There's so many kids who only know me from the video game. And

Hear now the words of John Madden, the great coach and voice of the gridiron, who once said: “There’s so many kids who only know me from the video game. And they want to know if I’m home — and if I have a video game I can give them on Halloween. And sometimes they’re surprised to learn there actually is a ‘Madden.’” In this humble utterance lies a truth vast as the playing field itself: the truth that legacy, once born of flesh and sweat, may live on in pixels and myth; that a man’s name may outlast his body, reshaped by the hands of time and technology into something both immortal and strange.

In the old days, Madden was not a digital specter. He was a man of booming voice and fiery spirit — a coach, a teacher, a warrior of the game. His name was not yet a symbol on the console’s screen; it was a cry of triumph from the sidelines, the mark of a leader who molded men into champions. But as the years turned, and the seasons of football marched on, his legend transformed. The world began to know him not for his sweat upon the field, nor his thunderous commentary in the booth, but for the virtual world that bore his name — a world where players wielded the power of his wisdom, though many had never seen his face.

Behold, then, the strange nature of fame and memory. In ages past, the bards sang of heroes until their deeds became gods’ tales. Achilles was once flesh; now he is legend. So too does Madden walk this path — a mortal whose presence endures in code and culture, his essence captured in circuits and sounds. The children who knock upon his door see not the man who once stormed the sidelines but the icon — the digital echo of greatness. And in their innocent wonder, they reveal how the world reshapes even its mightiest figures: that what begins in life may find eternity in symbol.

Consider the story of Alexander the Great, who conquered lands across the known world. Centuries after his death, peasants in distant lands still spoke his name — not as man, but as myth. Some thought him a god, others a ghost. Yet what mattered was not their accuracy, but their reverence. For though the image had changed, the influence endured. So it is with Madden: the game may have obscured the man, yet it carries forth his spirit — his love for strategy, his devotion to teaching, his passion for football. What once was voice and gesture has become legacy and legend.

And yet, there is a bittersweet note in Madden’s laughter. For he reminds us that the world may remember the shadow, but forget the source. The digital generation may revere his name without knowing his heart. This is the burden of greatness — to become something larger than life, and in so doing, to lose the intimacy of being merely human. The teacher becomes the myth, and the myth, in turn, forgets its own humanity. So he smiles at their surprise, for it is the smile of one who knows he has become both man and memory, living and immortal.

Let this teach us humility. For all who create, all who strive, all who dream to leave their mark — remember: you do not own your legacy. The world will take it and reshape it, paint it anew, and breathe its own meaning into it. The sculptor’s hands cannot guide how the wind will erode the statue, nor how the generations will interpret its form. Yet if the work is born of truth, then though its image may change, its spirit will endure.

So, live not for recognition, but for substance. Let your actions be so full of honesty, of excellence, of care, that even if your name becomes a whisper or a symbol, its echo will still inspire. Build something that time cannot erase — not because it bears your likeness, but because it carries your values. Be like Madden, whose laughter at the children’s questions is not sorrow but joy: joy in knowing that he has become part of the great current of culture, flowing endlessly forward, changing yet unbroken.

And thus, the lesson: create to serve, not to be seen. Leave behind not only your name, but your goodness, your wisdom, your fire. Let others shape it, carry it, and rediscover it anew. For that is the highest form of legacy — when the world forgets your face, yet still feels your presence.