So, today I woke up thinking about the games that made it into my collection. It’s true that I think about board games a whole lot more than most other people would normally do, but I am equally sure that most people engage in play in some form or other. In fact, when you think about it, play is a defining characteristic of what it means to be human. This idea, the importance of play in the life of a person, is by no means new and has been explored by many thinkers and historians over the years.
“Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays.” — Friedrich Schiller, Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man (1795)
So this man, Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller was a German playwright, poet, philosopher and historian who had a significant impact on the literary scene of his time. His poem “An die Freude” (Ode to Joy) is said to have been used by Beethoven in the final movement of his 9th Symphony which is now the official anthem of the European Union. So basically he’s a solid thinker and his words carried weight.
He was in fact an astute thinker whose works, particularly “On the Aesthetic Education of Man”, from where I got the above quote, explored diverse ideas including human freedom and the role of art in cultivating a harmonious society. He was also a collaborator of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (another German heavy weight when it comes to thinkers) with whom he built a solid friendship.
Going back to the idea and importance of play, Schiller in his treatise notes that play creates a momentary, self-contained realm that is free from both basic human necessities and the demands or obligations or duties. He felt that when we play, we are briefly free from the demands of everyday life. This gives us room to be creative and use our imagination. He saw this as an important moment because it opens the door to moral freedom, the chance to make choices without being pushed by strong urges or outside pressure.
Play, according to Schiller, helped cultivate what he called the “beautiful soul”. He said that a society made of such individuals could naturally form a truly free and liberal political state, as its citizens would have been educated to exercise both “reason” and a feeling of harmony, therefore making true culture possible. Play, according to Schiller, was the key mechanism for human and societal development.
Whatever I say next can never measure up to this lofty concept but I will still try. The truth is that the urge to engage in play is both natural and liberating. Most of what we find enjoyable stems, to an extent, from enacting some form of play which in turn appeals to our sensual human nature and our own limitless imagination. Some of us play with musical notes to create spiritually uplifting music, others might play with colours or materials to make art. Others still craft wondrous worlds made of streams of elegant prose using just their own imagination. Then there are those who go one step further, abstracting thoughts and creativity which, supported by materials, become board games.
“Culture arises and unfolds in and as play.” — Johan Huizinga, Homo Ludens (1938)
Huizinga believed that play comes before culture and helps shape it. He saw play as a free, meaningful activity with its own rules, not driven by need or pressure. Because play creates order and lets people explore ideas safely, it becomes a space where language, art, law, and rituals can grow. In short, he argued that human culture begins and develops through play.
Indeed, if you look into the history of board games you will notice that these have been around ever since man grasped the notions of numeracy and progression. I will not indulge in lengthy historical treatises on the matter. However if you are interested I have written blogs on the subject which address the history of board games as well as the many significant finds that have been made. These in turn prove both the importance of board games over the eons as well as the cultural influences that led to their creation and vice-versa. For now, suffice you to appreciate that board games, in some form or other, have been with us since the dawn of time.
Now something about Johan Huizinga who was born in 1872 in the Netherlands. He studied languages, including Sanskrit, and began his career teaching Indian literature. Later, he turned to history and became a professor at Groningen and then Leiden University. His most famous book, Homo Ludens (1938), argued, as noted earlier, that play is central to human culture. During World War II, Huizinga spoke out against the National Socialist party rule and was, as a consequence, placed under house arrest. He died in 1945, just before the Netherlands was freed.
So, back to the notion of games preceding and perpetuating culture. The need to play, it turns out, is precisely the reason why many find boardgame's appealing. There are, admittedly, diverse venues for addressing this need, some more or less physical in nature, but the general principle behind all these activities remains one and the same.
For instance, there is always some manner of abstraction that goes on, a codification that becomes necessary to create boundaries around the activity. There must also be a clear and unequivocal victory condition, a goal to pursue and one that makes the effort employed during the engagement worth it.
Apart from all this, board games are by their very nature a very tactile and physical experience. Players need to interact with the components, holding cards, moving pieces around a board or rolling dice in order to determine some prerequisite outcome. To this I link one of the main reasons for my engagement in this hobby, my interactions with the components that make up a game.
I find opening a new board game for the first time an enjoyable and engaging experience. In my experience, it is pleasurable to just go through the components, admiring the artwork and appreciating the components that you would then use to play the game. This coupled with the enjoyment of discovering a new ruleset and underlying strategies is my main motivator.
Then there’s the in-game world or theme brought to life by the game designers and artists. The hours of carefully crafted imagery and supporting iconography. Some may be executed better than others but they all share the same commonality, the desire to create a smooth and engaging experience that will captivate players beckoning them to come back for more.
Learning a new puzzle or game mechanism is also an aspect I enjoy when faced with a new game. Sure there are some heavy eurogames that leave me gasping as I try to fathom how all the parts work together, but I have backed away from only a handful over the years. Mastering the puzzles thought up by the game designers can offer a lot of satisfaction, especially when you realise that you have managed to crack the code and start to win with some consistency.
