There are beers. Plenty of them. There is a nice looking red wine which, according to the descriptive summary on the back of the bottle, “holds a late berry essence finished with spring rain.” There are chips and snack-sized sandwiches. There is bourbon, a blistered copper color reflecting the flickering head lamps.

There are many other important things: the bible, an overturned wallet, a list of must-do’s regarding escrow in order to close the house. But, then there is NBA 2K13 in the hand of a smiling, high pitch perfect 5-foot whatever of a Puerto Rican, demanding I pick up the controller and play him “just another round.”

But it’s round five. And I’ve got a long eight hour training in the morning, regarding the inlets of car insurance and discounted rates. I’m 31 years old. I have things to attend to. Bills, etc.

Luke doesn’t rock out to Guitar Hero or Rock Band. He prefers sports-related competition. By Rico Shen [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

“Game on.” The Jet dishes a wide crossover, step back three. “Bam,” the Puerto Rican yells when the ball succumbs to a net full of nylon. “What now.” How about this: Timmy Hardaway stagger-step-back peddle-cross over and a dish pass to Mullin on the wing? Nail in the coffin.

“The movements in this game…god damned,” Puerto says, as if he were gracing the curving deliciousness of Marilyn Monroe. “You’re addicted,” I tug. He smiles, “yep fool, and it’s your fault.” The Dream dribbles baseline, fakes under the hoop and then classically, Olajuwon dips and dinks a finesse half-hook. “Can’t guard that.”

When you have Tom Tolbert as your backup, who can you guard? Bring in Tyrone Hill and Alton Lister, and I’m as good as a group of Brownies tossing buttercups one to the other in a round of wh0-got-the-chocolate.

Dream dropped 34 and 15 after three. I’m frozen. Still. Stuck in the motion of regaining my dominance over the near-rookie. I’m sweating bullets, begging the great Playstation machine a rite of passage, “give me three wins in a row.” I haven’t lost three 2K games in a row ever. Not ever.

I understand the similarities to the game of basketball. I’ve told and retold my friend in room 702, while he pouts over another of my brutal blowouts. “Why can you run a fast break like that and my guys can’t even make a damn layup?” “Because, you didn’t hit the big man trailing,” I reply.

But this time he needn’t a trailer. He’s got the dream in his prime. I got a sporatic Tim Hardaway and a two explosive wing players with little to any defensive viability — Mitch Richmond and Chris Mullins.  Take a sip.

He sips slowly. “Man I like that spiced rum,” he says. “Like vanilla,” I add. He sips again. “Puts a nice buzz on this ending bro,” he smiles. Placing the game on pause he reveals the hard reality: 4:02 to play–Rockets 87, Warriors 75. My leading scorer is Sarunas Marciulionis with 17. Hardaway is 2-9 with 4 assists and an uncharacteristic (for me as a gamer) 8 turnovers. Hakeem: 38 and 18.

Game over. Well, not so fast. All of a sudden Hakeem is tired and Otis Thorpe decides to smash offensive rebounds and clank 2-footed put backs. “The Jet,” becomes “the ’75 Pinto,” and begins put-put-putting on defensive assignments. Shoot, I hit a couple deep threes with a young and surprisingly thin Mario Ellie. Ellie plays on both teams if you remember….mine, the younger winning — 6 to 2. “Blame it on Vernon Maxwell,” Puerto slurs. “Less Maxwell equals more Ellie.” Vernon Maxwell has yet to hit a shot, 0 for 7.

A cross over baseline with Mullins led to a short 9  – foot snap. Mullin’s dropped 20. And I’ve come back to win. “Leave it up to you,”he says,” you down 12 and go on a 20-7 run with less than 4 to play.”

If you are a gamer and have yet to run a game of NBA 2K13, I highly recommend you do. Like the true story above, the game is that realistic. It takes you away into the small details of NBA life, both past and present, with the most affluent and spot on display of personal shooting motions and personalities.

Don’t believe me? Try a game with the 1990-1991 Chicago Bulls and tell me even guys like Craig Hodges don’t play and move exactly like they used to. Then swing the ball to MJ and watch him hit his classic slow roosting fade away.

Turn on the Showtime Lakers and pay attention to Magic’s half hook in the key and his stylistic approaches to passing. Byron Scott has the high leg kick jumps hot and even Kurt Rambis will hustle and make things happen with grit, like he is best known for.

The game is that realistic. And I’m hooked. If you have grown up with a fondness for the miniature aspects of basketball: the fans boos and cheers, coaches pacing on the sidelines, trash talking, all the way down to demanding a foul be called, then you will love NBA 2K13. Just don’t forget to pay those bills. The wife or girlfriend will hate you for that.