Professional Gaming League Tournament, Day 2.

Ian Camacho speaks like a military Sargent. He means every word.

He has been playing video games since Pong was popular. Now he plays Gears of War with his 18-year-old son.

Camacho is the leader of a troop of roughly 300. Each one wears a black t-shirt with a white "TKS" slogan. TKS is Camacho's online gaming league. I'm told TKS stands for "Too Kool Squad" (although it might be "Too Kewl Squad"). Camacho also helps organize trips to tournaments and gets other parents involved. Right now eight boys are staying at his house in Toronto.

He has a code of conduct for his gamers. He punishes for cheating and disrespect. Players must possess both skill and maturity. Camacho gives advice and helps out when he can. He says he's become a father figure to many of his gamers.

Comacho is a man who usually looks like he is on a mission. Poised is an understatement. And if Ian Comacho really were a Sargent, he would probably be very good at defense.

"Someone made up the story of the psycho loser playing in his bedroom," he scoffs. "If that's the typical gamer, where is he?" He swings his right arm. He scans the room. "If that's the typical gamer, where is he?" he asks again. "He's not here."

And to be honest, he really wasn't.

Because no one reads blogs on weekends, here's something most of you don't care about (but should): video games.

Professional Gaming League Tournament, Day 1.

Quarterback sized blonds with matching haircuts are running the event and the guys who are winning seem way cooler than the ones who are loosing. It’s a lot like high school, except one thing. Everyone is getting along.

In the first hour and a half of the tournament, only five females enter the room. Two appear to be mothers of gamers. Two appear to be girlfriends of gamers. Only one touches a controller.

There are a few odd parents displaced throughout the room. One is sitting at the back by himself, a briefcase under his seat, talking on a cell phone. Another, a mom in heels, watches her son play.

The uniform is a hooded sweatershirt, a ballcap, baggy jeans and skate shoes. The average attendee is probably below the legal drinking age.

A pre-teen on his cell phone summed up the general appeal: “Seriously, you should come. It’s so sick. They’ve got huge TVs they’re giving out huge cans of energy drinks.”