV screen, print the photo, and post it to Nintendo. We got the shot—our 14” portable colour telly displaying my glorious, pixel-perfect score. We also took several photos of the cat to finish the film. Priorities. The following Tuesday, I dropped the film off at Boots—£7 for a week’s development. When I picked them up, the photo was there: the score, the telly, the proof. I posted it to Nintendo magazine HQ in Japan, complete with my name, address, and a letter politely demanding they shower me with praise.

Then I waited. And waited. Two months passed. No sign of my name in print. Just silence.

The Letter That Crushed Me

Eventually, I received a letter. I recognised the envelope immediately—Nintendo branding, Japanese postage. My hands shook.

It began well:

“Thank you for sending us your photograph and congratulations on a fantastic score…”

Then came the blow:

“…however, due to a glare on the TV screen in the photo, the score cannot be verified or printed in the magazine.”

That was it. My world record—gone, lost to a beam of light bouncing off a £99 portable television.

What Could Have Been

So no certificate. No glory. No front-page profile. Just a photo, a memory, and the bitter knowledge that I was technically the best in the world at something, if only for a brief moment. It’s a small story, but a big one in my life. Proof that even the nearlys and not-quites are worth remembering.