A Bad Start

Have you ever played a game where it felt like you had no chance of winning? Have you ever played one that gave you that feeling on the first turn? I have, and it's not fun.

Games like Puerto Rico and Settlers of Catan heavily punish players for bad choices or unlucky draws at the beginning of the game. In Puerto Rico, getting saddled with an unfavourable patch of farmland on the first turn will set you so far back that you may as well stop playing. In Settlers of Catan, if you place your settlements on the wrong numbers during setup you'll spend the entire game watching everyone else surge ahead while you wait.

These games are praised so highly, and yet they seem so unforgiving. Now, I will grant you that for years I enjoyed playing Settlers of Catan regularly, and I will still play it every now and again. However, the few times that I have played Puerto Rico, I had a miserable time. I have to wonder why I can find enjoyment in one of these games when they both can be such a punishing experience. It may be that my personal history with Settlers of Catan has granted my a bias: I learned how to play Settlers of Catan with my friends in high school, and I have good memories of playing it with them. Though my bias may be more shallow: I typically did well in games of Settlers of Catan, so I was infrequently the player lagging behind waiting for the dice to roll in my favour. Still, I feel that my ability to enjoy Settlers of Catan and not Puerto Rico may have more to do with the way the games play.

In an essay called “Stealing the Fun” Dave Howell suggests that “a game is not fun unless a player believes they have some reasonable chance to win until the moment the game ends” (p.84, The Kobold's Guide to Board Game Design. Open Design, 2011. ed. Mike Selinker). He notes that it is the mere belief that is important, not the probability. It can be extremely unlikely that the player in last place will win, but if that player *believes* it can reasonably happen, it is enough for them to have fun.

My experience would suggest that Howell is on to something; when I have been woefully behind in a game like Settlers of Catan, I know that the dice could eventually roll in my favour, and if it happens enough I could recover from a bad start. I've had the same experience with other dice-based games, like Blood Bowl and Warhammer. I have seen enough 1s rolled in a row (and enough 6s) to know that these statistical outliers do happen. If all I need to get back into a game is for someone to roll a 12 three turns in a row, I can hold on hope until the dice stop moving. It's very unlikely, buy it is reasonable!

Puerto Rico doesn't have that random element, though. The only randomness is drawing farm tiles to determine what resources you can collect, and it's that precise element that can make or break a game so early. Unlike Settlers of Catan, where each turn the game introduces a random element, the overall deterministic nature of Puerto Rico removes that 'reasonable chance' that Howell mentioned. It arguably makes the game more strategic, but I just find it unpleasant. Don't get me wrong, I like games with heavy strategy that require careful planning and forethought, but I like them best when you can make a mistake and still find a way to dig yourself out of the hole you have made for yourself. A single error early on should not completely ruin your chances at victory in any game.

My girlfriend dislikes strategy games, and it seems it is for this same reason; she does not feel that she ever has a chance at winning. I think she's wrong (she has the ability to win!), but it's this belief that keeps her from enjoying those games. It is important to note that actually winning doesn't factor in here; feeling that you can win is enough to enjoy the game. Actually winning is just a bonus.

13/13

Teaching the Game

I'm usually the person in my gaming group who teaches new games to everyone else. This is often because I own the game and have read through the rules already. I don't mind showing new players the rules of a game, but it does come with some unexpected challenges.

Most of the challenges with teaching a new game spring from the details: how in depth should I be when explaining a game? This obviously varies with the complexity of the game, but it also varies greatly based on the players. Some people I play with are happy to learn the structure of a turn and the victory conditions before diving into the game, learning the rest as we play the game. Some people, though, really don't feel comfortable playing a game unless they know how everything works.

The trouble is that games can get complicated, and explaining everything all at once can be both daunting and counterproductive. If I spend too long explaining every rule, players tune me out; they might not mean to, but they'll get bored with the long explanation and stop paying attention. Moreover, if I swamp players with information they may forget the basics and I run the risk of just confusing them. Of course, not giving enough information beforehand can also be problematic. Players get angry if you surprise them mid-game with a rule that hinders them, for instance. That said, I've often found that giving a brief overview of potential hazards that may come up is better than going into the specifics of what bad things will happen; a warning that certain actions carry risks is usually enough.

