An Elf's Best Friend

Recently, Michael Abbot of Brainy Gamer posted that "Games Aren't Clocks".

The thesis is:

The primary function of a clock is to tell time. We may admire its appearance or the intricacy of its inner-workings, but the moment it ceases to function, its value diminishes for most of us. What good is a clock that can't tell time?

What is the primary function of a video game?

He decries criticism of video games based solely on gameplay:

I say it's time to let go of our preoccupation with gameplay as the primary criterion upon which to evaluate a game's merits. It's time to stop fetishizing mechanics as the defining aspect of game design. Designers must be free to arrange their priorities as they wish - and, increasingly, they are. Critics, too, must be nimble and open-minded enough to consider gameplay as one among many other useful criteria on which to judge a game's quality and aspirations.

I can't say that I can endorse this. More later.

In response, Dennis Scimeca of Punching Snakes retorts, "Games ARE Clocks". After bemoaning the state of terminology for games, and quickly touring the breadth of video games (going from art games like Jason Rohrer's Passage, to The Sims, he concludes:

Where I agree with Abbott absolutely is in our need to view games holistically. Mechanics are not the end-all of appreciating video games, but asking critics to divorce such a defining characteristic from our appraisal of the medium seems untenable to me. The better course of action is to help identify and define new genres and forms for creators to work in which are similar to, but different than, video games, such that said creators have the choice to focus on design aspects they are interested or skilled in, without the burden of also having to deal with the aspects they aren’t.

Yeah, I'm pretty much there. Kate Cox, of Your Critic is in Another Castle, adds to the discussion with the observation that failure (and success) is an important, maybe even essential component of what makes a video game.

At its most basic, a game is something playable. Whether it's got a story or not, no matter the genre, system, or type, a game is something that requires player input. You, the consumer, are in some way integral to this experience. Whether you push one button or speak a word into a microphone, whether you wave your arms at a motion sensor or deliberately hold still when you could act -- a game requires you to contribute. That's the sum total of the agreement on our current definition of "gaming," and really that's quite a low bar. Small wonder, then, that we keep looping through these arguments.
We don't just have a win / lose dichotomy anymore. We do have completion and backlog; we have sandbox and short story. But every title I can think of -- every title I've ever played and a thousand more I haven't -- has either a failure state or a success metric, and some have both. Our metrics aren't necessarily competitive, and they might be imposed by the player rather than intrinsically by the game. There are little successes and big ones, game-ending failures and completely surmountable ones, but every pixellated problem I've ever pounced on has at least one or the other.

I can't really disagree. But the clock metaphor is all wrong. You wind up a clock and then never touch it. Well, you used to. Now you just put the batteries in. Or plug it in. Maybe you adjust the time every once in a while, or you have to set the clock when there's been a power outage, say, from a big hurricane that blew through. Just as a random example.

No, video games aren't clocks. A video game that worked like a clock would be boring. Clocks are useful, but they aren't exactly engaging or exciting, or interactive. There is certainly clock failure. (See above hurricane mention).

No, video games are dogs. And I mean that in a good way. Dogs are always happy to see you. Dogs, at least your dog, is more interested in you than anyone else on the planet, including your spouse. A dog will gaze deep into your eyes with the question, "What are we going to do now?"

I often play fetch with a pit bull named Doughnut. She's adorable and she likes me. I take the chewed up tennis ball and I tease her with it. I might throw it high in the air or against the fence or just a bounce on the ground. I might try to fake her out and she might go for it or not (there's the failure, Kate!). She has her own agenda, but it's always in response to me. (Dougnut might not read this blog, but her master does. Hi Doughnut!)

Yes, that's what's important about a video game - there's space in the game for me. The experience reacts to what I, the player do. Not always in a good, or desired way, but it reacts. When gameplay components seem to players to be afterthoughts, or poorly developed, the message to players is: You don't matter. Your choices and/or skill aren't important. This computer program is a vehicle for me to demonstrate my awesomeness to you, so bow down!

Understandably, players don't respond well to this. How would you like it if your dog suddenly started acting like a cat? And the snootiest, haughtiest cat around, to boot.

(Once upon a time, our neighbors had a cat that was the most dog-like cat I've ever seen. She would fetch and had that same "what are we going to do now?" gaze that dogs do. But I digress.)

Games are not something you watch, they are something you participate in. If that participation seems an afterthought, a little pushback is understandable, maybe even in order.

Why Do I Game?

K. Cox of Your Critic is in Another Castle asks "Why do you Game?" She wants as many responses as possible, so please, hustle over there and give her your comment. She's a fellow member of the Golden Horde, and good people. Go, then come back here, and read my thoughts.

I like solving puzzles. I can't remember ever not liking this. They might have been jigsaw puzzles as a kid, or wire-loop puzzles, or math problems or whatever. I get a charge from getting the answer. It's what's missing when you do the same instance for the twentieth time-there's no puzzle. So that's one reason.

I like crunch. I like being able to grind through some numbers and gain insight by doing so. This is one of the big appeals of Eve Online to me. I did several posts here about the combat math of EQ2 and how it works. This is related to solving puzzles, but not exactly the same thing. Combat isn't a puzzle, but it generates some interesting questions, such as "Which is better, the +4 plate armor, or the +2 plate armor with 3/- damage resistance?"

[If you don't like crunch, skip this paragraph] It turns out that there's a pretty precise answer available to you for the above question (It's DDO oriented, by the way). Making one's armor class worse by -2 means that you are taking 10% more damage on every swing that an enemy swings at you. For that to be better than 3/- damage resistance, the average damage per hit would have to be over 30 points to be of more benefit, because 10% of 30 is 3. At level 8, that just doesn't seem to be the case.

I like computer gaming because I'm an introvert. I like people, but interacting with them uses up energy. An intellectual challenge, time alone with the computer, actually charges me up. (And wipe that smirk off your face, that's not what I'm talking about!). Gaming brings me serenity, it is often very soothing. Although you might not think so if you were to listen to me curse at Alexander the Great after he declares war on me for the fourth time. But really, that's but a moment's ripple. The problems one encounters in the game world are by and large tractable. You can just start a new game, or a new character, after all. Some might call this "escapist". I invite them to closely examine figure 1. I call it therapeutic.

One of the primary reasons that I like tabletop RP so much is that I'm a frustrated actor. I did drama in high school, and was reasonably good at it. I love projecting a character, and making other people laugh because they know the character, and know how vain he is about his hair. Just as a random example.

Which brings me to another reason I game: It's social. I like doing things in teams. And yes, I'm an introvert. No, that isn't comfortable, but it's true. One of the reasons I loved being an enchanter so much in EQ2 is that it was very group focused, and very tactically focused. So there's the social, and the puzzle aspects of it. Enchanters didn't do so much damage themselves, as much as they enabled a group to achieve far, far more, both via mezzing and via buffs.

Finally, I like creativity. Games like Sim City or Civilization (and Eve) appeal to me because there's a lot of freedom and not just one narrow "right answer". There's definitely things that don't work, but obstacles can be taken as inspiration, rather than deterrents. I've always liked taking a group that doesn't have the "ideal" composition and being successful with it. One time Chuman, Conseca, and Toldain took down a boss named in Lavastorm. That was a Paladin, Wizard, and Illusionist in EQ2. We had no idea if it would work, but it did.

Why do you game?