The Psychology of Video Games

You probably know about Duke Nuke Forever, the sequel to the trailblazing blockbuster Duke Nukem 3D that became the laughing stock of the industry on account of how it spent 12 years –TWELVE YEARS– in development and burned through tens of millions of dollars before being canceled. Wired magazine recently published a fascinating analysis of what happened here, and it suggests at least one psychology-related reason (among others) for the game’s prolonged agony.

Why did Duke Nukem Forever stay in production for so long? More to the point, why did some employees at the game’s developers, 3DRealms, stay committed to the project for so long in the face of unlikely payoffs and irreparable harm to their careers? Would you have?

3D Realms. Not pictured: Duke Nukem Forever.

Before we answer, let me present you with another question: would you pay $10 for a $1 bill? No? Under the right conditions you might, and many of the folks at 3D Realms did basically that because of a psychological phenomenon called “escalation of commitment.”

Consider an auction¹ where a $1 bill is up for bid and the rules are (and this is the important part) that everyone who bids has to cough up their last bid whether they win or lose. Even when this is clearly explained to a room full of MBA students who should know better, someone always springs the trap by throwing out a bid of 1 penny in hopes of an easy $.99 profit.

Invariably someone else jumps on the bandwagon and outbids the first person, raising the stakes to two cents and a $.98 profit. But now the first person must either bid three cents or let the other person win and lose his initial 1 cent bid.

But people really hate losing money, so the second bidder is pretty likely to raise his bid to 4 cents, and the spiral keeps spinning until the break-even point of $1.00. Now one sheep-faced bidder has to decide whether or not to actually keep raising the bid and face a 1 cent loss even if he wins. Much of the time he will actually do it, presenting his opponent with basically the same conundrum.

Researchers running this experiment with groups of otherwise rational adults and had final prices go up to ten or even twenty dollars for a one dollar bill.² The reason is that bidders escalate their commitment to the auction by citing prior investments as justification for future ones, even though those costs are gone, immutable, and completely out of the picture.³ Think of it this way: should you invest even one more cent on an auction that will only cause you to lose money even if you “win?” Or is it more rational to just cut your losses and bow out?

This is basically what many folks at 3D Realms did with Duke Nukem Forever.⁴ According to that Wired article, the developers constantly threw money at the game, citing past expenses as the reason for continuing to invest money even when it was apparent that the game was doomed. And since they were self-funding the game, it wasn’t until the very end that they had a publisher standing over them and forcing them to end the cycle and either kill the game or polish it off for release.

This kind of thing happens in finance and business all the time. They probably wouldn’t have a name for it if it didn’t, though I kind of like the idea of calling it “Duke Nukem’s Disease.” But escalation of commitment doesn’t just happen with money. In fact, this quote from the Wired article suggests that this kind of dilemma was very much on the minds of 3D Realms employees and caused many of them to stick around longer than was good for their careers:

For longtime employees, the incessant delays posed two big problems. One was professional cred: Duke Nukem Forever was the only modern 3-D game some of them had worked on; if it didn’t ship soon, they’d have spent nearly a decade with nothing to show for it.

As a result of this, I imagine that a lot of them felt that the time they had invested up to that point was reason enough for them to persist, even if they felt their careers were taking a big hit. So it was back to escalating commitment and chewing bubblegum …until they ran out of gum.

1. first conceived of by Martin Shubik in Shubik, M. (1971). The Dollar Auction game: a paradox in noncooperative behavior and escalation. Journal of Conflict Resolution 15, 109–111. [↩]
2. For an illustration of auction in comic form, see Dinosaur Comics, 10/1/09. [↩]
3. Sound familiar? You may be thinking of the closely related habit of honoring sunk costs, which helps explain why retailers try to get you to pre-order games. [↩]
4. among other things, for sure [↩]

How are loot-based games like World of Warcraft, Torchlight, and Borderlands related to slot machines, chemical bliss, and evolution? Read on for the answer.

During my early days with World of Warcraft (WoW) I remember tromping through Westfall killing crowds of Defias bandits when I was shocked by a loot drop: a rare pair of “blue” gloves that perfectly fit my class’s needs at the time. For those of you who don’t know, killing enemies in WoW gives you a random chance at one or more pieces armor, weapons, or other items called “loot” in WoW parlance. These are stratified according their text’s color: gray, white, green, blue, purple, and orange in order of increasing quality. For a level 20-something character to find a blue item on a random enemy was actually very rare, and I experienced a huge rush from it. But more importantly, with that came an acute desire to keep playing the game and to murder more Defias bandits.

