I am a man who lives among women, which is splendid most of the time--unless I want to play video football. "What about some football?" I suggest to my wife. "Maybe," she says, grabbing for the video-game controller. "But first some Bust-A-Move." Bust-A-Move! Oh, accursed game! My wife and daughters want to play only Bust-A-Move-2, a Tetris-like, digital opiate, circa 1996, that entails firing small colored balls into three-of-a-kind formations. When you lose, a chicken squawks in what sounds to me like a mocking tone. I will admit the game has appeal. But compared to football? Please.
"Come on, we can...
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