Nothing beats a video game hosted by a geriatric football coach whose idea of in-game commentary is saying, “Doesn’t Andy Reid look like Ben Franklin?”

Madden football has consumed a disturbing amount of my free time. What’s not to like about the game though? Creating rivalries with your roommates and constantly provoking them into heated matches often resulting in smashed controllers or dented walls is what Madden is all about.

Come on, Ted Thompson, get on the ball. I just traded Favre for Rex Grossman and Brian Urlacher — BOOM, now I’m eating a six-legged turkey and doin’ the Green Bay shuffle into the Super Bowl.

My lust for Madden nearly cost me my life the day Peyton Manning showed up at my door with a football tucked under his arm.

I was playing “The Sims 2,” getting all kinds of virtual sex from my programmed neighbors, when I heard a rhythmic pounding on my door. I opened my apartment’s front door and something smashed into my face. My nose broke and blood was dripping on the hardwood floor.

Manning said, “I call that one ‘The Heater.’” With blood gushing down my face I looked up and saw Manning standing in his Colts uniform. I screamed excitedly, “Oh my god, it’s Peyton Manning! What are you doing here?”

He grabbed me by my shirt collar and pinned me against the wall in my building’s hallway. “Word on the street is that you’re the flyest cat to bump a truck stick,” said Manning. “Time to see if you’re man enough to take on the real thing.”

“Huh?” I squeaked.

Manning let me go and grabbed another football from a bin of balls he’d brought with him. I froze in confusion. He took a three-step drop and threw the football through the foot-thick wall behind me, narrowly missing my face.

“Time to face the true Madden test — me.” Manning said confidently. “Shorewood High School football field in an hour — be there or die.”

After Manning left and I spackled the new hole in my wall, I called all the best Madden players I knew and told them I’d be taking on Peyton Manning in the ultimate Madden showdown.

When we arrived on the football field, my crew of Wisconsin Madden elite and I were squinting, still trying to adjust to natural sunlight. Once our vision cleared we saw them, the entire Colts offense. Marvin Harrison spat on my friend Merton’s face as he walked past us. My friend Albert asked, “What are they stretching for?”

“What’s going on, Peyton?” I asked.

He didn’t hear me. Peyton was distracted filming a commercial for the “Help Buy Dan Marino a Super Bowl Ring Fund.”

Peyton broke away from the film crew and yelled, “Alright, cut the tomfoolery and huddle up!” He looked at me, “You’re on D, kid.”

After explaining what happened to my band of Madden heroes, Albert — the best defensive player in the state — said, “Alright, it must be two-hand touch.”

“Why do they have on pads?” asked Melvin.

“Shut up,” I said, “You’re just a special teams specialist.” Suddenly the Colts broke their huddle and when into a four wide receiver set. Albert looked at us all, paused, and whispered with a smile, “Let’s do a little cover two.”

I took my place as a safety and I watched Albert go to middle linebacker, while the rest filled out the remaining nine positions.

After 10 minutes of watching Peyton call audibles, he snapped the ball. The first thing I noticed was Marvin Harrison running at me. I began pursuit. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the Colts’ center, Jeff Saturday, lift my defensive line specialist, Bernard, over his shoulders and break him into two pieces over his knee.

Before I could react I saw Peyton throw the football laser-beam style. I jumped in front of Marvin and felt the impact of the ball shatter my spine. I blacked out.

When I came to I was in a hospital. The doctor told me I’d suffered massive spinal column damage and lost the use of my legs. Moments before a depressing weight crushed my will to live, Manning walked in the room.

He wheeled in a TV with Madden plugged into it. “Up for a game?” Peyton asked.

I smile stretched across my face, “Peyton, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, sorry about your dork friends,” said Peyton.

“What about them?” I asked.

He chuckled, “It’s the darndest thing. You know if they could hold a block or catch a pass, maybe they wouldn’t have all died.”

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