Other games do this, too. Borderlands gives you random guns from drops or chests, which compels us to check EVERY container, vending machine, and item dropped by felled enemies. Torchlight essentially uses the WoW system, and you can bet your thumbs that the upcoming Diablo III will push it even farther. But why are gamers so susceptible to the loot hunting addiction found in these games? Why is this gameplay mechanic so incredibly effective in getting us to keep playing?

Which of these do you think would create a bigger dopamine neuron freakout if it dropped in front of you?

To answer that question, let’s consider slot machines and a type of brain cell called “dopamine neurons.” The latter are the bits of your gray matter responsible for monitoring levels of the pleasure-inducing chemical dopamine in order to regulate behavior and figure out how to get more of a good thing. It’s these cells that light up when something nice happens in your life (say a delicious Hot Pocket or a fuzzy puppy belly) and triggers a gush of the neurotransmitter dopamine. But what’s more, dopamine neurons play the role of trying to predict the rush from nice things, and they may fire before you actually encounter them. Given a couple of chances, they’ll learn to light up when you hear the microwave timer beep that precedes your delicious Hot Pocket. This is a pretty useful thing as far as evolutionary advantages go, since it clues you in ahead of time that something good is in the vicinity.

But this is only part of what makes loot-based games work so well. The real key is that while dopamine neurons fire once your brain has figured out how to predict an event, they really go nuts when an unexpected, unpredicted gush of dopamine shows up, giving you an even bigger rush. It’s like DUDE! UNEXPECTED HOT POCKET! Again, I’m guessing that this is an evolutionary advantage that causes us to obsess over unexpected pleasures and try to predict them so that we can get more of them.

This is either dopamine or a map for the optimal arrangement for dps and off-tanks in some raid encounter.

But we can’t predict the inherently unpredictable. This is how slot machines get you. Your dopamine neurons are trying really hard to learn what precedes a jackpot in terms of what bells, you hear, pictures you see, or even which cocktail waitress last walked by. But in reality, it’s utterly random and by definition can’t be predicted. More rational parts of your brain may understand this, but not the dopamine neurons. They’re stymied, but that doesn’t stop them from flaring up and saying “HEY! THERE’S SOMETHING HERE! KEEP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING UNTIL WE FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE IT HAPPEN AGAIN!” So you keep playing.¹

So, getting back to World of Warcraft, just replace “slot machine jackpot” with “phat loot drop” and you should have a pretty good idea why the loot game mechanic is so successful. Like all the best motivators, it uses a core concept of psychology as a lever to keep you playing and paying. But like with the slot machines, you DO have the ability to understand what’s happening and put a stop to it.

On the other hand, those blue gloves were pretty sweet on my Hunter. Maybe if I had killed a few more Defias bandits I could have gotten the matching leggings…

1. Lehrer, J. (2009). How We Decide. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. [↩]

What do basketball free throws, Modern Warfare 2, and murdering 11 people in a row have in common? Read on to find out.

In psychology, there’s a phenomenon called “the hot hand fallacy” (a.k.a., “the gambler’s fallacy” or “the hot streak fallacy” or “the clustering illusion”). The seminal work on this kink in the human mind was done by thee guys named Gilovich, Vallone, and Tversky and published in a 1985 edition of the journal Cognitive Psychology.¹ These fellows weren’t much into online shooters, but they had noticed something about basketball. Specifically, a belief among fans and players in the “hot hand” phenomenon, which dictates that a player’s success in sinking one basket is determined in part by his making the previous shot –success feeds on success and creates a type of momentum or streak.

The problem, though, was that when the researchers studied records of the Boston Celtics and Philadelphia ’76ers making shots, they found that the idea of a hot hand was a fallacy. In fact, if anything, a player’s success on a previous shot slightly predicted the failure of a subsequent shot, perhaps because overconfident players were taking riskier chances. So the idea of a hot hand was all in your hot head.

What does this have to do with video games without “NBA” in the title? Enter Modern Warfare 2 (MW2), Infinity Ward’s military first person shooter. The multiplayer side of MW2 has a feature called “kill streaks” that, as far as a player motivation tool goes, is fairly reminiscent of the hot hand phenomenon. In short, killing a certain number of opponents in a row without dying yourself rewards you with powerful perks like dropping supply crates, calling in heavily armed gunships, or at the extreme end bringing down a nuclear strike to cut the match off at the knees.