A further consideration, closely tied to the actual design of the game, is that of its gaming mechanisms. Since the beginning of the modern board-gaming revival—which can be traced back to the mid-1990s—designers have devised a broad array of mechanisms to structure their creations.
I feel that whenever a novel mechanism is encountered, it requires an exploration of its effectiveness, its engagement value (or lack thereof), and its interaction with the game's other components.
I have observed that the factors determining the success of a mechanism can differ significantly. These may include the world-building employed by the designer, the interaction with other in-game mechanisms or components, and occasionally the intended audience who will be directly engaging with the mechanic during play. Collectively, these elements contribute to the ultimate success or failure of a new gaming mechanism.
Then once you understand how a game works and all its mechanisms, the next goal is to master that puzzle. Personally, given the limitation with time available to play these titles, I would be happy with modest to moderate proficiency in most cases. Winning is never my sole objective when playing any modern title, though winning does taste sweet when it happens.
Socialisation is another key factor that brings me back to the gaming table, time and again. It is the opportunity to share my enthusiasm with like-minded individuals and perhaps help them to discover their next favourite game. It is so satisfying when I get friends or family tell me that they have fallen in love with a particular board game title or that they have shared a game or two with others leading to some memorable experiences. More importantly, at least for me, it’s the opportunity I get to spend some quality time with people I care about, making memories together.
Diving even deeper into those gaming mechanisms I spoke about earlier, I tried to rank 10 of my favourite and I am here offering them for your further consideration starting from my number 10 gaming mechanism and working my way upward towards my most favourite of the lot.
The first mechanism that features in my top ten list is Bluffing. It is a compelling mechanism that introduces uncertainty and psychological tension into gameplay. While some games use it as a central feature, others incorporate it more subtly as a supporting element. While I was tempted to include Poker as the quintessential bluffing game, I will not be including it here.
A prime example is Perudo (also known as Dudo), a dice game of South American origin built around a bidding mechanic. Each player receives five dice and a cup. Dice are rolled simultaneously and concealed beneath the cup. Players then privately inspect their results before entering a bidding phase. A typical bid might be “three fours,” which subsequent players may raise (e.g., “four fours”) or shift to a different value with greater frequency (such as “five threes.”). At any point, a player may challenge a bid by declaring “Dudo!” (“I doubt that!”). If the bid proves false, the bidder loses a die. If the challenge is incorrect, the challenger forfeits one instead. Elimination occurs when a player loses all their dice.
Perudo is straightforward to teach, scales well with player count, and offers an entertaining blend of deduction and risk management.
Bluffing also features prominently in social deduction games such as Werewolf and Coup. In these, players must conceal their roles, be it werewolf or assassin, and mislead others to achieve their objectives. While not universally appealing, such games often thrive with larger groups, typically four or more.
A particularly rare and intriguing mechanism is the act of selecting the piece your opponent will play next. This Opponent Piece Selection dynamic introduces a layer of psychological strategy, as players must anticipate not only their own moves but also the implications of the options they present to others.
Quarto is the sole example I have encountered that employs this mechanism. It is an abstract strategy game played on a shared board, where the objective is to form a line of four pieces that share a single characteristic. These characteristics include shape (round or square), height (tall or short), hollowness (solid or hollow), and colour (light or dark).
Despite its simplicity, Quarto offers a compelling challenge. The core twist, choosing the piece your opponent must place, creates a constant tension of second-guessing. Each decision carries dual significance, what is played and what remains. It is a concise yet mentally engaging experience, ideal for occasions when time is limited.
If you have not yet played Quarto, it is well worth exploring.
Engine building, my number 8, is a dynamic mechanism in which players construct systems that generate resources or actions over time. This is typically achieved by drafting or selecting cards according to specific rules, with the aim of creating a sequence of effects that compound across turns. The mechanism may be implemented with varying degrees of complexity, but its core remains consistent: a chain of interactions that ultimately produces resources to secure victory points.
Wingspan is a prime example, relying heavily on engine building. Here, card drafting and placement influence the engine’s configuration. Some effects are triggered by the cards themselves when certain conditions are met, while others are activated by the tableau, independent of individual card abilities.
Res Arcana offers a more distilled approach. Players build engines using a limited number of cards, with tightly interwoven interactions that drive progress towards the game’s ten-point victory threshold.
It is important to note that gaming mechanisms rarely operate in isolation. Engine building, like many others, often draws strength from complementary systems within a game. This interdependence will be further illustrated in the next entry.
Card drafting, my number 7, is a versatile mechanism in which players select cards from a shared pool. This may involve drawing from a common deck and passing the remaining cards to the next player, or choosing from a refreshed marketplace. 7 Wonders exemplifies the former approach, while Wingspan illustrates the latter.
Typically, drafted cards do not take effect immediately. Their activation depends on additional game rules. In Wingspan, for instance, cards may require resources such as bird food and eggs. In 7 Wonders, activation may depend on specific symbols found on previously played cards.
