Ask yourself: how much do the staff down at your local video game shop know about you? Is the answer: not much? Not one thing? Thought so.
Don't worry: this isn't magic or mindreading or anything.
When was the last time they recommended a game to you that you'd never heard of – something they thought you'd like because they know what you like? Never?
There was a time, believe it or not, when people had actual relationships with the folks down at their local game shop. Not relationships, but you know, relationships.
You would have recognised each other if you passed in the street and known each other's name. You would have stopped and talked. This was because you were down at that shop not just after school or on your lunch break, but on the weekend too. Holidays? You barely left. Sometimes you'd hang at the counter for hours as you looked at games you couldn't afford and talked about Goldeneye's famous nude mode (that totally exists*). If someone had a girlfriend (almost never) you'd talk about her, too.
Not exactly the Bond nude code we had in mind.
Yes, they were heady days. But they're vanishing.
We all know about the rise of downloadable content, the move to convenience gaming enabled by clever iDevices, other tablets and smartphones, plus the practice of pre-ordering or otherwise buying physical copies of games online. It's all progress, and progress is mainly good.
But, eventually, it has to mean the total decline of the physical game shop. No more bricks and mortar, as they say. And won't there be some things we'll miss?
Yes. Here are some of them.
Having a game on pre-order is the incidental result of paying money for something before it is actually for sale. Yes, you can do that online. It's easy, too. You only have to minimise your Sims 3 window for a second, and it achieves the same practical result as dropping money in store.
But pre-orders used to be bigger picture. They were a rich and productive means: months of hype, weeks of chatting to staff and comparing rumours or notes on the games that went before. Most of all, it meant hassling shop staff (I mean aggressively, obnoxiously hassling them) days before the game dropped to see if it had miraculously arrived early – or to accuse them of hiding it “out back”.
Download your pre-order bonus now!
Ah, the rumours you'd hear. The last few days before release was a revolving disappointment until you finally got the thing in your hand. You'd assess every image on the box, flick through - and perhaps even smell - the instruction manual, watch it boot up on a demo unit. You'd enjoy each other's excitement and conjecture. Then you'd go home to get stuck in.
Today's equivalent? Online communities. Hmm.
A thriving second hand market will always exist online, but the demise of physical shops will mean the same of trade-ins: a monumental suckfest for collectors, people with smaller incomes and those who like to paw through stacks of people's cast-offs looking for rare gems.
There'll also be no place for bargain bins. An online store is no barrier to special deals and marked down stock, but that feeling of rooting through a cylindrical mess of games (often while the shop is festooned with bright SALE ribbons) while always on the cusp of finding exactly what you want without knowing you want it will be a thing of the past.
Wouldn't want to miss out on Fighting Angels. How is that even a thing?
It's the absence of discovery. Discovering a bargain or a traded game that no one else has managed to nab first usually means uncovering a one-off. That model doesn't translate well to the online space: if in a distributor's warehouse somewhere, someone finds one loose copy of a popular title and decides to flog it off on the web, it will be put up in plain sight.
No modern-day archeological buzz there, right?
In the new world, it's going to be up to you to initiate your own lame midnight launches (so long as the title is available by download). You're going to need some Pink Floyd for a sense of the epic, some Red Bull so you don't fall asleep without the bracing midnight air, and, oh yeah – some mates.
That all sounds like a lot of hard work. When stores vanish, there's no more lining up, dressing up, talking to bedraggled game journos who drew the short straw and need your quote (which will be “Awesome!” by the way) and certainly no more camaraderie. The loss will be felt by many.
"It's got a 3D display that I'll permanently have turned off. Woo!"
Perhaps it will mean game companies throw awesome parties instead, inviting people to blacklit locations that remain secret until you get the password via a Twitter hashtag and handing out goodies in shiny branded satchels draped on promo girls dressed like referees.
But probably not.
So what about it? If your local game shop goes tomorrow, will you shed a tear? Or will you read about it on Facebook and get right back online to buy the next game on your list?
Do you have any cool stories from the days the game shop was king? Share them with us.
*Actually, it doesn’t.
Sam Prescott is a freelance gaming journalist based in New Zealand. He writes for IGN as a form of catharsis. Why not follow him on IGN and Twitter? Oh, and come hang with IGN Australia on Facebook while you're at it.
Source : ign[dot]com
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