Next weekend a group of dedicated, professional and highly skilled men will converge in Ireland for an internationally significant sporting event that we have never seen the likes of.
They are exponents of a sedentary activity in which you can become a global legend in without breaking a sweat. They are modern-day heroes in a male-dominated, almost cult-like arena who speak their own sporting language and have been known to wear odd clothes. Whatever the critics say, I can't wait for the Irish finals of the World Cyber Games to kick off.
In much the same Everestian spirit in which I entered the Irish Monopoly Championship - because it was there - I've also signed up for the cyber games. At one point in my journalistic past I edited a short-lived games-console column called "Game On!", even though I hadn't a clue about games consoles - a fact that was immediately apparent to my seven readers. In the past week, however, I've taken possession of an incredibly up-to-date games yoke and developed a condition I like to call "console claw", which basically means my right index finger curls painfully from prolonged contact with the curved gaming handset. Just one of the hazards of being a cyber-athlete.
At first I was afraid, petrified even. After studying the instruction manual for half an hour I managed to turn the console on. The game I'll be playing in the Ryder, sorry Cyber, Cup next Saturday is Project Gotham Racing 3, which turns out to be a car-racing game. How appropriate that in real life I can't drive.
Help was at hand. The cyber-games people provided a mentor called Kieran, who tests games for a living, and introduced me to Jamie, who runs a gaming centre in Dublin. It's two doors down from where I get my hair done, but I'd never noticed it. Inside, men and boys from all walks of life - besuited business types having virtual shooting matches with locals from the flats - sit staring at graphics on the screens in the surprisingly ungloomy, air-conditioned space. It's a social hub most of us won't have heard of. Jamie says clever women dump their husbands and sons here while they go shopping. It's the ultimate boy's creche.
On my first visit I was brought down the back of the venue, probably so the real gamers couldn't see me and laugh. Four huge plasma screens hang on the wall, with leather sofas for a cosy feel. We started racing, me in my bright yellow Class Koenigsegg CCR, Jamie in a nifty Ferrari.
I could tell from the way Jamie said things like "Um, are you actually competing to win or just for fun?" and went silent when I said "Duh, to win of course" that he wasn't too hopeful of my chances. With some gentle coaching, though, I quickly learned some valuable life skills, such as that it's a good idea to brake as you corner, otherwise you crash into the walls and horrify the spectators, who back away manically, which is fun to watch but not, I'm assured, useful in a tournament.
After a couple of training sessions, I've improved. I don't mean to put the wind up the hard-core gamers I'll be competing with, but let's just say I'm fairly flying around the Nürburgring Formula One circuit. I haven't been so into a game since I played Lemmings practically to death on an ex-boyfriend's trusty Amiga. Now I'm whizzing around tracks in Las Vegas, Tokyo and London like Michael Schumacher's speedier cousin. A condition I like to call "consolitis" has set in.
There is a deadly serious element to the competition. The two winners at the Irish finals get to compete in Italy for the Cyber Games World finals, in which about 70 countries take part. This is the first time it will have an Irish representative. For reasons too complicated to go into in any detail - I was rubbish, basically - I never got to the final of the World Monopoly Championships, so, unless someone invents the Connect Four Olympics, this may be my only chance to represent Ireland on the world stage.
My mentors tell me real gamers eat only pizza and drink only Coca-Cola in training, to keep them going through the night. The gamers I've met appear to be gentle, generous souls, but I fear they may laugh at the stocks of WeightWatchers chocolate bars that I'm hoping will keep me going through the tournament. Still, they've more to lose than I have. No self-respecting gamer wants to be beaten by a woman driver, especially one with a bad case of console claw. Game on.
The Irish final of the World Cyber Games takes place next weekend at the Digital Exchange, part of the Digital Hub, Crane Street, Dublin 8. Spectators are welcome. See www.worldcybergamesireland.com