This guy is just one kill away from his killstreak bonus. Unfortunately the guy behind him beat him to it.

To be sure, some players get lots of kill streaks because they are tiny, radiant gods of destruction whose skills at the game put every last member of the Boston Celtics to shame (who prefer Halo 3, after all). But skill aside, does the kill streak system in MW2 work in the sense that it gives players some momentum that propels them towards otherwise unreachable acts of virtual carnage? Is a player who has 10 kills in a row any more likely to get the 11th one needed to unlock a kill streak reward than he is to get the first kill?

Nope, says the science of psychology and basic probability theory. It’s all in their head because splash damage and javelin glitch abuse aside, each shot is basically an independent event. For any given player, any perception of kills clustering together more than usual is just a product the human brain’s tendency to see patterns where there are none –a phenomenon called “apophenia” by psychologists trying to win at Scrabble.

In fact, I’d wager that MW2 players are less likely to get those capstone kills than they are to get the first few in a streak. Interestingly, Microsoft, Activision, Infinity Ward, or someone else connected with the game probably has the data to directly test this kind of thing –they track everything these days. It’s be really neat to recreate Gilovich, Vallone, and Tversky’s 1985 study of basketball shots using data from Modern Warfare 2 to see if someone is more likely to kill or be killed as they approach the killstreak payoffs. Heck, somebody get me the data and I’ll do the analyses myself!

1. Gilovich, T, Vallone, R, & Tversky, A. (1985). The Hot Hand in Basketball: On the Misperception of Random Sequences. Cognitive Psychology 17, 295-314 [↩]

Why do surveys overestimate the number of people experiencing the Xbox 360′s dreaded Red Ring of Death?

Lord knows I’m familiar with the Xbox 360′s “red ring of death,” or “RROD” as it’s not so affectionately called. I’ve encountered it twice myself. The term refers to what you get on the front of Microsoft’s console when its notoriously high failure rate kicks in and the thing stops working. This tends to be a touchy subject for Xbox owners, who tend to light up the torches and grab the pitchforks whenever it’s brought up.

Earlier this year the magazine Game Informer made a lot of headlines by reporting that according to their research, a mind blowing 54.2% of Xboxen crapped out, which is a failure rate traditionally reserved for mundane things like marriages.¹ Immediately across the Internet people started screeching this number as fact.

I should know about the RROD. I've had 2 myself.

But how much stock can we put in the survey and the methodology used to conduct it and interpret its findings? Sure, I think it’s safe to say that the RROD rate is high (Microsoft’s Peter Moore admitted as much publicly), but is that 54.2% overblown? (SPOILER ALERT: Yes. Yes it is))

Game Informer surveyed 5,000 of its print subscribers to gather the data. I couldn’t find a copy of the actual survey, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that there were no leading questions or other shenanagains that would influence subjects’ responses. The problem that persists, though, is related to what psychologists and others refer to as “sampling errror.” This is when the sample of data you collect is somehow biased, skewed, or otherwise not representative of the larger group of people that you’re really interested in (“the population” in inferential statistics parlance).

Presumably, what Game Informer wanted to do was infer that was was true of its sample (the readers it surveyed) was also true of the population of interest (all Xbox 360 owners).² What Game Informer did was send out a survey and then ask people to voluntarily respond. I can easily think of three reasons why this may have inflated their results:

1. People who had experienced a RROD and been justifiably pissed off about it would be more likely to respond to the survey (an example of what’s known as “self-selection bias”)
2. People who subscribe to enthusiast magazines probably play more games and thus put their machines through more wear and tear
3. People who subscribe to enthusiast magazines are more likely to be early adopters who bought initial runs of the console before Microsoft improved their process and reduced RRODs

Think of it this way: If you were interested in measuring the prevalence of drinking in your home town would it be wise to only survey patrons at bars?³

So what should Game Informer have done? The best way to eliminate sampling error is to survey people from the population of interest randomly and not rely on self-selection to be in the sample. Sending surveys randomly to people who have registered an Xbox 360 would reduce (but not eliminate) sampling error. Same for randomly surveying people in a shopping mall or cold calling them. Sure, this is hard and expensive and not always practical, but the bottom line is that if your research has flaws like potential sampling error you should note it, and reporters –even in the gaming enthusiast press– should be savvy enough about these things to note them when reporting on them instead of screaming “54%! 54%!” because it makes for good headlines.

