On Lawns and Lustrous Prismnecks

Doesn't it always seem like definitions become useless as soon as you write them down? That's the thought running through my head right now. Yesterday I was thinking about what tonight's article should be about. I knew I wanted it to be something discussing the games I played this week. I like the idea of having that as a running column. But as I went over the list, I couldn't find anything I really wanted to write about: Monday I played Risk Legacy, but I've already got an article about that in the pipeline; Tuesday I participated in an Android: Netrunner tournament (placed fifth) but my relationship with that game is too complex to write about in so little time; Friday I played Bluff and We Didn't Playtest This: Legacies, but neither struck me as article-worthy and I lost at both and I'm a sore loser.

Then I remembered two games that really did make an impression on me. First was Kubb, a lawn game about throwing sticks to knock over other sticks. The second was Spaceteam, a multiplayer Android and iOS game about shouting technobabble like the bridge crew on Star Trek. Both were really interesting and I felt that I could write something worthwhile about each of them.

 However, writing about the games presented a problem: neither fit the definition of tabletop games that I had set out for myself on Tuesday. Remember, I stated that “A tabletop game is any game with primarily physical components and an emphasis on mental skill.” Uh oh. Only four days had passed and I was already drifting away from the stated goal of this blog. But I decided that rather than ignore the effect these games had on me, I should look at how they fly in the face of my assumptions about tabletop gaming.


Let's look at Kubb first. A traditional Scandinavian game, it feels kind of like bowling. There are two teams, each with a line of wooden blocks in front of them. In the middle of the field is another wooden block, called “The King.” Each team takes turns tossing wooden dowels at the opposing blocks, trying to knock them over. If the opposing team knocks over one of your blocks, you must toss it over to their side and now that's one more block you've got to knock down. Once you've knocked down all of your opponents' blocks, you can then try to hit the King. If you're successful, you win. But if you knock the King down before you're supposed to, you lose.

It's a pretty fun game, good for picnics and barbecues, like Bocci, Horseshoes or Croquet. Also like those other lawn games, it falls closer to the sports side of the “Sports – Tabletop Games – Video Games” scale that I discussed on Tuesday. Physical ability is more important to the game than mental ability is. It was clear that my inability to throw, not my lack of knowledge of where to throw, is what made me suck. The problem is that if everything were been shrunk down by ninety-five percent and put on my dining room table, I wouldn't see it as any different than Hungry Hungry Hippos or Attraction: a tabletop game that just happens to have a strong physical component. In fact, there are minituare versions of the game listed on BoardGameGeek. It seems that only the size and location of the game are what prevented me from immediately classifying it as a tabletop game. I tend to think that the table element to tabletop gaming isn't actually essential, but it seems that if you take a tabletop game, blow it up and put it on the lawn, all of a sudden it feels different. But what about life-sized Chess? That's still definitely a tabletop game. It's tougher than I thought to tease apart what makes these types of games different.

The other game that set me navel-gazing, Spaceteam, is awesome. I had heard about it some time ago and finally got to check it out on Friday. The idea is that every player has an Android or iDevice, which acts like their bridge console on a spaceship. Whenever you enter a new level, each played is given a new console with a set of knobs, switches and buttons named ridiculous things like “Ectoplasmator” or “Lustrous Prismneck” or “Mail.” During the game, each player receives rapid-fire orders indicating what needs to be done with which consoles: “Set Ether Neutralizer to 2!” Thing is, you usually won't be given orders for things you can control and will have to shout out what you're reading to the other players. Because there's serious time pressure, you'll end up desperately screaming to your friends to “Entertain Dignataries!” before your ship blows up.

“Yelling games” is one of my favourite genres, with game like Pit and Anomia being my favourite examples. Just like those games, Spaceteam makes you look ridiculous just by forcing to to raise your voice quickly and uncontrollably. So in my mind, Spaceteam feels more like a tabletop yelling game than a video game. But it doesn't have any physical components, unless you count the hardware it runs on. Furthermore, Spaceteam would be pretty tough to play without a computer running behind the scenes. Space Alert and Space Cadets (jeez guys, come up with some more creative names, why dontcha?) evoke similar feelings, but they don't present the bare bones “yell silly words” experience that Spaceteam does. It's hard to imagine how they could be. For Spaceteam to work, you need the time pressure, the rapid-fire orders, the randomized gibberish – moreover, you need a way to instantly and simultaneously give each player secret information. There's just no way to do it without smartphones and tablets. Yet, the game feels so incredibly attached to physical space. Most of the gameplay, after all, is in the voices of you and your friends. Can you argue that sound waves themselves count as a physical game component? Maybe.

I guess what I'm saying is, definitions are a bit of a boondoggle. Any time you try to pin something as complex as tabletop gaming down and say “This is what you are!” it wriggles away and becomes something else. Maybe it's best to leave it that way and patiently wait to see what it turns into.

Pictures taken from oldtimegames.com and sleepingbeastgames.com, respectively.