My, my. Haven't we evolved? Who would have imagined participating in a traditional outdoor sporting activity, like tennis, without being required to subject oneself to the discomforting breezes, pesky sunshine, and bothersome birdsong of the actual outdoors? Or who would have imagined literally going through the motions of bowling without experiencing all the potential discomfort associated with hurling the awful, muscle-straining weight of an actual bowling ball?

Perhaps you've seen the ads: a multicultural group of twenty-somethings, clothes and living space oozing self-satisfied hipness and faces practically bursting with rapture as their "racquet" hands—empty but for a white implement the size of a TV remote—swat at the sterile air. They, of course, are playing virtual tennis.

Staring intently at the TV in front of him and being careful not to spill his wine spritzer, one hipster, with a subtle wrist flick, sends his TV-screen stand-in sprinting the full length of the baseline to launch a screaming cross-court forehand winner. He of the on-the-money wrist flick takes full athletic credit, of course, pumping his fist in celebration of the wicked, computer-animated shot as his indefatigable other self—no doubt taking illegal supplements in the form of RAM—quickly sets up for the next point. Yippee. Welcome to the Wii generation. No effort required....

This reminds me of a quote from Max Renn, a cable TV operator played by James Woods in the 1983 cult film Videodrome, which contemplated the blurring of the line between video entertainment and reality. "Why do it for real? It's easier and safer to fake it."

But it's not risk-free—not at all. The laundry list of insidious Wii-related maladies is enough to make even a hardened virtual Wimbledon crowd avert their virtual eyes in horror and seek sanctuary in the nearest virtual corporate tent. Among the disclaimers on the "Warnings" page, we learn that Wii players risk crippling physical injuries one normally associates with tennis, like...ahem...carpal tunnel syndrome and varying degrees of...ahem...eyestrain. The game producers also warn of downright spooky impairments, like "loss of awareness," "disorientation," and "convulsions."

Ah, the dirty little secrets on the "Warnings" page: That's where one will find the true state of the Wii generation, its underbelly, far different from the carefully crafted images Madison Avenue conjures. On the "Warnings" page, we discover that for each well-adjusted gamer in an ad, there are potentially thousands of unwashed, pasty-skinned ghouls with a distant look in their blood-red eyes running into walls, babbling nonsense, and giggling at their eviction notices.

And those are the lucky ones. We've no choice but to conclude from the "Warnings" page that a less-fortunate percentage of the hardcore Wii "playaz" can count on ending their marathon sessions convulsing in pools of their own filth, mentally decimated.

Nothing as benign as tennis elbow here, no sirree. We're talking absolute physical and psychological meltdown, an outcome as disturbing as it is predictable.

In fact, it's where we're all heading, to one extent or another. Technological evolution is making us ever more sedentary and our experiences ever more vicarious. The video gaming industry takes it to the extreme, of course, but many of us—in our jobs and our recreation—keep ourselves contained within familiar walls, pecking at computer keyboards or gripping remotes for hours on end, either communicating to an unseen world via email or sending our minds to gallivant in one of the limitless alternative realities available to us through the Internet, TV, or video games.

The evolution of our bodies and brains can't possible keep pace: New versions of human biology aren't released every year or even every five thousand years. Even the Wii generation is essentially just a differently dressed version of the papyrus generation. So our primitive bodies and minds rebel against the onslaught, spawning an array of sometimes bothersome and sometimes alarming physical and psychological ailments. Sometimes our eyes hurt. Sometimes we convulse!

I'm thinking that might be a signal for all of us—not just the gamers of the world—to take a step back and ease off the gas pedal for awhile. Maybe we should all try swinging a real tennis racquet in the sunshine this week. Maybe we should take a chance on whiffing on the ball entirely. It might get embarrassing, and it might be a game your virtual self wouldn't even recognize, but at least the only convulsions you'll see will be those of your opponent...as he doubles over laughing.

"Your reality is already HALF hallucination. If you're not careful, it will become TOTAL hallucination. You'll have to learn to live in a very strange new world."

—Brian O'Blivion, Videodrome