As a lifelong gamer, I’ve often been in the awkward position of defending my hobby to a roomful of sneering artsy types. Although, to be fair, I do attend a lot of wine and cheese mixers at the New Yorker offices. Nevertheless, it’s an experience we’ve all had to confront. Whether it’s coming from our parents, our local clergymen or the critical voices in our own head, at some point we’ve had to systematically justify the act of spending thousands of hours manipulating an eight-button machine to