Initially the prototype doesn’t work. It’s ugly, boring and crashes often. It takes a lot of effort to find people willing to play and test it. Friends try to avoid it, preferring other games from their collections. It starts working after a few months. It doesn’t crash. You are happy with it, after many weeks it’s finally there – your game works. You start thinking about sending the prototype to a publisher.

Stop. Before you do that, you need to answer a question.

Before you send a prototype to a publisher, answer the question – Is my game the best game in the world? If the answer is “No”, you can throw your prototype away. I’m being serious. If you yourself don’t consider the game to be excellent, outstanding, the best in the world, then what are you counting for? Do you think others will? You don’t love it, so what do you expect from others?

Every time I sat down to work on Stronghold, tinkering with rules, drawing boards, castles, in every moment, every afternoon, there was one thought in my mind: “Here comes Stronghold, the best board game in the world.” I would create new Invader’s actions, or design new Defender’s actions and mutter: “Agricolo, you are about to lose your crown, Stronghold is coming.” Everything I did for the game, I did believing that I was creating the best board game in the world. I would sit awake at night wheeling and dealing how to make it even better, so it could beat Puerto Rico and other top games.

I’m a realist. I know that Stronghold won’t ever reach the BGG charts’ No. 1. I knew it even when I was creating it. But being realistic has nothing to do with it. When you design a game, you clench your teeth and do everything you can to create the best game on this planet. There is no other way. Your game will revolutionise the market, it’ll get you both Spiel des Jahres and DeutscheSpielPreis together and your name will be the synonym of genious. That’s all that matters to you.

And it’s a bit like in a basketball match. When you face Chicago Bulls with Michael Jordan on the pitch, you realistically estimate they’ll win 96-72 or 101-78. But down in the changing room you believe in victory. You’ve trained to the limit, your team is tuned, your coach is good, and so you believe you can win. You have to believe you can defeat everybody. The game starts, you loos two quarters and before the half time it becomes obvious that you’ve failed. But it doesn’t matter. Training, heart on pitch, hope and strength matter.

The game came out and didn’t reach BGG’s No.1, and that was to be expected. But back then, when I was sitting over nights, creating it, preparing it for publication – I believed it was the best board game in the world. I believed that it’s excellent, that people would love it, and that it’s unlike any other released game. Original, interesting, thrilling.

If you’ve finished working on your prototype and plan sending it to a publisher without yourself being able to describe it as original, interesting, thrilling and that it’s the best game in the world and it’s going to BGG’s top 10, then you take that game and bin it.

There are thousands of average games in the world. Publishers expect the best of the best, and won’t settle for less.

First cards for 51st State

I have 30 cards. Each of them has a red watercolour on the top and a blue one on the bottom. Each has a name written in the middle. One is called Guardhouse, another Petrol Station, and another Bunker. I take all thirty of them and go to the board games club in Gliwice.

Asiok is the first one to arrive in the club.

“Come in, let me show you something” I say and take out the cards.

“A new prototype?” he asks

“A brand new one.” I say and give both of us five cards each. “It’s set in the Neuroshima universe, a post-war world with the mood from Mad Max. We’re the leaders of some organization with the aim of expanding our power. Every turn we scan the horizon in search for interesting locations. There are three ways of making contact with a location. You can assault it to immediately get a lot of resources or you can start collaborating and start getting a smaller amount of resources every turn. You can also incorporate it into your micro-country by building a road. In this case you use that location to its full extent. OK?”

“OK.”

Asiok looks at his five cards.

“Ignacy, these cards are blank.” He shows me his cards marked with paint with names in the middle. Like I never saw them before.

„Imagine, that there’s something there. Show me what you’ve got. There, you have a Petrol Station. If you assault it, you’ll get lots of fuel at once. Or collaborate with them and get one fuel every turn. Or build a road there and you can start selling that fuel to me.”

“OK, I’m assaulting the station and take lots of fuel.”

“And I have a Watchtower. I’m making a road connection.”

“What does a Watchtower do?” Asiok asks.

“I have no idea to be honest. Let’s say it defends you from attacks.”

“Can you attack one another?”

“For the time being you can’t. Keep playing. What’s in your hand?”

“I’m placing Barracks, it’ll give me soldiers. I’m making a road connection and it’s now part of my country.”

“OK, I’m contacting a Pub, it’ll give me one hit man every turn.”

Five minutes later we run out of cards. I’m collaborating with a Pub and a Refinery. Asiok has Barracks, has also assaulted a Petrol Station and an Arena. We have no idea what these cards do. It’s irrelevant at this stage. It’s the potential that counts.

„And?” I ask, “Can you imagine how it’s going to look in the future? Would you enjoy such game and its features?”

