Frank

Monday night, gamers across the United States gathered at retail chains for the midnight release Halo 3, one of the most highly anticipated games of all time. And I was there to bear witness.

I love videogames, ever since my grandma gave me the original NES for my fourth birthday. I've played games through my formative years, high school and college and will probably continue to do so until the technology gets too advanced for my primitive, 20th century brain to comprehend or I die of a heart attack as I nail a 900 in Tony Hawk 234.

But even at that level of dedication, I make it a point to avoid midnight releases and other such foolishness. It wasn't until I got a call from my estranged friend EJ, that I decided I would venture out and join him at Gamestop.

When I got to Gamestop on 31st and Iowa there was already a line that ran down the east sidewalk of the strip mall, took a sharp left turn at the Bath and Body Works and spilled out, northbound into the parking lot, covering two echelons of parking spots.

The fact that people were there at all is a testament to the game. It makes sense, in a videogame way, when people camp out for consoles — there is only a finite amount of systems and then it's an average of three months before you see it readily available again —but games are cheap and easy to make and there will always be a steady supply of them. These people, EJ included, were standing in line for a game they had already purchased, just so they could play it six hours earlier than someone who could walk into the store hassle-free the next morning.

I parked and walked up to the line. I immediately spotted EJ and our friend Dennis. They fit in fine with the crowd. EJ was wearing a green T-shirt with an NES cartridge on the front with the words "Blow Me" written underneath it. His black hair was gelled and his paunchy belly was bigger than I had seen it in some time. He was playing with his iPhone. Dennis had his pink Mohawk spiked and was a wearing a vintage Scorpians concert T-shirt. I joined them in line only slightly embarrassed.

The most interesting thing about Halo isn't the game itself. It's visually and aurally appealing, but there are better first-person shooters out there—the Half Life series for one; the recently released Bioshock for another. The most interesting aspect of the Halo series is its broad appeal. Casual gamers pick it up. Hardcore nerds play it. Old people play it. Annoying, surprisingly racist youngsters play it. Trendy hipster misanthropes play it. Beer-swilling frat guys play it. Everyone, even a small number of women play it.

The crowd represented all of these people. Two guys were playing catch with a football. A group of people kicked a soccer ball around. Some of the more reclusive players stood in groups discussing intricate gameplay mechanics in between swigs of Mountain Dew Game Fuel, the new, Halo-themed soft drink. Behind EJ and I were three men in their 40s or 50s talking about Hamster, their gamer buddy in England, and how if anyone asked them, they were here to pick up a copy for their sons. Scores of children too young to buy the game ran around the parking lot while their parents stayed in their SUVs and minivans, seats reclined and sleeping.

Directly in front of the Gamestop store was a Go Army tent with a black Jeep parked halfway beneath it. The hatchback of the Jeep was open and a widescreen TV with two giant subwoofers were exposed, playing Halo 2 multiplayer.

I don't know who exactly the Army was expecting to recruit, but I will say that there were only 15 in attendance that would not have been turned away immediately because they were either too young, too old or too heavy.

At 11:15 p.m. I counted 450 people in line. Ten of which were female.

EJ and I took the time to catch up. He has a baby due in a month or so and now he works in Overland Park. I knew all of this, but it was still good to hear it from him. EJ is nothing if not a showman and he has a knack for turning the most benign happenings into earth-shattering spectacles.

While in line he tried to show off his automatic car starter, but when it didn't work he began to curse and shout about the "stupid fucking mechanics" that installed it. Finally, he ended his tirade by throwing the remote on the ground, shattering it into a dozen tiny pieces.

At 11:50 the line started moving. People began to cheer and the crowd instantly transformed from a sluggish mass into a talkative, living creature with a single purpose. Kids ran out to the parking lot to wake their parents, so they could actually buy the game. The Army packed up and left, knowing the chances of recruiting anyone after they got a hold of the game was impossible.

EJ tried to convince me to buy an Xbox. "Come on man. If you get one, Jake, me, you and Brent can all play together just like the old days," he said.

That's when it dawned on me why EJ was here. He has a retail job. He could get the game on Tuesday at a discount, so why wait in line for three hours on a Monday? For him and a lot of people videogames are more than entertainment, it's an escape. A way to get away from the real world of illegitimate children, community college and 9-to-5 retail jobs and be a part of a community.

Sure there were people there just because they wanted the game, but the turn out was also full of people like EJ or those three older guys behind us that had bonded or at least stayed in touch because of a $50 piece of plastic with a hole in the center. There's something universal about that.

At 1 a.m. EJ, Dennis and I were allowed into the store. EJ got his copy of the game, the ridiculous $130 "Legendary Edition" with display case and scale replica of the Master Chief helmet. I looked at key chains until we left.

When EJ and I got to his car he opened the box and showed me the helmet. We took a few funny pictures with it and then we got in our cars and left. Who knows when I'll see him again.