We’ve been spending a lot of time discussing what games are and how to define them, but I think a conversation equally worth having is the definition of what elements constitute games. Probably the closest thing we’ve talked about to this are Callois’ classifications, but we debunked their validity in equal measure, because of their inability to explore some of the more nuanced aspects of games, during that discussion. However, Callois’ definitions do at least provide a loose vocabulary to start a dialogue about what constitutes games and their individual aesthetics. While I’m not sure how much value there is behind the idea of vertigo as a fundamental element of games, it don’t think it’s too hard to argue that an integral part of most games is skill. While you could fill a book with all of the ramifications, distinctions, and nuances of skill, all I’m going to attempt here is to answer this question: What is skill?
For the first part of our question, let’s start with the dictionary definition: Skill is “The ability to do something well.”
Not too bad, it certainly gets the idea across, but this description is obviously not talking about just games so it might be worth it to change our definition to reflect that.
So now we have: Skill is “The ability to do something in games well.”
A step in the right direction, but this still is far too broad to work with. Let’s try changing ‘something’ to be what people normally think of when they think of skill at games, the most important aspect of competition, winning.
Skill is “The ability to win games well.”
Our definition has thus far been fairly easily shaped by common expectations of what skill usually means, but here is where we get to our first real problem. What does it take to ‘win games well’? You could make the argument that it means winning often, but then we run in to the issue of games that are determined by chance and the notion of luck. So let’s refine ‘well’ to consistently instead, since that conveys a sense of control.
Skill is “The ability to win games consistently.”
But what about games that require physical ability? Is a foot race really that much of a game? If someone is simply more physically capable, and as such can win consistently, does that really speak to a level of skill or just the state of being fit? Well, it does only speak to the physical fitness of the player, in all reality. The fact that people are simply on different levels physically also sort of implies an imbalance in who the game favors to begin with. If we don’t base victories off of gender or race, why do we do so for height or weight? But can’t the same thing be said for knowledge? Yes, and I’m glad you asked that. If one player is simply unfamiliar with the rules of a game, can they be really said to be less skilled than their opponent? I think not. So let’s put this caveat in our definition.
Skill is “The ability to win games consistently on an even playing field.”
That actually looks pretty good and I think is what is commonly thought of when people say skill, even if unconsciously. But we could certainly go deeper. If it were true that games always allowed skilled players to win at their individual rates of consistency, our definition would work seamlessly. However, that is not the case, and there are certain situations where weaker players can defeat stronger ones or other similar discrepancies occur. For instance, games can have exceedingly powerful optimal routes that all high level players eventually have to resort to, but once discovered can easily be replicated by those with less talent or investment. While not traditionally thought of as games, a pretty good example of this is solving Rubik’s Cubes. Someone could be able to think out each step of a Rubik’s Cube and solve it, but, without understanding this underlying thought process, this would seem no different than simply using a memorized algorithm that achieves the same result. Similarly, if this optimal route isn’t easily replicated, then there is still very little discernible difference between high level players, an equally important problem. But wait a minute, these aren’t problems with our definition of skill this is a problem of how games handle skill. So instead of trying to refine ‘skill’ further, instead let’s look at ways in which games facilitate skill or not.
Obviously, optimal routing is not one of those ways, but what kind of games don’t have optimal routes? In complete honesty, very few. Many games that are regarded as having a ‘deep’ metagame very often find themselves beholden to extremely restrictive play styles or ‘meta breaking’ rules. Good examples of this would be Chess, which despite it’s dozens of moves is usually relegated to a handful of ‘effective’ moves, and Weiqi, which at a high level (which is the only level that really matters) is often determined by who goes first. So if some of the most archetypal ‘games of skill’ have problems with optimal routing, what could possibly avoid it? Rock, Paper, Scissors. While the RPS metagame does effectively change the ‘strength’ of either Rock Paper or Scissors, mechanically speaking all options are equal. I think most people have the unfair assumption that RPS is almost entirely a game of chance, when in fact it can be played at an equally competitive level as any other game. What makes RPS a game of skill is it’s only win-determining factor is prediction. This leaves us in an interesting position. RPS fits all of our previous ideals for an even game, so if the only skill required for a game to be ‘skilled’ or competitive is prediction, does that mean that ultimately the only real skill is prediction? Well, yes. In a game of chance, your main tool for winning is being able to make decisions based off what you think will happen based off of that chance, in other words: prediction. If you’re trying to make the perfect pass to your teammate, you have to guess where he and your opponents are and will be located as well as how well you can throw, in other words: prediction. What’s more, you can always adjust predictions based off of imbalanced aspects of a game, making it the most dominant strategy available. So, all elements reduced, we have our answer.
Skill is “The ability to predict.”