Game On

Though my children will never believe it, I was once pretty good at video games. In a bar a friend and I frequented, I could make a quarter in Galaga last through two beers sometimes. I could make it deeply into the upper levels of many arcade games. I almost always got extra plays on pinball machines.

Now, thanks to a four-person Nintendo Gamecube, I know the joys of fourth place. And only fourth place. Somehow, my Mario drives of the road every hundred yards. My fighter turns the wrong way and kicks the air behind him. I leap into the pixellated arms of enemies. A nine-year-old child can wipe the floor with me. (I know, because I have one.)

I remember with great fondness when I used to play cards with the kids, and deliberately lose. Same with chess and checkers. As they got older and smarter, it became more and more difficult to deliberately lose without looking as if I'd deliberately lost.

I miss those days. Initially, our kids were suspicious about my ineptitude, but now they've realized that I really am as clueless as I seem when it comes to Tony Hawk, Mario and the rest of their electronic playmates.

My only hope is teaching the dog to play Gamecube. He's younger and has much faster reflexes, but I have opposable thumbs.

I think I can take him.