Enter the Wii-Tang: 36 Chambers--Black Belt in Determination

The Toys R Us by the Valley Mall is, by and large, weaksauce. This is less the fault of the store as it is of the toy industry in general. Too many plastic guns, WWE belts and Bratz. Don't even get me started on the "updated" board games: Monopoly with plastic cards instead of paper bills; Trouble replacing the "Pop-o-matic" dice bubble with number cards. Unthinkable, this world.

It felt every bit of the 36 degrees that various bank clocks insisted when Patrick eased his Honda into a parking space mid-lot. Only an extraordinary siren call could pull us from first a warm bed, then a warm car.

We took our spots in line along the front of the building, fifteenth and sixteenth bodies respectively. Directly in front of us were two older men with firefighter moustaches, one with a Boston accent and the other wearing shorts. Meanwhile everyone else is bundled up in thick coats. The people in the very front came off as white trash with white collars, and they all seemed to have familiarity beyond the expected bonding of people who've shared extensive time in a waiting line. Thankfully, they never attempted to engage us, save for the guy who proclaimed to any and all, "Does anyone want any peanuts? 'Cause we're all nuts!" Hilarity, thy name is...whatever that guy's name is.

Also tickling: the people who arrived right after us. Just a mother and two young sons. It was unspectacular until the mom--who looked rather like an anorexic Billie Jean King--asked me some pointed questions: how long has the people up in front been here? How many units is the store stocking?

I gave honest answers. The woman who represented the head of our snake had been there since 7 PM last night. (She was in a cloth folding chair wearing a large hooded coat that practically swallowed her upper body, giving the impression from a distance of a pair of legs propped up on a seat.) Further, I had heard rumors of anywhere from 10 to 40 Wii's being available. I believed not one of those figures I'd heard, and even took care to tell the woman this in a disclaiming "purple monkey dishwasher" tone.

After brief conference with her boys, she led them back to the car, off into that decent morning.

The temperature and tedium teamed to birth typical "J and P Show" shenanigans as we stood there waiting to find out the extent of our luck. Peering through the store windows became a much more enjoyable distraction than, say, gazing at the line or surveying the Valley Mall to the left.

"Look up at the top shelf. It's a Vader head. I want a Darth Vader head. A Wii and a Vader head."

"I think it's a pinata!"

"Hold your wee for a Wii. Remember that? Genius. Like a kid's worth that. 'I believe the children are the future/Teach them well and let them hold their own damn urine'."

I did in fact semi-croon that last part, but kept it soft enough so I didn't entertain/annoy beyond my intended audience. Some people though, they just can't help it.

It started at a quarter to eight. That classically peeving blare of a car alarm. Most of us in line--by that swollen to fifty bodies--were little more than bemused. After three minutes of constant scree, however, the poor car owner's problem took on "$100,000 grand prize on America's Funniest Videos" status. (I was totally ready for the small dog a couple in line brought with them to break off in a mad dash and knock over one of the kids waiting with mommy and/or daddy.) Silently, save for a few throaty chuckles, we watched as the driver fumbled first underneath the wheel, then finally under the hood. His ministrations resulted in aggravation rather than abeyance, however, as the alarm now bleated forth in a polka-esque rhythm. The end finally came when a Good Samaritan shed from the line and went over to assist. From beginning to end, the saga of Car Alarm Guy took ten minutes. Six hundred seconds closer to a Wii.

After 8, two red-shirted employees came out to exalted fanfare. They passed out tickets that would be handed in at the register for a Wii console. Once Patrick had it in his hands, my shoulders and back lost all tension, a palpable release that allowed me to breathe in the refreshing properties of the chilled air rather than guard against it.

Everyone in that line got a Wii. The store had 99 for sale, more than enough for every single person outside. Big fat Darwin Award to Billie Jean King and her sons.

They took customers in groups of five at a time. What a joy it was to step in a warm store and get what we came for. Well, almost. No Super Mario Galaxy or Twilight Princess or Wario Warez, but we did pick up the Wii Play (a bargain with the extra Wii-mote).

I'm pleased to say that based off of nothing more than two rudimentary sporting games, the Wii is a fantastic investment. I have a basic-ass Sony 23-inch TV to put the sensor bar atop, and the controls respond wonderfully.

Wii Sports comes with the console, and offers baseball, golf, tennis, bowling and boxing. Tennis is my runaway favorite, where you operate both players in a doubles match. The Wii-mote is sensitive enough to demand you treat it like a real racket, not just flail wildly. Boxing provides maybe the best overall workout, as it is the only game to require both the nunchuk and remote. Golf is, well, as infuriatingly addictive as its real-life counterpart.

Wii Play is nine short games designed to familiarize the player with the controls. The standouts are the shooting stage (Duck Hunt meets Hogan's Alley) and the billiards stage. For brain games, try Patrick's favorite, wherein you match a contorted "Mii" figure inside descending bubbles. Challenging!

To make the day even greater, later on that afternoon the family got together at my oldest sister's house to throw a surprise party for my mother on her 69th birthday. All the kids pitched in to buy her a round trip air ticket to her hometown of Louisville, where the majority of her sisters and brothers still live. This was her first birthday without her husband, so it meant the world to make her smile.

Nintendo Wii Hagerstown