Gamer's Paradise

From midnight releases to local gaming conventions, (614) Magazine’s Matt “Man About Town” Mahoney explores the Columbus video game culture— its misconceptions, pitfalls and pleasures—and its undeniable sense of community

By Matt Mahoney / Photos by Alissa Ohashi / Story Design by Atlas Biro

It’s around 11 p.m. as I cruise down High Street in Beechwold. Outside of a few bars, there isn’t much open at the hour. While a drink sounds lovely, my business this evening is at Play It! Games, Movies and Music. Tonight marks the release of two blockbuster games this year for video game industry heavyweights Sony and Nintendo with the releases of Spider-Man 2 and Super Mario Wonder respectively. Midnight game releases have largely fallen out of style with the advent of digital delivery, and yet occasionally you can still find institutions who honor the tradition of opening up at midnight so over-eager gamers can get their hands on the latest releases and play them until the sun comes up.

As I walk in, a few smiling faces greet me, and the conversation very quickly gets very real: including topics like false nostalgia, console exclusivity, superhero fatigue, and protracted release cycles.

I find myself sticking around afterwards to check out the selection, and while it didn’t strike me until after the fact, I realize now that something is going on here. Even amongst those who are traditionally seen as introverts, even loners, there is a surprising sense of community. While it is true that gaming can be a solitary venture, my observations suggest that this is hardly the case, and this should be clear to anyone who has ever attended a gaming convention.

The day arrives, and as it just so happens, Torg Gaming Expo comes to town one of the following weekends. As an event that markets itself as “The LARGEST and BEST Video Gaming Convention in Ohio,” I should think there will be plenty to learn about gamers and the community they make up.

Even before I walk in the door of the convention, I begin to notice telltale signs of a gaming expo: things like grown men dressed like children’s characters and bemused parents.

I wonder if the real Mario is in there, I ponder to myself as I approach with an intent to infiltrate, like Solid Snake himself.

In some of my previous ventures at flea markets and bars, I have occasionally had some difficulty finding folks willing to do an interview, but I have no such difficulties here, as virtually everyone I come across is not just willing, but eager to chat.

In just about every conversation I find myself in, I ask the same two questions: Do you consider yourself to be a gamer? And what makes someone a gamer? Everyone with the exception of a single grandmother does in fact view themselves as a gamer, and virtually everyone I talk to believes that a gamer is simply a person who enjoys video games and the surrounding culture.

“Anybody who enjoys any kind of gaming activity” one gentleman responds, while another young man asserts that a gamer is anyone who “loves video games,” before walking the statement back to include those who also “enjoy playing them”.

“It’s a hobby that I enjoy,” another replies. While initially these responses may not add up to much, there is something to be learned here.

The barriers for entry into Columbus’ community of gamers are shockingly low. Essentially, if you have played a video game at any point in time – and you enjoyed that experience – you can probably get away with calling yourself a Columbus gamer. This is decidedly not an exclusive bunch. While the term gamer once conjured images of a very particular subset of American culture, the same is no longer true, as gaming culture has now become an inextricable part of mainstream American culture—and mainstream Columbus culture—as a whole. NFL players are now doing Fortnite dances after scoring a touchdown—what more do I have to say?

As I stroll around the open gaming area, I become acutely aware of my growing profile. Several attendees overhear that I’m covering the event for (614) Magazine and quickly start to hover in the hopes that I tap them for a quick interview.

Perhaps my star-power is growing.

Not too far away, I spy a group of folks roughly my age (30, give or take a few years in either direction) gathered around a Playstation running Guitar Hero 3. It’s no Guitar Hero 2, but my fancy is nonetheless tickled, and so I approach the circle as if I simply wandered over looking for subjects to interview.

Eventually somebody passes me the guitar, and scanning my immediate peers I try to choose a song in cultural proximity to my surroundings: The Strokes’ “Reptilia.” Much like The Strokes’ discography itself, I start off strong. This isn’t so bad! I look pretty cool up here, I monologue internally as I breeze through the intro and first verse. Once the chorus arrives, however, it very quickly becomes apparent that I’m in over my head. The performance meter goes from green, down to yellow, and finally to red as the virtual fans start to groan and cheer for my removal. At one point, I pop my plastic guitar controller neck in the air in order to activate a power-up, but as a spectator points out: “You don’t have any star-power!”.

This comment stings on several levels. I fail the song to both virtual and in-person boos. Bummer, but alas: I might be “Man-AboutTown” for (614) just because I started writing that on my drafts, but around here, star-power and celebrity are earned, not given.

After a few more insightful chats, I find myself in something of a vintage gaming museum. As I scan the walls filled with old controllers and cases, I see a gentleman in the corner messing around on Super Smash Bros. for the Nintendo 64, and after mopping the floor with him while playing as Kirby, he’s a good sport and agrees to an interview with me.

Like so many of the other Columbus gamers I consult, he appears to come from a place of passion above anything else, and is refreshingly simple in his approach.

“I just like to play games, but I like to play games of all different types. The only thing I’m not really a fan of is racing games too much. I’ll play them here or there, but I play the games, I collect them to play them, I don’t collect them for money.”

This implies to me that the world of Columbus gaming is defined by one’s participation in the activity itself. Most baseball fans haven’t stepped foot on a diamond in the past five years, while virtually all of those who consider themselves to be space aficionados have never been to space and will almost certainly never go. When it comes to gamers however, people are all linked by common experiences. Being a gamer isn’t something you are, it’s something you do.

Though it’s late in the day by the time I make my way to the exit, there are still a few folks attending the booths. As I scan the names, I spy one that seems familiar: Brett Weiss, a man who advertises himself as a “Gaming Historian.” Weiss has been writing about video games professionally since the 90s and playing them since the 70s, and with this in mind, I approach and ask him a few things about some of the changes he has seen over time in the gaming community. While the games themselves have changed by his estimation—becoming more complex, more story-driven, more competitive online—they have also changed how we interact with each other: “Even people that live in the same city or pretty near each other will just get online and play each other instead of going to each other's house. You might live two miles away but just play online. But you know, that’s convenient. If it's midnight and you don’t really want to go to someone’s house. What’s really cool about it, like if you have a really close friend move away, you know, you can still keep in touch through gaming,” Weiss shared.

Not only does this fly in the face of the hackneyed stereotype that gamers are simply shunning the real world in favor of a virtual one, it hits particularly close to home for me as well. Where space has made it all but impossible to interact with my old high school buddies, video games have provided us with a platform upon which we can continue to nurture the bonds we once held dear. So whether you’re looking to stay in touch with old friends or become part of a bigger community, the world of video games is rife with opportunity. And whether or not you like it, the community is here to stay in Columbus. Want to join in on the fun? Just grab a controller, there’s plenty of room for you at this table. ♦