The Fog of War – the random elements
in games, whether simulating the variable performance of troops in
wargaming battles, pieces on the board, or adversaries in roleplaying
games – can foil the best strategies, constructed decks, assembled
forces, or crafted character. The degree to which such uncertainties
reign over the gaming table can seriously affect one’s play
experience. It’s one thing to lose to a formidable opponent, but
another to lose to the capricious nature of the dice.
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| Brave British troops doomed in the face of hordes of Zulus and poor die rolls. |
If kind readers would pardon some
(hopefully) neutral political analogy, regrettably on my mind thanks
to the recent mid-term elections... Take political candidates; they
hedge their bets against the uncertainties of the minority of the
electorate that actually gets out to vote. Some run in the right
gerrymandered district (or carpet-bag their way there) and garner
enough shadow-corporate sponsorship to flood the airwaves and ether
with ads claiming their opponents are inspired by the devil and eat
babies for breakfast (not really quite that bad, but they might as
well say that to play on voters’ fears and emotions). Unlike
gamers, politicians can draw upon the unlimited resources of
contributions from near-anonymous special-interest donors instead of
a limited pool of game elements intentionally balanced for some
semblance of fair gameplay. (And no, I’m not suggesting politics
should be reformed on a gameplay model.)
Even seemingly well-balanced games can
subject players to the random whims of chance, no matter how much
players try hedging their bets against failure. I’ve tried crafting
various squadrons for the X-wing Miniatures Game, assembling
combinations of elements like pilot abilities, starship stats, and
different upgrades to fit within the 100-point tournament guideline
in what I think might prove a winning combination. On paper they
might prove quite powerful; but when I’m rolling poorly and the
opponent consistently rolls well, I have little chance of success.
Last year in a The Sword and the Flame convention game I
lost most of four companies of British soldiers against one “horn”
of a Zulu force because I kept rolling poorly: I scored minimal
ranged hits, got massacred in close combat, and failed several key
morale checks (nothing encourages dice to roll poorly than having the
referee say, “Roll anything but a six!” Guess what that six sider
is rolling...). No wonder there’s been a movement of “dice
shaming” in gaming culture to highlight dice that consistently roll
poorly or fail at crucial moments (all feeding the adventure gaming
hobby’s dice fetishism). Even games with carefully crafted forces
like Magic: The Gathering – with no random dice elements –
subject players to the uncertainty of when they draw certain cards or
combinations to deploy against opponents. Players understandably
become frustrated when their best preparations fall victim to the
capricious nature of the dice or the luck of the draw.
Games by their very nature represent a
contest between players; so naturally one expects to encounter some
feelings of frustration while trying to win against adversaries. When
games offer players a means to hedge their bets against the whims of
chance they offer a sometimes false sense of control over their
gaming fate. A good game combines the uncertain elements of chance, a
player’s ability to plan broad strategies, and the opportunity to
react as tactical opportunities develop through gameplay. Certainly
gamers like a bit of tension in their games – it’s no fun when
you’re certain you’ll always win or when you know you’ve
already lost but the game’s still not over – but there’s a fine
line between tension and futile frustration. It proves a good test of
players’ sportsmanship. I’ve played in games where, through poor
luck of the dice, I knew I was beaten and was just playing out turns
until the game ended. I’ve felt unworthy winning games by sheer
luck of the dice, especially when my opponent fielded formidable
forces or played exceptionally well (and was, himself, foiled by poor
dice rolls).
I’ve been rebuked before for framing
issues in terms of a “spectrum,” but this aspect of the Fog of
War element actually falls along a spectrum. At one end stand games
dominated by random elements such as War (if one could call that a
“game,” a subject I’ve discussed before), Yatzee,
Monopoly, even such Euro-game fare as Carcassonne;
these often rely on providing a random situation or set of elements
players must try to use to their advantage. At the other end stand
games with no randomized elements like chess, Diplomacy, and
Stratego where the Fog of War concept exists as uncertainty
wholly generated by the players in terms of deployment and strategy,
with clear-cut conflict resolution. (I’m sure such generalizations
will spawn some contentious if civilized debate; I don’t pretend to
approach issues presented in this blog in a comprehensively scholarly
manner nor with particularly exacting attention to semantics in the
diverse and often subjective English language.) Many games fall
somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, offering the illusion that
players can somehow exert control over their success by crafting a
good deck, squadron, force, character, or strategy that’s still
subject to random elements like dice or the luck of the draw.
Is on end of the spectrum better than
the other? Of course not. Each extreme challenges players in
different ways. At one end players receive randomized elements they
must use to their best advantage in the situation. In the other they
carefully arrange their resources and maneuver them knowing their
strong points. Those in between can offer a false sense of control by
juxtaposing random elements against prepared strategies. But good
games maintain the tension until the very end, balancing uncertainty
over success or failure.
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