Oddly enough, the most difficult question I have to face when teaching a game to new players is not how specific I should be with my explanations, but whether or not I should try to win the game. I'll admit, I don't usually like losing, but more importantly, I don't want to feel like I've be patronizing to my friends; if I just let them win, their victory will be hollow. By contrast, they might not ever want to play again if I beat them. Usually I'm safe to try and win, but I it's always important not to be ruthless about it. Playing a new game should be fun regardless of who wins, which means that I can try to win, but I can't do so at the expense of another player's good time. This usually means I choose less optimal choices on my turn, which can be awkward for me, but I know it's worth it. Ultimately, a player's first game needs to be fun and memorable or they won't want to go back to it.

I've found that one of the hardest games to teach has been, surprisingly, one of the simplest to learn: Tsuro. Teaching the rules is very simple: Place a tile next to your piece and move your piece along the lines. If you fall off the board you are eliminated. The last piece on the board wins. Simple, right? The difficulty is not in teaching the rules, but rather in deciding whether or not to win. I've often found myself in a situation that would allow me to eliminate other players early on, but should I take them out? It's taken me several game nights to figure out a good balance with that game, choosing when to eliminate players. I found the best method to be to keep players in the game until right near the end of the game; at that late stage, if the opportunity presented itself I could eliminate another player, but only if the game was about to end anyway. This method gave new players a good taste for the game, and they almost always wanted to play a second round. Interestingly enough, keeping other players in the game longer is actually more fun for me than eliminating them early, which is a bonus.

Maybe I try too hard to win. And maybe I give too much information. I think I need to learn how to just have fun, and I know I need to learn to talk less. If I can learn to be more concise and to stick to the core rules, not only will it improve my ability to teach new games to people, but it will also improve my ability to write rulebooks for my own games in the future.

13/13

Good Game, Well Played

I stayed up way too late playing Dominion Online last night. I was just going to take a quick look at it, since it's free to play, but I ended up in a vicious loop; if I lost a game, I'd feel the need to try again, but if I won, I'd be pleased with how I played and would want to try and repeat my performance. While I lost far more games than I won (I was impressed with the AI, actually), it nevertheless ate up my entire night.

So either Dominion is a highly addictive game, or I'm just really stubborn. Maybe I have that competitive urge that supposedly all male gamers have? It's certainly possible. I know that when gaming with my friends I really focus on the game and I almost always play to win. I'll certainly help new players when they want advice, and I'm usually rather open about my strategies, too. I mean, really, if I can help my friends get better at a game that I like to play, they'll be more likely to beat me, and thus will be more inclined to play again. Nobody likes to get trounced at a game, especially when they feel the winner had an unfair advantage, like experience. I can relate to this; I know that I can get a bit sullen when I lose, though I like to think I'm fairly gracious in defeat. Well, most of the time. At least, when I feel the game was a close one. Let's face it, when losing feels like a foregone conclusion an hour before you finish the game, I think everyone is entitled to be a bit moody when the final scores are added up.

Still, it's a bit funny; outside of gaming, I love seeing my friends do well. Their well being brings me great happiness, and I'm thrilled when they succeed. So isn't that always the case when I'm gaming with them? Is it because I know that there are no consequences if my friends lose? Or is gaming the one medium where I can vent my frustrations and indulge my repressed selfishness? (As a side note, this dichotomy may be why I like cooperative games so much; I can be competitive and try to win, but I also get to see my friends do well and succeed.)

At the end of it all, I'm not sure I'm the right person to answer any of these questions. For one thing, I'm still pretty tired from my night of constant Dominion. (Oh dear... Out of context that sounds really bad!) Still, I do know that when things are going well for me in a game, I get excited and really pleased. Seeing a deck that I've built hum along, even if it's just for a turn. Or seeing everything fall into place in a worker placement game. Or even correctly divining someone's play before they make it. These are all thoroughly satisfying to me, as is winning a close game. Mind you, I also get a similar satisfaction from the sound of rolling dice or the feel of shuffling a deck of cards. It might just be a mild obsession with order and things falling into place. I honestly don't know.

I think what I can take away from all of this is that I should be able to find a similar satisfaction in seeing my friends win at a game. And, thinking back, there have been times when that has been the case. There are games that I've simply enjoyed playing, and the outcome hasn't really been an issue for me. Win or lose, I did something fun during the game, and even if the scoreboard didn't reflect it in the end, I know it was a good game. By contrast, games where I've just stomped my opponent have never felt as satisfying; sure, I won, but there was no challenge, no uncertainly. I just got lucky, and my opponent didn't. It almost doesn't feel fair.

As for those nail biters, where it could go anybody's way, where everyone played well and can feel proud of what they did? Those games are always the best, no matter who wins.

13/13