Tuesday was akin to a national holiday, even if it didn’t feel like it as you went through your normal daily routine at work.

But indeed, it was National Madden Day. That it hasn’t yet been declared a holiday is indeed a crime.

Drew Brees is on the cover (knock on wood. Keep knocking. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to stop). And the Saints are well represented on the game. The champs are among the highest rated teams (well, duh), the intro includes some nice voiceover work by Drew Brees, and every time you score in the Superdome you will indeed be serenaded by the Ying Yang Twins’ “Halftime”. Stand Up. Get Crunk.

Madden’s come a really long way from the early 90s, where calling a flag route was often an automatic first down or a halfback counter with “Cowboys HB #22” (Emmitt Smith) was always good for a giant chunk. The game looks and plays much differently. It’s pretty sophisticated … in 1990, you’d have never imagined it would become this detailed.

Heck, Madden himself is no longer in the booth—his drop-ins of “boom”, “pow” and “boy, that’s gotta hurt” have been replaced by the maniacal stylings of Gus Johnson and Cris Collinsworth on the telestrator, often illustrating to you why, indeed, you shouldn’t have thrown into triple coverage.

You can also play online now. This would have blown my mind when I was a kid and lived for this stuff (ahem, you know, way back then. Not anymore. No, no. Look, a diversion!). Anyone, anywhere, anytime, and no reason to play with house rules preventing you from running up a 75-0 score on the computer each game. You actually match wits with another person on demand.

Everyone’s got their favorite Madden stories and style. For me, every season goes about the same. I buy the game intending on taking the internet by storm with my spread offense, and after taking my lumps I’m beaten back into what I do best: 3-yards and a could of dust. Rinse and repeat. And clamp down on D. Boring, effective, and what numerous coaches have built careers on. In ’07, passing it around with Brees got me a 35-34 loss. But ramming Deuce McAllister into the line and using Drew as a more or less a “Cold War, I’ll use him if you make me” nuke yielded 21-17 wins.

Madden has taught me that no sir, I cannot read an NFL defense like Drew Brees.

Or scheme like Sean Payton. Even if I have his plays right in front of me.

Before that, there was the rivalry with my buddy, who would torture me by picking the Steelers and running Antwaan Randle-El at quarterback. I tried everything. That water bug might have been the most dominant virtual athlete I’ve ever encountered.

Then there’s Season/Franchise Mode. On this year’s game, winning the Super Bowl apparently nets you a rambling Gus Johnson monologue and a trip to see President Obama.

Whether you get there with Brees/Colston/Bush and Shockey or Brees/Andre Johnson/Adrian Peterson and Antonio Gates is up to you.

The scenarios that the game presents lend to many late nights, so the next time you see me, I may indeed be a zombie.

But a zombie with an awesome spread offense.

(You can stop knocking now).

(Actually, no. Keep knocking. )

(Don’t stop until February).