To the three of you around these parts who actually like NFL football, I direct this entry. It's a day late. I meant to do it yesterday, but my home computer is a pile and I wasn't about to drive to the office (even if it does only take five minutes)on a weekend for the sake of a GS blog. No offense.

I'm a D.C. area native and thus a Redskins fan. Mondays after victories are wonderful and mornings after beating the Cowboys, they are particularly special.

This, however, is not a piece where as a fan I gloat or feel heady about a Skins team that may top out at eight wins nor is it a place where I stick it to a Cowboys team that played with without two of it's top offensive linemen. If anything, there is only relief and the satisfaction that I get to watch my beloveds play fifteen more times (and maybe one or two more;)) before late January hibernation and that slow, arduous grind into spring.

I'm here to talk about the rivalry.

It's always funny to me when I hear folks bring up their takes on Packers-Vikings, Cowboys-Eagles, Raiders-Chiefs and it's especially funny to me when a new coach or player comes in and dismissively explains that yes, yes, he's heard all about this cowboys and Indians stuff and it's such a classic match up (yadda yadda) but he's had his days playing the Browns as a Bengal - or whatever - and gee whiz, he'll play/coach hard come Cowboy time.

Now before I go any further, don't get me wrong: I saw Antonio Freeman catch that ball on his back in the Monday Night game so many years ago. I saw a supine, stretchered and done-forever Micheal Irvin cheered off the field in Philly. I saw Larry Johnson dive over that pile to beat the Raiders in '05 when Vermeil could have just ordered a field goal and gone into overtime. Lots of nastiness. Lots of comebacks. Lots of high scores. Compelling stuff.

When it comes to Skins and Cowboys, though, there is something a little different. Something bizarre. Something ever present. These teams do each other dirty and when I think of Mr. Coach or Player and remember his dismissive tone in training camp, I wonder what he thinks as his take-a-knee, victorious moment is fumbled away and currently running seventy yards in the other direction. Here are two fine examples of what I'm talking about. There is always this jerking of the chain, always an improbable comeback, always some silly, late Hail Mary to bounce off a foot or helmet and always some Cowboy there to catch it. There is always, ALWAYS somebody who's going to lose in some perverse and disgusting fashion while the other wins in some mathematically improbable way that even God Almighty had never even thought of. Someone is always driving away from the stadium feeling used and dirty - and not the good way - with their panties on the chandelier and nothing but bile to show for the effort. Always.

Last night was no exception: Redskins lead the whole game (off of some whacky, impossible turnover, no less). Redskins later kick field goal. Redskins take points off board do to penalty. Redskins fumble snap on next attempt: get bupkis. Here we go again. Dallas scores. Redskins stall. Dallas drives. Last play. Touchdown!

Holding penalty. No TD. No time. Game over. Get out.

It's always the way with these two.

I've seen some great Packers/Vikings games. Same goes for Pats/Colts.

But I've never seen two teams where time and time again, somebody gets [censored] in disgusting fashion in front of a national audience.

Whether you're a fan, coach or player for either team, you don't win or lose in this rivalry; you simply survive.

Bet you didn't know it, but I used to be a primarily PC gamer.

I'm talking years ago, when Doom II was blowing minds and I was still using my keyboard for flight combat sims like AH-64D Longbow and Dam Busters. Indianapolis 500 consumed hours of my life back then as well. My brother and I were total gearheads and would chart our ultra-secret car set ups on loose leaf paper; adding wing, fiddling with tire combos, adjusting gear ratios... You know, whatever could be done to gain an edge. Shave a tenth. Own house bragging rights to the fastest lap around Indy. It was an amazing game where in mid-lap, one could "call up" - and adjust - individual tire pressures, spring rates, weight balance, camber... everything! Mid lap. On the straights, of course.

Eventually, as competition always mandates, I was forced to buy a cheap joystick. It shaved entire seconds from lap times and ushered in a new era where hanging on with the right and adjusting boost with the left was the norm and if you didn't evolve, you were left in the dust. Records generally lasted mere hours.

I loved the thrill that came from managing so many things at once and also the satisfaction that my own experimentation resulted in a superior set up. Trouncing big bro didn't hurt, either.