“If you make it well, there’ll be lots of choices. Players will have plenty of potential moves.”

“Did you have any vivid ideas? Did you feel you were assaulting and signing contracts, and that it has nice atmosphere and makes sense?”

“Yes, there’s a potential here. Bring a new version next week.”

***
I showed the game to a few other people that afternoon. I played with Sheva, Mst, Allchemik and Korzen. The latter, to my amazement, after playing a weird, made up match with me, took those 30 cards off me and played each other, also making up card’s functions as they went.

It was clear to see – 51st State had an idea. When someone asks me what this game is about, I won’t have to say: “Well, it’s a new kind of pick and delivery with a twist…” I won’t have to tell: “51st State is the four hundred and fifteenth take on territory control mechanics, where the players fight for field advantage…” I won’t be embarrassed by saying: “51st State is a game using deck building mechanics known from Dominion, but introduces a little twist…” It’s not a boring, three hundredth variation on a popular theme.

I made a game about which I can say something interesting in two sentences. 51st State is a game, where players look for locations and are able to make contact with each and every one of them in three different ways. You see an Old Radio Station and you invade it and steal their equipment, you start collaborating with them and use it in every turn or you annex it and it becomes exclusively yours, indefinitely.

Two sentences selling the mood of the game. Two sentences telling about mechanics and a multitude of choices and tactics. Two sentences showing that it’s a great piece of tangible storytelling fun.

That day I started believing in the potential of 51st State. I saw a vivid idea that works, that people played a card game where the cards had no rules on them. And yet they could imagine what was happening and enjoyed it. I enjoyed it too. It was a nice, playable idea. It was something new. Not another eurogame with cubes, not another Dominion clone. Something different. Assault a location, collaborate with it or annex it to your territory.

One card – three colourful, strong storytelling outcomes.

I rush into the house, toss my briefcase in the corner and run to my desk to get some sheets of paper. “Daddy, daddy!” Lena’s voice comes from the kitchen. The daughter pat pats through the hallway and grabs hold of my leg. “Merry, take her!” I shout in the kitchen’s direction and pass the kid to the mother. “How about a good afternoon?!” I hear. „I’m not here.” I answer and rush into the kids’ room. „Nina, give me the paint set, quick!” I utter and run into the bathroom to get some water. „Daddy, daddy!” comes from the kitchen. „I’m not here!” I shout back. I pick up the paints, sheets of paper, a brush, water and get to the table. “Ignac!” Merry gets angry and now I’m going to get it. “I’m not here, don’t talk to me.” I answer risking my life and start to cover the paper with paint. Have you seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind? Then you know what’s going on. A nutter covering sheets of paper with drawings. Merry with the kid on her arms stands behind ready to hit me. “Give me three minutes and I’ll say good afternoon. Now I’m not here, please.” I say through my teeth and keep painting in blue, red and grey. One, two, three sheets of paper. They all fill up with notes, drawings, and arrows. “I live with a lunatic.” Merry recaps and goes back to the kitchen. The daughter cries daddy is back, she wants to daddy. Nina brings more sheets of paper. It takes me three minutes to fill up six of them. I spilled everything I had in my head, everything I came up with during a half an hour drive. I didn’t waste a single idea. I managed to note down everything. Phew. I get up relieved. „Daring, I’m back! How’s your day?” I shout in the kitchen’s direction. The daughter runs to me with a squeal. There are six sheets of paper dirty with paint lying on the table. It’s the groundwork for 51st State, a card game that is going to debut in Essen this year…

***

I  sprained my ankle and had to go to the changing room in the middle of the match. It hurts like hell. It’s way past eleven in the night. I hope I won’t finish my evening at emergency. I drink water and patiently wait for the game to finish. My mind goes to Basilica, a game which I’ve recently been testing and helping improve. A solution comes to my head after a short while, one which I’ve been trying to find for days to no avail. I sit in the changing room, it’s almost half past eleven in the night and suddenly all the pieces start falling into place. I have nothing to write it with, I can’t make notes, darn it. I pick up my mobile and write a text message to Merry. “A choice of 3 helpers, a brigadier for two peasants…”. A few minutes pass. An answer comes: „What?!” I might have woken her up. „Write it down on a piece of paper on my desk, please.” A few moments of silence and another text message arrives. “I live with a lunatic.” I don’t deny it. The three helpers patent works and is going to be implemented in the final version of the game. And as far as I know Basilica will be appearing in Essen this year.

