In a semi-recent Listen UP podcast, an interesting question was raised: why do you play games? It was a question I was shocked to discover I had never really asked myself, despite proclaiming to be obsessed with the subject matter. Even more shocking was the fact that the question got asked at all, coming as it did from a bunch of drunk guys making (admittedly hilarious) dick jokes.
So why do I play games? My immediate reaction was to assume it was due to some primal and indefinable connection I had made with the medium, some unexplainable facet of my being that I could barely glimpse and certainly not touch. Moments later, after I had realised that this answer was a pompous cop-out bunch of wankery, I thought I’d better take a serious stab at answering this great question in the manner it deserved.
After a cup of tea and a bit more thinking, I had the answer. Why do I play games? It’s simple: rewards.
It sounds so shallow and base, I know. It’s my most beloved pastime distilled into a crass, single-word summary. I can't believe I'd never realised it before. Apparently I’m a performing dog, awkwardly hopping on my back legs, desperate to get some treat from my owner. But it’s the truth, and my reasoning is woven from many different strands – some of them substantial, others a little more slender (read: shallow and base).
The most immediate and obvious reward in any (good) game is receiving more new and interesting stuff to look at and listen to. Also, if it applies, you’ll advance the storyline. Many pieces of music are written based on the idea that you should add, modify or remove an element of the song every 4 or 8 bars, otherwise it can all start to sound monotonous. The same goes for games – give the player the same scenery and enemies for four levels in a row, and that’s going to impact on the enjoyment they get out of the experience.
The next kind of reward comes from the feeling of satisfaction you get from solving problems. Whether it comes from finally figuring out that you need to combine the dill pickle with the frayed twine, or from having just cut a bloody swathe through a few dozen creatures of the night, you're rewarded with feeling like you're a bright wee spark. And who doesn't like feeling smart, eh?
Of course, the most blatant and divisive reward comes in the form of Achievement points (spot the non-PS3 owner). I just can't help myself with those little buggers. Sometimes I can even find my enjoyment of a game being somewhat dampened because I know I'm in a spot where I can get an Achievement, and buggered if I'm going any further before I hear that little noise that alerts me to my awesomeness. My boss thinks I'm an idiot for chasing them like this, swearing that he never actively looks at the Achievement list for any game, just so he won't get into the same situation. Oh, and the fact that he's 14,000 points ahead of me doesn't get under my skin. Honest.
All that said, I don’t think my initial response to the question was entirely off the mark, despite reading like bad teenage poetry. Some corner of the grey blob in my head has made a connection with video games, and the inner workings of a human brain are something I’ll probably never come close to understanding. I mean, I know that synapses and neurons are involved, but man, that’s a mad complex bit of biology. So yes, the knee-jerk reason I play games is that my mind just clicks with them.
But maybe the real question is this: why do I continue to play games? It’s because they keep on giving, and I continue to love what they dish up.
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