Wii Have a Problem

Now I know what it feels like. The achy joints, the sore shoulder. I need an ice pack for my elbow, a massage for my back.

My baseball career ended 20 years ago, at age 18. I was a decent pitcher – for high school. As I started college at the University of North Carolina, I quickly realized that my talents were better suited for writing about sports, and so I did. I can still throw a mean Wiffle ball, and I play a solid shortstop on my work-league softball teams. But I am not a baseball player anymore, dream as a may. If I want to see a man my age ice up his arm after a game, I can watch Andy Pettitte.

And yet, why is it that my arm now feels as though it’s just thrown 80 pitches? Where’s this pain coming from? I haven’t been tossing baseballs recently. But … ahem … well … I have been going through the pitching windup lately. A lot, actually. But in my right hand, there hasn’t been a baseball. Just a white remote control. In front of me, a strange-looking character with no arms. And he’s been beating me.

We bought a Wii the other day. And, like so many who are addicted to Nintendo’s interactive video-game system, I’m messing up my joints with this thing. Andrew Das of The New York Times calls it “Nintendinitis.” Doctors across America are unanimous in their assertion that repetitive use of this game can strain our joints.

They are right.

And the sad thing is, it’s not even supposed to be my toy. We bought the thing for the girls. They had mentioned that they’d love to try it, so much that for the past several months, we’ve asked family members to give the girls Target gift cards for all their holiday presents, with the Wii in mind. As the school year ended, we picked up all the gift cards, took a trip to Target, and made our donation to Nintendo’s recession-proof revenue stream.

The girls like the thing, particularly the bowling game. At 7 and 4 years of age, though, they’re good for a few minutes of Wii, then it’s on to their next activity. Their parents are a little bit different.

I haven’t been able to beat the computer in baseball yet. So I’m hooked, and the shoulder is feeling it. I’ve not yet figured out how to consistently return a serve in tennis, either. Hence, the balky elbow. I’m good at the boxing, so I do that for a pick-me-up. But it hurts to jab at nothing for 10 minutes straight.

To Nintendo’s credit, they give multiple warnings on the Wii system encouraging users to take a break and rest the body. I look forward to heeding their advice at some point. But this is the same person who, 25 years ago, spent summer days trying to amass half a million points on Atari’s “Asteroids.” There is a reason why I haven’t had a video-game system for years. I should have known better.

And yet, I could be worse. The girls know this already. The other night, as I was leading them up the stairs to bed, we passed a person on the way. Typically, I would call this person “their mother” or “my wife.” But at this moment, she was neither. Her arms were out in front of her, the white remote control grasped like a gun. On the TV in front of her, there were bull’s eye targets. And geese. And some sort of flying saucer thing. And, yes, this mother/wife person was shooting – at everything. The targets, the saucers, the geese. The sound of exploding objects could be heard throughout the room.

The girls and I tiptoed up the stairs. I told them not to pay any attention to that other person. They nodded their heads in agreement.

Wii have a problem.