As an example, look at this online survey done by CNET UK on exactly the same question. The survey has most of the problems described above, but the authors are good enough to cop to it:

This was a self-selecting survey, so it doesn’t represent a random sample of console owners. It’s likely that people whose consoles have had problems are more motivated to fill out the survey, but the results are still interesting when you compare the Xbox 360 to its competitors.

…The survey did not distinguish between the Xbox 360 Arcade and Elite versions, which are very similar, or the PS3 and PS3 Slim, which has only just been introduced.

So good on them. The next time you see survey results cited anywhere, think about how credible they are by taking sampling error into consideration.

1. Just kidding. I LOVE MY WIFE! [↩]
2. At least they got an adequate number; 5,000 is actually way more data points than you need for something like this [↩]
3. SPOILER ALERT: No. No you would not. [↩]

As gamers, I think we’ve all been there: You’re jamming along, feeling the rush as you shotgun foes in an online shooter or tear your car through the twists and turns of a realistically rendered race track. It’s exciting and in the best cases it may actually get our heart racing and our palms sweating. And when the match is over or the latest “Level Complete” screen pops up, you remember all the other things that you really should be doing. Maybe you have school tomorrow and it’s getting late. Or maybe your laundry is piling up and there are dishes in the sink. Hadn’t you intended to limit yourself to just half an hour of gaming?

And yet, you decide on just one more match, one more level, or one more quest. Why? Why would you do that?

To find out the answer, let us consider pornography. I know, I know. Some of you are thinking “Wait, what?” and the rest of you are probably thinking “Already way ahead of you, dude.” But bear with me.

In his book, Predictably Irrational, Dan Ariely discusses research he and George Lowenstein did on the effects of sexual arousal on decision making.¹ Featuring one of the more interesting experimental designs I’ve seen, the researchers equipped male subjects with …well, you know there’s really no way to describe this without coming out and saying it: They gave a bunch of dudes laptops full of porn. Subjects watched said porn and at the zenith of their arousal, were asked some questions. You guys, THEY EVEN GOT PAID TEN BUCKS TO DO THIS!

Not quite an example of experimental stimulus materials. And apologies to Ariely and Lowenstein.

Included were queries about how likely the subjects would be to engage in behaviors of questionable morality or judgment. Like, “Would you encourage your date to drink to increase the chance that she would have sex with you?” or “Would you always use a condom if you didn’t know the sexual history of a new sexual partner?”Upon comparing the responses to a control group² Ariely and Lowenstein found that yeah, acute arousal made you more likely to kick thoughts of consequences to the back seat and say you’d do some pretty stupid stuff. It’s the same reason that Nancy’s “Just say no” advice to teens simply doesn’t work.

What does this have to do with staying up late playing games when you know you have to work tomorrow? The study above is kind of unique, but it stems from an entire body of research by psychologists who have shown that emotional arousal and excitement of many kinds can hamper rational decision making. Despite any intentions born of rational thought, you’re just not thinking with the same brain after some infuriating punk has bested you in a shooter or you’re just pulled off some thrilling act of derring-do in some other game. Rationality gets elbowed aside and you look up to realize that it’s a quarter to three on a weekday morning. And yet you’re still muttering “Okay, just one more match…”

Interestingly, marketers use this fact all the time to manipulate you. Let’s say you’ve downloaded the demo for a game and just when a fevered battle is at its most heart poundingly intense, the demo pulls up short and says “That’s it! End of demo! But you know what? You can totally buy the game RIGHT NOW!” The God of War III demo did very kind of thing by having Kratos go through an exhilarating ascent before leaping towards the Titan Perses in a fist pumping display of badassitute and then abruptly ending the demo. More than one pumped up player has probably formed an intention to buy the game right then, despite lacking funds or time to play the huge backlog of games they already bought. And this kind of thing is likely to be even more effective when the game is downloadable and you can purchase and play it immediately.

So how do you protect yourself from this kind of thing? Research shows that the most effective thing to do is not to put yourself in those situations to begin with. Barring that, simply being aware of the phenomenon can help.

1. Ariely, D. & Lowenstein, G. (2006). In The Heat of the Moment: The Effect of Sexual Arousal on Sexual Decision Making. Journal of Behavioral Decision Making, 19 87-98. [↩]
2. Bet those guys were mad when they found out which straw they’d drawn [↩]

Let’s say you’re compelled to pre-order a game, maybe because the cashier at GameStop got you in a head lock and wouldn’t let you out until you agreed to. So you put down $10 towards Game A and go home, vowing to work out more so this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.

