by Sam A. Mustafa
In his piece "The History in our Historical Wargames," Bill Haggart has confused the process of writing history with the process of game design. [1] While I am in no position to deny anyone the right to be a philosopher or critic, in this case I would recommend that he try his hand at implementing some of these ideas of his, and he might arrive at a greater appreciation for the decisions that go into good game design and above all, good rulebook writing.
When I write history I am adhering to rules and standards of documentation that are expected in my profession. These are fairly rigorous (some might say arcane), but they exist because there is a single end product that fulfills a specific function. In the case of my professional work the products are articles and books. [2] These will be peer-reviewed in professional journals. Once published, they form part of the historical record.
I take this pretty seriously, as we all take our careers seriously, I hope. My first book has over a thousand footnotes and a bibliography that runs in excess of 30 pages. [3]
When I design a game, I'm designing a toy. It is a toy informed by historical knowledge, but it's still a toy. It will be used by players who will make their own modifications as they see fit. It is not supposed to be perfect or even definitive. It is comprised of hunches, best-guesses, and more compromises than the average marriage. [4] It is not designed to be an historical reference work, consulted by grad students doing research. It is designed to be a plaything, a work that encourages imagination and above all, fun.
Game rules have a completely different objective from historical monographs, and thus demand a different form. Rulebooks must be as brief and concise as possible and must express in as few words as possible, how to do something. The rulebook's job is not to tell you where I learned that Austrian cuirassiers had faster horses than Prussian cuirassiers. [5] The rulebook's job is only to tell you how fast your cuirassiers can move.
Game players do not pick up rulebooks in order to study history. That's what history books are for. Gainers pick up rulebooks in order to learn how to play games. They do not want dozens of footnotes referencing obscure passages in French archival sources. [6] The average gamer doesn't speak French and doesn't have the time or desire to go to Paris to check out these sources for himself; he's going to trust that the designer did his homework. But that's not the point, anyway. The point is: Is this a good game? Does it play well? Does it feel right?
Futhermore, including copious historical references in rulebooks would not, as Bill claims, "avoid a lot of pointless discussions" among gamers who might not understand why a game was designed the way it was. Gamers, like all history buffs, will still argue to their hearts' content, footnotes or no footnotes, based on their opinions and interpretations.
[7]
I hate to be the one to confess this ugly truth, but game designers are not motivated by trying to "do a valuable service for the hobby." We are motivated by creating something that we like, and then offering it for sale. I don't mean to be crass, but I think this point gets forgotten sometimes by those who have never worked with game production: We need to make money. [8] It's that simple: No money, no games. That means every inch on every page is valuable. If I increase the number of pages by 20%, it represents that many more games I need to sell before I break even. [9]
If Bill believes that game designers should begin documenting their sources, I encourage him to become the first to do so, and demonstrate how it is to be done. (He claims, after all, that it is "actually quite easy.") Surely, then, he could show us all how to do it. If he is right, then let the marketplace decide, and I wish him the best.
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