Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

Talk about punching above your weight! Last night, a CPU vs. CPU match in "IIHF '93," a hack of NHLPA Hockey '92 based on the 1993 Men's Ice Hockey World Championships (featuring the complete rosters for all the teams that competed as well as accurate stats based on each player's individual performance), was staged, pitting the United States (who competed in Group 2 of World Championship Group A, in Germany) against Israel (who competed in Group 4 of World Championship Group C, in Slovenia [with their qualifiers taking place in Ankara]). To say it was a mismatch is putting it extremely politely; the United States led 9-0 before Israel scored their first goal,and finished with a final 14-2 score. Doug Weight, who played 65 games for the New York Rangers--the team that had drafted him 34th overall in 1990--during the 1992-93 season before being traded to the Edmonton Oilers in exchange for forward Esa Tikkanen, served as a forward on the United States national team that season, and while he didn't actually score any goals in the IIHF tournament (he was credited with six assists, which counted for six points, but did not score a goal), he came alive against Israel's porous defense. Taking 22 SOGs (shots on goal), he scored goals on eight of them, recording a hat trick as he scored the first three goals of the game. Derian Hatcher, serving as a defenseman and 'enforcer' for the United States team, won the only fight of the game, amassing a grand total of fourteen minutes in the penalty box (10 for fighting, and four for comparatively minor offenses). (Ironically, Hatcher actually did score a goal for the United States in the tournament.) Tony Amonte, who himself was good for one goal in the IIHF tournament, took five SOGs and scored goals on two of them. Perhaps the true hero of the team was the ever-reliable goalie Pat Jablonski, already known for his efficiency as part of the St. Louis Blues (and later the Tampa Bay Lightning), who made forty-four successful saves out of a possible forty-six (for a 95% success rate). A part of me is tempted to see how Canada would do against Israel, but I am not sure if I can put one of my dear friends (who wanted to see this matchup last night, and who just so happens to be Jewish) through the pain of what could potentially be another blowout loss for them. On the other hand, Canada vs. the United States could be a very exciting battle, as it is basically the equivalent of your typical NHL all-star game, only with the players divided by country, and not conference. In the background, I hear one of my housemates gritting their teeth, enamored by whatever is on their computer screen. Early this morning, he was so excited that he worked himself into a sort of frenzy; I literally saw him lying on the floor. He did not appear to be hurt, merely exasperated. (I would feel the same way if I expended that much energy dancing and screaming with joy; having been around him for such a long time by this point, I have already started to pick up some of his habits.) The gritting continues for a couple of seconds, then stops. I am not able to discern what is playing on the living room television, but it seems that whoever has control of the remote decided to switch it off of PBS; when I turned it on this afternoon after we got back from the day program, I set it to channel 2 (WPBT-TV) and was greeted by an episode of "Antiques Roadshow," which ironically was taped in Green Bay, Wisconsin (ironic as the '66 Packers recently suffered a virtual loss to the '66 Chiefs in a recent CPU vs. CPU game in "John Madden Football '93: Championship Edition," losing 30-17 after being down 30-3 late in the fourth; their actual meeting in Super Bowl I saw opposite fortunes occur, with Green Bay demolishing the Chiefs 35-10 to win their second of three consecutive championships). Reflecting on how at least three players from Super Bowl I (Fred Williamson and Mike Garrett, who played for the Chiefs, and Marv Fleming, who played for the Packers) are still alive, I was tempted to reach out to them. Of course, I would certainly not waste their time by speaking of their virtual counterparts, but would be honored to thank them for giving their all on the field. Unfortunately, as I thought would be the case,they don't seem to have much of an online presence; it seems that a grand total of zero of them have websites where fans can reach out. (They may have had sites in the past, only for them to go offline as a way to circumvent harassment from strangers, or mitigate the chances of them having to deal with 'nuisance' fans.) The youngest of the bunch, Garrett, turned 80 earlier this year; Fleming is 82 at the moment, while Williamson turned 86 back in March. I can only hope that they are in good spirits, and that whatever they are doing now, they are being treated with some semblance of dignity. It was great to discover that most of the players on the 1992 49ers and Cowboys teams are still alive; some of them are in their sixties now while the majority are in their fifties. It reminds me that I am getting older too. Though they have all aged out of the game and their bodies are not in a position to take any more punishment I'm grateful to be able to create new memories with so many legends through these old games. Though something like "Tecmo Super Bowl II: Special Edition" or any of the Genesis Maddens will not have all the bells and whistles you would find in something from the PS2/Xbox/GameCube era, they are still a lot better than the recent Maddens churned out for current-gen consoles. Being able to play as athletes who are now enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, forever immortalized in Canton, is tremendously fun. I don't feel many of today's superstars are going to be remembered in the same way the old greats are. There is a reason why, more than three decades after they played their last down in the NFL, people still talk about stars like Joe Montana, Walter Payton, Bo Jackson, Lawrence Taylor, etc. I can't imagine many looking back and saying "you remember Ha Ha Clinton Dix? Man, that guy was a monster" or "Trevor Lawrence...damn, he was a beast!" (Apologies to Lawrence, who actually shares a birthday with me; hoping you can win one for the Jags.) "Shut up, Greg!" I hear the house manager call out, a housemate having erupted with a joyous screech. He doesn't screech again, but quickly claps his hands in a bizarre, off-beat staccato sequence with no discernible time signature. To try and map out the sequence on scratch paper would be difficult, and I don't dare make an attempt at doing so. Having rediscovered a website reflecting on the legacy of Super Bowl III--where the 18-point underdog New York Jets stunned the all-but-invincible Baltimore Colts 16-7 in what stood alone for nearly forty years as the single biggest upset in pro football and sports as a whole--I'm amazed at the conclusion, a summative piece written in 2002 not long following the expansion to 32 teams, in which the author demonstrated an Orwellian foresight into the woes that plague the league today. Rather than trying to sum it up, I will offer it here in its entirety, as it has to be read to be believed: "The legacy of [Super Bowl III], the luckiest football game ever won, is both sad and terrible: a bloated, watered-down 32-team league with about five good quarterbacks and a 'parity' where even the 'good' teams are mediocre. A plethora of loud-mouthed, asshole players like the overrated [Joe] Namath, who jiggle and dance like idiots when they score, and care more about their celebrity status and income than the game. (Not to mention the illiterate thugs and actual criminals masquerading as professional athletes.) A man's sport which has become little more than packaged entertainment 'for the whole family.' Stadiums named after banks and insurance companies. Ticket prices that only corporations and the affluent can afford. Obscene profits for the league and team owners. Gross oversaturation on television which makes every game seem just like the last one. An absolute denial by everyone involved in football that the Jets were inferior or fantastically lucky in SB3, or even that luck plays any part in NFL games. The outcome of SB3 has led directly, inevitably, to all of these horrific changes in professional football. To all the myopic jerks who rooted for the Jets: I hope you're satisfied." Now I am extremely tempted to see if the Colts can rewrite history and get some payback on the Jets. Time to fire up Madden '93 once again!