It is Christmas 1985. I am a wee lad of three in footie pajamas sitting Indian-style on our family room rug staring up in bewilderment at our then-massive 27” Sony Trinitron television set. My old man – a cable TV executive at the time – is fumbling with a rat’s nest of cables in a profanity-laden attempt to hook up a small gray box made of cheap plastic with a funny Japanese name. My older brothers – aged 8 and 11 – are more excited than a 15-year-old boy in a porno shop.

They, apparently, are aware that we are about to experience something life changing. I, on the other hand, have no idea what’s going on . . .

Success! The red power light flicks on and my oldest brother is deftly navigating a chubby Italian plumber in red coveralls through a trippy, Lewis Carroll-esque world full of winged snapping turtles and angry mushrooms with feet. Even to a 3-year-old, this is weird.

That fateful Reagan-era Christmas morning was only the beginning. I would go on to spend countless hours of my formative years blasting Metroids (whatever the hell they are), pummeling racially insensitive boxer stereotypes, and rescuing a beautiful princess named after F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife as a left-handed, sexually confused elf.

Little did we know back in those simpler times that there was a physical price to be paid for all those digitized shenanigans. Forget brain rot (as my mother liked to call it), the dreaded “Nintendo thumb” – a repetitive stress injury (RSI) characterized by swelling at the base of the offending digit – was the real danger. Extreme cases even involved blistering. Play long enough and you wind up with the hands of a Norwegian longshoreman.

Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous, but Nintendo thumb is as devastating to a prepubescent boy as blowing out an ACL is to a D-1 college running back – a career threatening injury. Game over, man.

Flash forward 14 years, and I once again find myself navigating that same chubby Italian plumber, and once again squashing angry mushrooms with feet, all thanks to the recent release of New Super Mario Bros. Wii. My buddy Dabbo – a middle school history teacher – and I spent several nostalgic hours as the brothers Mario the Sunday the game debuted.

As the hours sped by with increasing rapidity (like they do), the conversation inevitably led to the topic of Nintendo thumb; kind of like two old dudes on a golf course comparing prostate stories. Just how would we feel come Monday morning?

“Sorry kids. I can’t write on the white board today. Wicked Nintendo thumb,” Dabbo said only half joking. “There will be no learning today.” I mean how important is the War of 1812, really? Life is about sacrifice, and Princess Toadstool isn’t going to save herself, dammit. Talk about a head-scratcher of a cost-benefit analysis.

So there we were; two grown men in our late twenties worried about the onset of Nintendo-related finger dexterity problems, and what affect it might have on our adult lives. I hated Nintendo thumb in the 80’s. I hate it even more now because I need those thumbs for strategic spacebar purposes.

Remember kids. If you play with your Wii too long, you might hurt yourself.