Fortunately, the ankle wasn’t that bad either. No going to emergency…

***

Sunday afternoon – a curse for many men, who have to sit through a boring dinner at their in-laws. I have armed myself with All Flesh Must Be Eaten, a roleplaying game devoted entirely to zombies. I read subsequent chapters, I look at the drawings, and the afternoon lazily drags on. Eventually I pick up a notebook and a fountain pen and start to scribble. No big deal. Zombies walking alongside railway tracks, people at some barricades. I write down fine rules, like a zombie moves one field back when hit; zombies in single file don’t step back, or different shots inflict different wounds… The afternoon drags on. I have five pages filled with rules and ideas for cards. A few days later I bring a prototype to work. A few months later the game is released in Poland under the title “Zombies”. It becomes very popular, gets four additional prints, a release in Germany and a sequel – Zombies2. Lazy afternoons can sometimes surprise…

***

I have an incredible job. I make games for the living. I buy shoes for my kids and realize that I have the money, because people buy games that I’ve made. I pay my telephone bill and realize that I have the money, because someone likes my ideas and has purchased Zombies or Stronghold. I have a pork chop with chips for dinner and I can afford it, because I made Witchcraft. I support my family thanks to ideas that come to my head. In the strangest places and times.

I am a lunatic. A bloody happy one.

Tomek reports what’s up in Warsaw: „We also play Boomtown, we play it till we drop. The Folks like it for its interaction. The women win. Same with Manila – there’s always some woman with most cash at the end, and boats with my men can never arrive. Some kind of conspiracy.” A week earlier he wrote: “Aska wins in Adel Verpflichtet every time. I have no idea how she does it.” Two weeks earlier it was my turn to flood his inbox with my sorrow, to report with sadness that I had been crushed by Merry in the Pillars of the Earth.

I have a regular correspondence with Tomek. We comfort each other and feel for each other, sharing our true astonishment for our Beloved Women and their unfair game table practices. Let’s say it aloud – women do not play fair.

When Tomek sits down to play a game, he has a plan. He has an idea for a win, and he follows that idea. You can see it in his every gesture and every word. You can hear it in a triumphant Ha! shouted after an especially successful move. You can see it in the proud way he reaches for his wine glass or how he hits his fist against the knee after an especially successful move.
Asia lacks all these sincere gestures. She smiles innocently and makes us put our guard down. Asia asks for a glass of wine or some tea biscuits. She won’t admit to having a victorious plan, she won’t betray it with any gesture or sign telling that behind those glasses of wine, behind those tea biscuits there is a machine rising. A machine that is about to crush me, Tomek and every other man at the table. It’ll flatten us like a steam roller. Women do not play fair.

As for me, my mouth doesn’t shut as they say. I comment, give advice, tell off and mock. I live the game, I live every placed tile, every played card. I live more with every turn, to the point where every opponent knows what to do, what not to do. I live it so much, that towards the end of the game everyone knows what the person on my left is supposed to do, even the neighbours from the opposite house.
Women pretend that the game doesn’t interest them that much. Merry manages to feed the kids, help both daughters with the homework and even do the washing. The board? Oh, she’ll move two pawns, play a card and goes back to pretending that something else has her attention. The dog needs walking, the canary needs water. Sometimes the deception is of epic proportions. I say deception, because it’s all a smokescreen. This nonchalance of moves, this apparent lack of involvement, it’s all there just to have us put our guard down, to make us not take her seriously. To allow her to stay unnoticed, underestimated, secretly striving for victory.

She always does it, and week after week we put our guard down. There’s admirable mastery in it, and insincerity deserving condemnation. Women do not play fair.

If things don’t go well for Tomek, he literally breaks the board with his forehead. He leans over it so deep, like he wanted to move pawns with his stare, to make them reconsider and get out of the spots that were reserved for him. He raises his hands to the sky imploringly, and frowns back at the pawns. Tomek does not approve of those opponents’ moves that cross him. And he demonstrates this lack of approval to everyone around. Including the neighbour from Nr. 3.

Asia doesn’t wave her hands. She doesn’t hit her knee. She doesn’t eye other players inviting them to share the drama that’s happening on the board. Like all women she calmly accepts what consecutive turns bring, calmly adjusts her plans and step by step gets closer to victory. Of course we, the fair playing men, have no idea such plans exist at all. She doesn’t fret and fume, doesn’t waste strength on rubbing her forehead and doesn’t brood over other players’ sins. Asia, and all other women with her, plays calmly and is carried to victory by her serenity. This is not fair.

I’m not asking you to stop winning. I’ve got enough pride not to beg for mercy or handicap, for letting some of my, or Tomek’s plans succeed once in a while. No, we don’t want your mercy. The only thing I’m asking you for, our Beloved Better Halves, is to at least pretend that you had to make some effort to defeat us. Don’t make it look so easy. I’m asking you, begging even.