Hello, my name is Bob and I have a shameful secret to confess: I am a video game junkie.

Sure, I know there are a good number of you out there who may casually dabble in the virtual world. Maybe you bought a Nintendo Wii after being intrigued by "Good Morning America" showing senior citizens bowling without leaving the comforts of their rest home. Maybe you enjoy the occasional game of Guitar Hero as a means to channel your inner rock star. Or, maybe your 5-year-old son received a Webkins for his birthday and you spend your free time playing their Web-based games, earning points to help furnish a virtual castle for the stuffed animal.

Compared to me, you're a bunch of namby pamby weekend social drinkers and I'm a washed up rummy, laying in the gutter drinking cough syrup.

I can still recall that fateful Christmas 30 odd years ago when Santa put an Atari 2600 under the tree for my sister and me. We spent hours battling each other in a game called Combat. We'd pilot tanks that resembled three rectangles across the TV screen, trying to blow each other to bits. It was great fun and the gateway drug to my addiction.

As games evolved over the years, so did my habit. When I was in school, I could only afford to buy an occasional game. Now I have more disposable income to fund my addiction, but precious little free time to play. Why do I keep buying games when I still have unopened ones at home? It's a compulsion, I suppose, like any other addiction.

And it isn't just playing the games, either. I know far more about the gaming industry than I probably should. I read blogs, Web sites and magazines giving me the inside scoop on the business side of my addiction. I could more readily tell you how many Xbox 360 units were sold in October than I could what I ate for breakfast this morning. Pretty sad, isn't it?

Occasionally, my addiction flashes into a nostalgic mode. Sure, you can score a fresh new game off of most any street corner store, but what if you have a taste for something that wasn't made in this century? I went through just such a craving recently. My mind was fixated a special game from my past that I'd bartered away years ago to feed my illness.

Fortunately, I discovered what must be the final bastion of retro gaming bliss right here in the region. Video Palace, 1811 E. 37th Ave. in Hobart, is a paradise of gaming goods from yesterday and today. In one corner I found one of the same Atari 2600 systems that began my addiction and, in another corner was a PlayStation 3.

I chatted with the lady behind the counter for a bit. Turns out she is the mother of the store owner; a refreshing change from teenage clerks trying to push you into preordering games. As I stood there drooling over the merchandise, she told me they'd been in business more than 20 years, the past seven at that current location.

Even though they didn't have the game I wanted, I left with something else that satiated my appetite. I'm sure I'll be back soon when I need another fix of the good stuff.

The opinions are solely those of the writer. He can be reached at bbirgel@gmail.com.