Weeks later when Game A is released, you consider whether to trek down to the store and pay the balance on your pre-order. The thing is, you’ve heard nothing but bad word of mouth and scathing reviews about the game, with one of your favorite podcasts going so far as to say that the developers should be held subject to Megan’s Law. On top of that, you’ve got a lot of other unfinished games in your backlog that you’d frankly rather spend more time with. But, thinking of that $10 nonrefundable deposit you already put down on the game, you decide to pay another $50 to do something you don’t really want to do.

What? Why? Why would you do that?

The answer is a phenomenon that psychologists, economists, and other raving lunatics call “sunk costs,” and the situation described above is a “sunk cost dilemma.”¹ Sunk costs are past expenses that can’t be recovered, like a $10 non-refundable, non transferable pre-order deposit. In a purely rational, economic model of decision-making sunk costs should not factor at all into any future decisions, like whether or not to pay the balance owed on Game A when it’s released. The money is spent, no matter what, so it’s moot.

But that’s not how people’s brains are wired. Most of us would say, “No way! I’ve put $10 towards that game and I don’t want to just lose it!”² But playing that pre-ordered game has no value to you, you’re just going to be throwing good money after bad. This is even more irrational when we could put remaining funds towards something else that actually has value to us, like another game that isn’t terrible.

Besides helping them plan inventory and the ability to invest that $10 you gave them, this is the big reason why retailers want you to pre-order games and will give away freebies to get you to do it: you’re as good as locked in for another $40 to $50 even if advance word on the game says it’s a bomb. Most people can’t help but honor those sunk costs even when they’ve got better things to do with their money.

And you want to know the really insidious thing? Sunk costs continue to dog us even when we’ve put the pound in after the penny. Ever feel compelled to see a game through to its completion or spend some more time with it even though you’re not enjoying it but you feel like you have to justify spending money on it? That’s totally sunk costs at work on you again. But you keep playing because you figure it’s not THAT bad. Robyn M. Dawes even describes in his book Rational Choice in an Irrational World³ how this is pretty much the same logic that a heroin addict would use to avoid treatment before reaching rock bottom. Yeah. Think about THAT.

1. Arkes, H. R. and Blumer, C. (1985). The psychology of sunk costs. Organizational Behavior and Human Performance, 35, 129-140 [↩]
2. This also ties into another phenomenon called “loss aversion” but I’ll talk about that elsewhere [↩]
3. Dawes, Robyn M. (1988). Rational Choice in an Irrational World, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. [↩]

How did 2K Games get that cover for Borderlands approved by the ESRB?

In psychology there’s a concept called “the contrast effect.” Basically, it means that some perception (say, weight, brightness, or sweetness) will appear greater or lesser depending on a perception that came immediately before it. Because they contrast so strongly and the memory of one affects your perception of the other.

To test this out, next time you’re at the gym pick up a 15 pound weight. Then pick up a 35 pound weight. Then pick up the 15 pound weight again. Does the second 15 pound weight feel LIGHTER after holding the 35 pound one? Bam! Contrast effect. Or try noting how much more brightly colored a tie appears when paired with a white shirt than with a colored one. Bam, contrast effect again.

Of course, this works for more kinds of perception than just weight or colors. It’s why you should pick your ugly, slovenly friend as a wingman next time you hit the singles bar –he just makes you look much more handsome than if you were alone. This is SCIENCE, people, and it can be used for ill or good.

Take, for example, the cover art for Borderlands, shown below:

Bam!

Wow, that’s pretty extreme. It’s got a dude holding his fingers up like a gun and pretending to literally blow his own mind with the insane action of this first person shooter-slash-loot game. Even for a title rated “M for Mature,” that’s the kind of thing that you might expect the Entertainment Software Rating Board (the ESRB, the organization that assigns content ratings to video games) to balk at.

So how did 2K Games, the publishers of Borderlands, get that cover approved? I don’t have any citations, but while the story of its approval may be apocryphal, even as a thought experiment it illustrates a possible use of the contrast effect by crafty producers. Rumor has it that the current cover is really what 2K Games wanted, but they thought it might get shot down by the ESRB. Since most retailers won’t stock games without a Board rating, they wouldn’ have any choice but to capitulate.

So, the story goes, 2K Games originally sent in an even more graphic version of the cover where the bandit is seemingly blowing his brains out with an actual gun. The ESRB predictably responded with “Yeesh! No way! Change it!” and 2K Games then shot back, no doubt in a curiously timely manner, the current box art. Because the ESRB had seen the more graphic cover first, this one seemed more tame than it would have if they had seen it right away. And they said “Oh yes, much better. Approved.”

