Free to be Wii

If I ever needed proof I’m no athlete, I think I’ve found it. My shoulders ache, my neck feels like it’s wrapped in cement, and there’s a tingling burn stretching from my elbow to the tips of my fingers. My ailments come not from half-nelsons, dodgeball or co-ed karate – they come from a video game. I’ve discovered Wii Tennis, and I don’t care how sore it makes me.

You can stick with your weekly racquetball dates, your psychotic gym workouts and your kickboxing escapades. Leave me to my darkened bedroom, my flatscreen TV and that imaginary grass centre court stadium filled with armless, legless fans, and I’ll have all the athletic competition I’ll ever need.

It’s a struggle to brush my teeth. My shoulders and back are stiff and knotted, and my forearm’s soreness makes it tough to sleep. But when I do sleep, I dream of Sarah and Elisa, Tatsuaki and Victor, even that jerk Saburo, and his wily partner Theo. Wii Tennis is a doubles game. You swing your controller like a tennis racquet, and although a simple flick of the wrist is all you need, I swing like Jimmy Connors in a butterfly zoo, a full sweep of the arm forward and back, up and down, all in a quest to beat my opponents and earn points. Each match pits you against others with the same or higher rankings, amassing points based on the ruthlessness of your victory. Earn 1000 points and you attain “pro” status.

My Wii character, known as a “Mii,” is named Tim. He has a boyish look, freckles, thick brown hair and is right-handed. He’s a pretty good bowler and may soon turn pro in golf, but it’s tennis he loves most.

After turning pro a while back, I’ve realized those hapless cupcakes I dispatched with ease in my amateur days are gone, replaced by veterans like Takumi and his pallid partner Victor, who looks comatose but who plays like a jackrabbit on Skittles.

Soon after reaching the pro level, I had an epiphany. I’d just crushed Takumi and Victor, both of whom had much higher rankings, and saw my point total surge ahead. At this moment, as Victor hung his head in defeat, I glimpsed my future. “I can reach 2000 points. With commitment and focus, I can be the best Wii tennis player ever.” I thought back to my years of shame – the lopsided losses in Pong, the inability to grasp the logic of Missile Command, the tone-deaf struggles with Guitar Hero and the absolute ineptitude at Call of Duty. I can right those wrongs and become a champion – and Wii Tennis will take me there.

This is not welcome news in my family. My wife fears she’s married an adult gamer, a guy who devotes most non-sleeping hours to the playing of multi-player video games, eschewing personal grooming and lawn care for the sake of the game. But comparing a Wii Tennis aficionado to an adult gamer is like comparing a 10-year old with a Fruit Stripe gum wrapper tattoo on her arm to a prison lifer with a spider web tattoo across her face. I’m no adult gamer.

I play any chance I get, winning match after match, watching my rankings rise. I leap 200 points in a day, beating the likes of Kiko and Yuki (hard faces but soft volleys), and Michael and Helen, (lousy service returners). “You’re not as good as you think,” my daughter reminds me from the doorway.

Night after night I play against opponents like Hayley and Steph, who I crush without mercy, or Tatsuaki and Marla, breaking their serve to sweep to a 3-0 win. My quest to the elusive 2000 remains slow and steady. I’m having quite a run until Theo and Saburo arrive, both ranked at 1700. I’m perched on the cusp of victory, serving for the win, when Saburo goes into berserker mode, smashing everything he sees, and I lose.

The next day I unleash a string of victories that would make Bud Collins weep with joy, defeating Theo and Daisuke in three straight, and I’m close to 1500. Just before dinner I win an epic five-game feud, fending off three match points while down 2-0 in games. Just one more game – one more victory and I’m done. My kids yell to me that the Chinese food’s arrived, but stopping now would be crazy. My opponents are the highest ranking players yet – Elisa and Sarah, both with 2000 points! I must continue, even as the smell of sesame chicken clouds my mind.

I struggle, Sarah’s net game a combination of poise, grace and lethal accuracy. I swing my arm as hard as I can, whipping the controller back and forth, determined to show these women I belong among their ranks. I hang on to win a tough match and earn enough points to push me above 1600.

I run downstairs to tell everyone the good news, bragging about my speed serves and awesome overheads. “These fried dumplings are delicious,” is the only response I get. My ascent to the upper echelon of the pro ranks is taking a toll on my family. “You’ve got a problem,” my daughter reminds me, my wife’s made it clear she won’t listen to my vivid verbal replays of my on-court success, and my son shakes his head in dismay. It’s just me and Wii, unfortunately.

I don’t care. I’ve given myself the weekend to reach 2000. With only 400 to go, I know I can do it. I begin with a massive victory over Elisa and Sarah for another 67points. With a sweatband on my wrist and the shades drawn, I lose a few but win more, putting Sarah on notice that I won’t fall for her chicanery any longer. I’m now at 1714, taking stabbing, angry swings inches from the TV screen.

Then things go wrong. I lose game after game as Sarah and her partner run me ragged. My arm starts to throb, and I’m winded. I continue losing, my ranking falling enough that I’m reintroduced to chumps like Helen and Michael. I barely win on a net cord shot, earning a lousy three points.

It’s been over two hours, and my rankings have plummeted. The names of my opponents don’t matter, and I’m lost in the haze of competition, my arm and fingers numb with every wild swing of the controller. Theo’s back with Saburo, and I win to climb back above 1700. Then, in horror, I lose three games in a flurry of frustration, my ranking dropping below 1600. I’m too sore to continue. My shoulders kill and my forearm stings. I’ve given my all but failed. The dream is over. I’m just a washed up former superstar with strained relationships and nagging injuries.

But later on that night, as everyone else settles down, I’m alone again with my Wii. I tell myself I’ll play for just one more hour. I mute the TV’s volume and find redemption, chasing Sarah and Elisa across the court, enough to get back above 1700 where I stop. I’ve spent over four hours today playing this game, raising my rankings by only 75 points, a sad showing for what was to be my victory parade. “You’re gonna be really sore tomorrow,” my daughter says to me.

Yes, my child, I’ll be sore tomorrow, and the day after that, but I’ll keep playing. True champions play through the pain, knowing greatness, like tempered steel, is forged in the heat of battle. Besides, Sarah and I have some unfinished business to tend to, and I’m taking a sick day.