So you didn’t win the World Cup. So it sucks to host the World Cup and not be a part of it. But you gave it your best shot. It was a good run. Italy was looking good. You shouldn’t feel bad at all. But I do think it’s time to lose the wig.

The Post‘s Mike Musgrove recently interviewed a Linden, Va., man whose obsession is collecting vintage 80’s videogames such as Asteroids, Defender, and Zaxxon. Peter Hirschberg admits his hobby went “exponentially out of control” and is “psychotic.” Still, who wouldn’t want to be his friend? (Musgrove spent five hours playing in his arcade, which is otherwise closed to the public.)

Hirschberg’s collection spans the Golden Age of videogames, “between the pinball era and the advent of Grand Theft Auto.” But he lost interest with the rise of “shooter and fighting games,” ca. 1984. As for setting the mood: “The soundtrack, behind the blips and pings of games including Joust and Q-Bert, is Hirschberg’s Internet radio station, Retro Arcade Radio, which plays songs about video games as well as old-school Atari commercials.” This, I think, would get to me.

Also, no mention of my own personal favorites from that era: Time Pilot, Front Line, and Spy Hunter (I never did get the speedboat). Musgrove doesn’t reveal what he spent five hours playing. He does, however, ask the proverbial question: “What, exactly, is that Dig Dug guy all about?”

Galley Friend B.W. sends along this link to a Washington Post piece on the Marvel-DC divide. It’s pretty good, but the real reason I wanted to blog it is that I’m at 35,000 feet somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean and able to play around work on the web. It’s an age of wonders.

The box is locked, the lights are on, it’s robot fighting time.

I try never to be too show-offy, but I would like to brag that Miss DuPont is a personal friend of mine. Well, there it is.

Anyway, her Socratic discussion of Pirates of the Caribbean 2 is very, very hot. Here’s what you don’t want to know: Matrix: Reloaded.

Warner has done something very right with the Harry Potter series: They’ve cast George Harris as Kingsley Shacklebolt. Because the world is an unjust place, I was certain Morgan Freeman would get the part, since he’s the guy you cast when you need a stately, aristocratic black man. Nothing against Freeman, who’s wonderful, but Harris is a fantastic actor and much better suited for the role.

Galley Brother B.J. on last night’s NBA draft:

Speaking of AI trade rumors, the big theory is that Boston picked up 2 point guards cause they’re planning using 1 in a package for AI. Which point guard would be best for Philly? Telfair, the 5-10 version of Marburry, or Rondo, who has such a bad shot he didn’t even get guarded in college?

Bobcats, keep Jordan the hell away from Morrison unless you want to see your first-round draft pick in a bell tower with a rifle.

Has there ever been anyone who looks as pleased with himself as David Stern? Not even Federline self-satisfied that much.

Why do people keep praising Stern and talking about how tough he is? He’s the players’ union’s bitch (age limit which helps the union, the NBA drug testing policy is laughable, and the Allen Houston rule allows overpaid players to collect 2 pay checks), the NBA has the least integrity of the big three sports (no other sport consistently faces rumors of the playoffs being rigged and griping about the god-awful officiating), the NBA ratings ain’t what they used to be (only the Finals were on network TV), and there’s all the money he’s losing by continuing to finance the WNBA. Really, what has he done, the dress code?

Gitesh Pandya has the opening day numbers for Superman Returns. It did $21M on Wednesday, putting it on track to perform like last year’s War of the Worlds.

I saw Superman this afternoon and can’t really get it up to write anything about it. I’ve been a DC guy since childhood and the movie is a desecration of everything I’ve ever loved about comic books. It’s so cloying and self-conscious and stupid that I don’t even quite know what to say.

Just to take one example, while I understand that Superman himself defies the laws of gravity, is his costume supposed to do so, too? Whenever Supes is landing feet first, his cape hangs demurely at his ankles. It’s kind of ridiculous.

Again, that’s a microscopic point, but it’s a telling one. Superhero movies require such an enormous suspension of disbelief just going in the door that they have to take extra care with all the little details.

Superman also suffers from terrible movie logic at nearly every turn. Events happen and choices are made not because they make sense, but because the story needs to go from Point A to Point B. Kevin Spacey’s Lex Luthor is ridiculous; he’s a low-level thug with neither intelligence nor imagination. But he does have flair. Lots of it. Anthony Lane said that Superman was a quarter inch from camp. I wouldn’t go that far.

(Btw, Luthor’s evil plot is ripped from one of Cobra Commander’s schemes in the Marvel G.I. Joe comic. Just sayin’.)

And all of these complaints leave out the betrayal of the geeks. The Superman we see onscreen in this movie bears no relation to any version of the character we’ve ever seen before. If Superman meant anything to you growing up, you’ll be begging for an appearance by Doomsday before the first reel is done.

I’m a big fan of Bryan Singer. The Usual Supects is pretty wonderful, as are the two X-Men movies and House. And I don’t genuflect before the original Richard Donner Superman–it was a nice movie, but certainly not unsurpassable.

But Superman Returns is so daft that it’s difficult to find the words to describe it. Maybe the most damning thing to be said is this: There are reports that the budget hit $260M, making it one of the most expensive movies ever produced.

You sure don’t see those dollars on the the screen.

Update: Just as another aside, there are some jump cuts during one of the big action sequences when all of a sudden you see, filling the screen, the mug of Richard Branson, who’s playing one of the members of the space shuttle crew. I think he has one line. But it’s an incredibly jarring cameo, and his face pops up on screen two or three times for no apparent reason other than he’s Richard Branson. I wonder if he compensated the studio for this part.