And so psychology wins the day, assuming you fancy pictures of Mad Max-style bandits glowering at you and pretending to shoot themselves in the side of the head. And assuming that this story isn’t just some video game urban legend. But even if it is, the point still stands –bam! Contrast effect!

Here’s another bonus example of the contrast effect in practice. Say that a company (like, oh, EA) had a game (like, say Battlefield: Bad Company). And they said to their customers “Hey, y’all, guess what? You’ll be able to BUY exclusive weapons in our game. With real money! Besides the $60 you already spent! How awesome is that?”

And then say that gamers had the entirely reasonable response of freaking the hell out over that. Because it’s ridiculous. So the company says “Oh, okay, be cool, be cool. We’ll give them to you for free. You just gotta give us all your personal information and sign up for a bunch of crap you don’t want. We’ll call it, oh, ‘Find All Five’ or something.”

And gamers were all like “Yeah, that’s totally acceptable! And it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you put that horrible option out there first!”

Bam. Contrast effect.

Why does Tony Hawk think YOU think his game sucks?

Released right at the cusp of the Christmas ’09 shopping season, Tony Hawk RIDE (just like that, in all caps, ’cause it’s CRAZY!) featured a humongous plastic skateboard controller and an equally enormous price tag of $130, but promised to revolutionize the genre. Instead, RIDE got slammed almost universally by critics, as reflected it brutally low Metacritic score of around 50%. Message board denizens also savaged this thing, sometimes harshly even by “some anonymous Internet dude” standards.

Why? Well, pro skateboarder and fan of attaching his name to things Tony Hawk thinks that it’s because you and almost everyone else were biased against it from the start. As he told some place called the Sudbury Star in an interview:

“They were ready to discredit it before they even tried it, and if it didn’t play exactly how they imagined it… I think that they’re just not giving it a fair shake. And I think a lot of them came into it with an attitude that it’s going to suck.”¹

In addition, Hawk tweeted:

“Most snarky critics had their minds set before ever seeing/playing the game.”

And while the guys over at the Penny Arcade webcomic had some fun with this quote by pointing out the absurdity of people’s buying stuff they expect to hate, Hawk may have a point. Maybe he’s an extreme pro psychologist in addition to a skateboarding superstar, because he’s talking about something called “confirmatory information bias.”

The Tony Hawk PLANK

This fancy little term refers to the fact that humans tend to focus on information that confirms their existing beliefs and ignore information that disputes them. This is a pretty robust phenomenon, and neuroscientists have even identified a pair of brain bits that may be responsible. The first is the anterior cingulate cortex, which activates in a particular way when we perceive something we believe to be an error. The second is the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, a bit of grey matter just behind the forehead which, in the words of neuroscientist and author Jonah Lehrer, acts as a kind of “delete key” (or “B” button or “Circle” button if you’re a conlsole gamer) that literally erases things from our mind when they don’t jive with our model of how the world should be.²

A lot of people looked at RIDE and saw the ugly continuation of a trend created by fake plastic rock games like Guitar Hero and continued with stuff like DJ Hero –games with high price tags and huge, cumbersome peripherals that start to pile up very quickly in small apartments. They didn’t like being asked to play $130 to squat on something that looked like one of Michael J Fox’s hoverboard props in Back to the Future II. In addition, the Tony Hawk games have kind of become passé in the last few years, losing their cool factor to upcomers like EA’s Skate games. So people kind of wanted RIDE to be terrible.

Based on the above quotes, Mr. Hawk seems to argue that reviewers, being in possession of human brains, were not immune to confirmatory information biases. When they played the game, this bit of human psychology led them to ignore the good parts of the game and focus on the bad bits. Maybe this same bias in thinking led people to overestimate the number of times technical issues arose, like sensors not picking up on their frantic hand waiving. The result? An irrational hatred for the game based on immutable preconceptions and not the merits of the title itself. It’s YOUR fault.

Of course, maybe the data could be explained by the alternate hypothesis that the game is terrible and people don’t want to pay $130 for something that that’s going to make them wobble and flail like a fool and that they don’t have storage space for in the first place. You know. That’s also possible.

1. “Hawk Defends Ride” [↩]
2. For more info, see Lehrer, J. (2010). Accept Defeat: The Neuroscience of Screwing Up. Wired Jan 2010 [↩]