No more greens fees, no more shoe rental and no more batting cage tokens. But the best thing of all, the days of playing outside seemed to be numbered.The advent of the Nintendo Wii has taken the evolution of video game athletics to a whole new level as physical exertion and tendonitis is now possible from the comfort of my two-bedroom apartment.
Sunday morning marked a momentous occasion in my life. Along with my roommate, I braved 35-degree weather and blistering winds to finally become a recipient of a Wii. Around noon that same day, my surrogate brother opened the doors to the apartment carrying the white package and I knew we had finally reached “Nerdvana.”
Before you think this is just me boasting that I have a Wii and you don’t, let me explain why this should be considered sports commentary.
The Wii Sports Package has tennis, baseball, boxing, bowling and golf, and all can be controlled with a finessed flick of the wrist. “Flick of the wrist” is an operative expression since a swinging a 6-inch long controller (aptly named the “Wiimote”) like a Wilson tennis racket is a more accessible segue into reliving your childhood sports fantasies.
As a former patron of the Beaumont West End YMCA’s summer tennis camp, I figured I could still tear up the courts in a virtual format. Little did I know I would be taking two Aleve before going to bed because “tennis elbow” was setting in. After wanting to get a brace for my forearm, I decided to step up to the plate and challenge my roommate to a rousing game of MLB Home Run Derby.
Steroid use and testosterone-fueled, RBI-producing hulks of men may have a stranglehold on Major League Baseball, but I figured I could compete with these mammoths through my game system. After 25 minutes of “long ball” swings, there were no home runs to show for my efforts but I did have some strained obliques from executing proper torso rotation through the hitting zone. Ted Williams would have been proud.
My Super Nintendo may have gotten the boot last summer but sore thumbs are nothing compared to a torn rotator cuff and the total glee that fills me when I smash my cross court forehand down my computerized opponent’s throat.