Same went for Tie Fighter and my most hardcore of gaming achievements: Completing on hardest difficulty without ever calling for back up - except for the "Osprey" mission, where it's a requirement... it bears mentioning. Feverishly shunting power to shields, then weapons, THEN ENGINES, all while being outnumbered, taking fire and frantically trying to torpedo a capital ship is what this hobby - scratch that, addiction - has always been about for me. Frenetic gameplay where one has to adjust on the fly to avoid utter calamity has always been my thing. I love racing, flying and combat. I'm sure you RTS and RPG guys have your "hooks". The ones above are mine.

So why am I writing about this? Why the involved retrospective?

I mean, come on! You have to admit video games are a monumental time waster, right? I say it to myself every day. There are better things I could be doing.

That's why if I'm going to do it, it has to be the real deal. It has to require involvement and complexity. It has to evoke emotion and tactile awareness. It has to be exceptional. Or at least unique.

We're all blogging and hanging out at Gamespot. We know what the hobby means. We love to talk about the travails of the industry. It's interesting and it's in it's infancy, really.

We're connoisseurs.... A better way to put that silly term "hardcore", I think.

There are a legion of titles I've loved and didn't mention; I'd bend your ear too long.

I have a point in writing all this and I promise I'll get to it, but it's getting late and I have kids to bathe and dogs to walk, so I'll set up what's next by just saying this:

Those Indy 500 guys? They made about a third of the PC games I played back in the day.

They were known as Papyrus.

They made great, GREAT racing games with features the vaunted Gran Turismo has never even touched.

They don't exist anymore...

Valla con queso, tambien.

On second thought, you had it coming.

Jerk.

And that's all I gotta say for now!

4/6/71

Suburban Hospital. Bethesda, Maryland.

I'm 39 today and as my father so graciously pointed out, my 39th year on this planet is actually over and this day ushers in my 40th. Thanks, dad.

This one's a quicky (and a little late) do to my infant son learning to crawl and his refusal to go down without a fight.

Also, it's about 85 degrees 80% humidity (D.C. is a southern town, you know) around here and the ol' blood's still thick from winter, so I've spent a good amount of the evening sprawled belly-down on the kitchen floor and panting kinda like a Siberian Husky in August.

I had a *longer* commentary about our phony of a president donning a White Sox cap a the Nat's game (that's a senator's move, NOT a president's) and then failing - then flailing - to name EVEN ONE PLAYER when asked about his beloved South Side team. I don't know if he was being political and trying not to offend or if he really was that bereft of any real knowledge about his place of origin, but it was difficult to listen to... Even for someone who is admittedly not a fan of the guy.

Takes on the Modern Warfare DLC nonsense, a couple general gaming revelations, finally finishing MGS4, Donavan McNabb being a Redskin, etc. were all on the birthday blog menu, but it's too damned late & too damned hot for me to think, so here are the cliff's notes with an option to expand and expound later:

-People suck. (Not you)

-Video games are fun, but I hate dialogue trees and fetch quests.

-Unreal Tournament III for $1.99 is still not a bargain, because I'm never going to play it.

-Operation Flashpoint is great and if you don't think so, it's your loss.

-MGS3 was better and Otacon's constant boo-hooing was annoying.

-In one day, the Redskins went from the worst starting QB in the NFC East to the best.

-I like beer.

There you go.

Good night.

No attempts at being funny or clever.

It's wonderful holiday with a wonderful meaning.

Enjoy the day.

Happy Saint Patty's Day!

Harp, Guinness and corned beef & cabbage for all!

May Kratos be with you.

Here.

If anybody cares to be wrong, I'd be happy to take arguments forthwith.

I like Scotch whiskey.

I like riding dirt bikes.

I like watching football.

I like going to the beach.

I like anchovies on a pizza.

I like wrestling with my sons.

I like my PS3.

I like my steaks rare.

I like smoking cigars in front of campfires.

I like the Washington Capitals.

I like the Altezza LM edition from Gran Turismo 2.

I like taco night.

I like women.

I like beer.

I like bacon and blue cheese on a hamburger.

I also like plain old ketchup and mustard.

I like catching fish.

I like video games.

I like Dragon Rising.

I like Metal Gear.

I like grown up stuff I can't mention in a gamespot blog.

I like a lot of things you probably like.

I didn't like the Battle Field 2 demo.

I tried and tried, but I just couldn't get into it.

Maybe that means there's something wrong with yours truly, but I don't care.

That ship is going to sail without me.

Have all the fun you want, sniper-monkeys.

This punkin ain't yours to pop.

I like that I have peace with that.