Game play is like "Jet Grind Radio," minus the roller skates. Worse still, the game's camera wheels around like Flava Flav after quaffing too much Dom P.

Game play is like "Jet Grind Radio," minus the roller skates. Worse still, the game's camera wheels around like Flava Flav after quaffing too much Dom P.

The baseball action, even sans the MLB license (it belongs to 2K Sports, now), is still the best in the business.

The baseball action, even sans the MLB license (it belongs to 2K Sports, now), is still the best in the business.

Sneaking up on unsuspecting monkeys, cracking them in the head with your stun club, then scooping them up in your net, we confess, is still as much fun as drinking six happy hour-priced banana daiquiris.

The actual gameplay mechanics blow. The's game's targeting and camera system is about as skittish as the Howells' from Gilligan's Island would be at the Vibe Awards.

The actual gameplay mechanics blow. The's game's targeting and camera system is about as skittish as the Howells' from Gilligan's Island would be at the Vibe Awards.

Like this year's Philadelphia Eagles, this game is the quintessential example of a franchise taking a step in the wrong direction. Our advice: Run away.

Like this year's Philadelphia Eagles, this game is the quintessential example of a franchise taking a step in the wrong direction. Our advice: Run away.

Like this year's Philadelphia Eagles, this game is the quintessential example of a franchise taking a step in the wrong direction. Our advice: Run away.

Remember how sparks and hubcaps pingponged everywhere in "Burnout Revenge" and "Midnight Club 3?" Remember how your eyes hurt because you were afraid to blink during races? Sadly, the only thing Rush made us feel was hungry for more beer nuts.

Remember how sparks and hubcaps pingponged everywhere in "Burnout Revenge" and "Midnight Club 3?" Remember how your eyes hurt because you were afraid to blink during races? Sadly, the only thing Rush made us feel was hungry for more beer nuts.

Just like our last girlfriend, the game does a little too much hand-holding for our tastes. And any gamer worth his beans won't be challenged by Sly 3 until the excellent final levels.

The sequel features even more happy, shiny, Hello Kitty!—style idiocy. But peel away the idiocy, and you'll find the same dull, creatively bankrupt ball-rolling mini-game as the original.

Blindly swinging your sword while trying to manipulate your skeleton is like trying to drive a unicycle on a high wire covered with banana peels. And we all know how that brilliant little experiment ended, now don't we?

The game's third-person combat is pretty much D.O.A.—target, shoot, repeat, etc.—but things pick up considerably once you acquire your chainsaw and boomstick (aka 12-gauge shotgun). And things pick up again after you partner up with a wise-cracking midget Deadite.

The game's third-person combat is pretty much D.O.A.—target, shoot, repeat, etc.—but things pick up considerably once you acquire your chainsaw and boomstick (aka 12-gauge shotgun). And things pick up again after you partner up with a wise-cracking midget Deadite.

But battling groups of bad guys gets dangerously dull after an hour or two, especially when the game's unfair A.I., just like our booze-addled fathers, has a tendency to make you pay dearly for even the slightest gaff.

The game's third-person combat is pretty much D.O.A.-target, shoot, repeat, etc.-but things pick up considerably once you acquire your chainsaw and boomstick (aka 12-gauge shotgun). And things pick up again after you partner up with a wise-cracking midget Deadite.

Indeed, the game requires constant shouting into the mike; so you can forget about ever playing this cart on public transporation... unless of course you don't mind being mistaken for an insane person.

Indeed, the game requires constant shouting into the mike; so you can forget about ever playing this cart on public transporation... unless of course you don't mind being mistaken for an insane person.

Indeed, the game requires constant shouting into the mike; so you can forget about ever playing this cart on public transporation... unless of course you don't mind being mistaken for an insane person.

Bury this one six feet under. Even if the Tim Burton aesthetic turns you on, the tepid gameplay makes this disc DOA.

The problem is, this disc probably won't offend anyone other than Hillary Clinton and it won't titillate anybody over the age of 12. Indeed, playing the game is like watching a third grader make farting noises: Both the game and the kid are trying like crazy to be offensive, but all they really want is a little attention.

The problem is, this disc probably won't offend anyone other than Hillary Clinton and it won't titillate anybody over the age of 12. Indeed, playing the game is like watching a third grader make farting noises: Both the game and the kid are trying like crazy to be offensive, but all they really want is a little attention.

The chronic problem that has plagued pinball games since the dawn of time plagues this pinball game: luck, rather than genuine skill, always wins the day. Trust us, jamming on those flippers and hoping for the best gets old fast.

Like a late-night hookup with the town floozy, this game might look promising when you take it home, but trust us, the next morning you're going to wonder why this disc is snuggled up inside your Xbox. Rent.

With eight race tracks in all, and only a couple of game modes to work through, you should be able to burn rubber through this cart in under an hour or two.