I admit my contempt was rooted in my own lack of aptitude. Fine motor skills and eye-hand coordination never were my strong suit. I also can’t help but disdain any “activity” that involves sitting for hours on end without at least getting paid for it.

So imagine my surprise to find myself messing around on my son’s PS2. I wouldn’t say I’m converted, but I’m starting to understand the appeal.

The game that caught my fancy is “Tourist Trophy,” a motorcycle racing simulation. I enjoy riding real bikes on real roads (and I’ve learned to accept my considerable limitations), but not so much at this time of year.

I’m amazed at how much fun and realistic motorcycling can be on my TV. The game allows players to choose from a variety of courses, bikes and riding styles, and the response from the controls varies accordingly. Just as in real life, the little 250s and 400s take time to work up speed, while the ZX10 is a snarling demonic wheelie monster of doom that should be available only to qualified experts. Overcooking a curve or locking the brakes results reliably in a crash, but Play Station collisions are never followed by funerals. My virtual riders have survived high-sides, low-sides, endos and even head-on collisions (OK, some of those were on purpose). Alas, I remain all thumbs on a control pad, but I live to ride another day.