Value: What the Hell is That?

What factors go into one’s purchase in a videogame? Perhaps more generally, this question can be applied to any type of entertainment product that one would purchase: dvd purchases, cds. If this holds true, then there is an innumerable amount of journal articles, and well-informed research amongst a plethora of other academic material that regards this subject. But I’m going to tackle this subject anyway.

What makes a game worth purchasing? What makes something a “rental” instead of a “must-buy”? Our dear reader, may already be aware of what makes a title worthy of a purchase to them… However, in talking to Mr. Gregory Allen today, I could not (nor could he) pinpoint what makes a title worth buying to people. Logically, I have decided to chalk up our inability to articulate our thoughts as assured variability in one‘s purchasing decisions. Thus, this article was born.

As a disclaimer, I’m sure that even any resident frat-tastic business major would be able to tell you all about purchasing factors in their Buying Stuff 101 class. However, because I’m ignorant, not willing to do research to back up the ensuing discourse, and overall prideful in my non-broity, I will instead put forth this article of jumbled opinions in what will hopefully and craftily disguise itself as well-thought purchasing theory. Let us go forth:

This guy knows what I'm talkin' about.

The title that directly inspired this discussion with Mr. Allen was the recent Wii release of NBA Jam. Upon discovering that this homage to the mid-1990s had been recently released, I inquired to the good deity, Mr. Allen, about how much he figured the title to be worth. Allen played coy, and said he was unsure of the retail price -- a modest and humble action such as to not make me self-conscious of my merely terrestrial intelligence.

With a quick click or two on sites more established and respected than this here blog, I found that this Wii title would be retailing at the standard new release price of $49.99. “Oh, that’s not worth it.” I remarked. Allen, once again ignoring his omniscient abilities, asked me why this was so. I quickly ruminated (read: immediately made stuff up) about how the game didn’t have enough modes, wasn’t as deep a game as a title I would be willing to pay $50 for, and that it was just ripping off a game from 15 years earlier.

Now whether this holds true for NBA Jam is immaterial as I have no vested interest or bias against that title and it merely served as a jumping off of sorts into the realm of purchasing factors to a consumer. Regardless, all of my baseless attacks on the well-received title [an 82 on metacritic] was hinting at the well-accepted adage that the title in question would not warrant a purchase because I would not play it enough. As I remarked to Sir Gregory Allen (knighted on September, 11th, 2001 -- confusingly lost in the headlines of that day), I had pondered about possibly buying this title as I could envision myself enjoying this game at a party while under the influence. Under the influence of the responsible narcotics such as methamphetamine, heroin, and unadulterated cocaine.

Smack, Crank, and Fun Videogaming: These three all go hand in hand.

So far, I have managed to successfully imply two ideas in this post of mock dissertation: a game’s value is a function of time played and that I merely use drugs on a recreational and social basis -- and nothing more. Surely, I would be inclined to agree with time played as one of the more important factors in determining a game’s worth. But like most well-written scholarly articles, I will now attempt to undermine that sentiment and everything else I had previous established in the remaining lesser half of this post.

People who trade games most usually have not played the title much, if at all or have already beaten or completed the game. Ignoring the well-intentioned and possible third alternative of one trading in their games in order to secure more cash in order to furnish their meth habit to enjoy the next round of NBA Jam at an upcoming party -- both of these cases exemplify the player having no further intention of playing their former titles. Thus, no further time played brings them no value. Yet, most gamers have a collection of games that they keep even after reaching their expectancy of no longer playing said game. One does not trade in all or even most of their games once they have been played to their fullest extent -- whatever that may be at the players’ discretion. What is it that compels a person to hoard a disc that would better serve the consumer by trading it in at its highest market value rather than allowing it to become a playground of dead human skin, plant pollen, and textile fibers? I would argue that the reason that games that make the leap from smack fund to attic afterthought is enjoyment.

Value of a game is a function of enjoyment derived by the consumer. Furthermore, one who enjoys their game is likely to spend a higher amount of time with said title. Thus, the enjoyment model accounts for the apparent truism of more time played equals more value to the consumer. Additionally, the enjoyment school of thought provides an explanation for the exceptions of titles that are rarely played but maximally enjoyed (determined to be worthy of purchase by ‘Joy Theory‘ yet not by “Time is Money Philosophy“). Here are two complementary examples provided by my Nintendo and sports game-laden gaming career:

On the day of Mario Kart’s release, people that use me due to my fervent interest in all things videogames and anti-diabetes [read: friends] visited my residence (which I honorably shared with the celestial Gregor(y) Allen Poe) and proceeded to game for the next 8 hours. Although known for my inability to be joyous and uncanny mastership to become irritable with all persons even remotely affiliated to me, I had fun. This day in itself made the purchase of Mario Kart Wii worthwhile to me even if I had not played the game as much afterwards (admittedly that was not the case).

On the other end of the spectrum, NCAA Football 2004 was probably the game I spent the 2nd or 3rd most playing time in my life -- logging in 180 hours worth of transforming UCLA, Ball State, and Army into inexorable juggernauts. These programs played with the same kind of force and fury that choo-choo trains do when they meet unsuspecting hobos sleeping on railroad tracks. I would argue that this game was beloved to me not because of the amount of time that I poured into the game, but because of the enjoyment it poured into my life. The countless championship seasons, the 4-star recruit of DaMarcus Washington who perplexingly joined my Ball State program coming off a winless season (it was my first off-season with them -- there‘s no way I‘d lead a team to that kind of futility), down to one of the more sincerely cherished moments of my life -- my late Uncle cheering on my 2-loss UCLA team to a near-senseless comeback against the Miami Hurricanes for the National Championship in the Rose Bowl, exacting virtual revenge for us Bruin fans to the real life nightmare of December 5th, 1998.

How many hobos do you think Thomas the Train has viciously steamrolled throughout his choo-choo train career?

If you, dear reader, reject these two counterexamples then perhaps the two dimensions of time-value and enjoyment-value may prove to be inextricable. Maybe one can vouch for other factors. Brand Loyalty is the basis for my Metroid: Other M purchase and I derive value from it although I did not play it as much (and arguably not enjoy it as much) as most of my other $50 titles. Still, I value the title because it a part of my Metroid collection. Others may buy games out of social pressure because they are hollow, insecure people. These adolescents/failures of adults need to buy Medal of Honor or they risk ostracizing their self from their fellow poser compatriots. Value can perhaps also appreciate over time by means of discovering common games that one’s friends have played. This phenomenon of value is usually at its peak when the group blissfully basks in a gluttony of nostalgia and groupthink, adamantly agreeing that the game is tragically underappreciated.

Alas, I have run out of time and will leave that last concluding paragraph woefully underdeveloped. My dues have been paid and I’m off to go have hot wings with a friend. Maybe you’ll hear from me again -- maybe not. But I do leave you with this:

Don’t buy NBA Jam. Drugs are expensive enough.