Card drafting is also frequently combined with set collection. A notable example is Sushi Go!, where players draft cards in a manner similar to 7 Wonders, aiming to assemble sets that yield the highest score.
Number 6 is Tile placement. This is a strategic mechanism in which players select or draw tiles, often from a concealed pool, to construct specific combinations or layouts on either a shared or personal tableau.
A classic example is Carcassonne, where players place tiles to form scoreable features on a communal map. The game is straightforward yet incorporates both mid-game and end-of-game scoring. Land & Sea offers a similar experience, tailored for two players, with each aiming to optimise placements of either “land” or “sea” tiles to accrue points.
In Kingdomino and its sequel Queendomino, tile placement is preceded by a drafting phase. Players build personal tableaus within a 5×5 grid, introducing a spatial constraint that adds a puzzle-like element to the gameplay.
Set collection ranks 5th in this list of favourites and narrowly secured fifth place, edging out Tile Placement in a contested tie-breaker. Both mechanisms scored equally during initial evaluation, reflecting how similarly I value them.
In set collection, players aim to assemble specific combinations, typically sets or runs of cards, that yield points. Scoring may occur during gameplay or be reserved for the end. This mechanism is often complemented by others, adding strategic depth.
Ethnos exemplifies this integration, where players form melds to gain influence in various territories, introducing a Territory Control element. Dragon Realm, by contrast, focuses purely on set collection for points.
Sushi Go! offers a lighter implementation, combining card drafting with set collection. Players draft and pass hands, seeking to form scoring melds that contribute to their final total.
At number 4 I placed Territory control. This is a compelling mechanism that rewards strategic positioning and influence across defined regions of the game board. While I am not particularly fond of Risk (the grand daddy of all territory control games), despite owning three editions, the genre has evolved considerably. My reservations stem from Risk’s lengthy playtime and player elimination, features that have since been refined in more modern, euro-influenced designs.
I own three notable examples that exemplify this mechanism with greater elegance. The first, previously mentioned, is Ethnos. Here, set collection serves a broader purpose: securing territorial dominance. Players vie for majority presence in various regions, with control awarded to the leading contributor.
The King is Dead (Second Edition), designed by Peer Sylvester, offers a nuanced take. Territory control is determined by influence, but in cases of equal presence, a neutral third party—the French—claims the region. Victory may be achieved either by consolidating power under a favoured faction or by allowing the French to dominate, depending on the player’s strategic alignment. With limited actions and a compact ruleset, it presents a rich tactical puzzle.
Carcassonne also incorporates elements of territory control, albeit more subtly. Players place meeples to claim features and may extend influence over surrounding fields. While not the central mechanism, field control contributes significantly to end-game scoring.
Finally, Rebirth, designed by Reiner Knizia and published by Mighty Boards, is a condensed yet strategic offering. Players compete for territorial influence while leveraging incremental scoring to reinforce their position. Its brevity and depth make it a standout example of modern territory control design.
Deck building, my number 3, is a foundational mechanism that continues to shape modern board game design. It was one of the earliest mechanisms I encountered, and my introduction came through Ascension: Legend of the God Slayer. I was immediately drawn to its dynamic gameplay and the variability it offered. No two sessions ever felt quite the same.
As with most deck builders, players begin with a basic set of cards. Each turn involves drawing a hand, typically five cards, and playing them to either acquire new cards from a central market or combat emerging threats. Points are accumulated throughout, with victory awarded to the player with the highest total.
Ascension leans towards a less confrontational style. Players often pursue their own objectives, acquiring cards and defeating monsters without directly impeding opponents. While this suits my preferences, it may not resonate with all players, some find the concept elusive or less engaging.
My appreciation for the genre has grown over time. I have backed a special edition of Ascension on Gamefound, expected to ship in late 2026. Beyond this, I own several other titles that exemplify the mechanism. These include, Star Realms, Hero Realms, Cthulhu Realms, Shards of Infinity, and Clank! each offer distinct interpretations.
Some games incorporate deck building as a secondary mechanism. Dune: Imperium is a notable example, using it to influence faction dynamics and optimise resource generation en route to victory.
My number 2 mechanism is Hand Management/Resource Conversion. The combination of hand management and resource conversion is a mechanism I find particularly engaging, especially in titles such as Century: Spice Road and Splendor. These games exemplify the elegant interplay between strategic planning and incremental progression.
In Century: Spice Road, players utilise cards to upgrade basic resources into more valuable ones. Cards are played to perform conversions and may later be retrieved for reuse, creating a cyclical rhythm of optimisation. The objective is to refine resources efficiently in order to fulfil high-value contracts.
Splendor adopts a similar structure. Players begin with basic gem tokens, which are then used to acquire development cards. These cards, in turn, provide permanent bonuses that facilitate further acquisitions. The ultimate goal is to reach 15 points, achieved through careful resource management and tactical purchases.
The rules in both games are elegantly minimal, yet they give rise to rich and layered decision-making. I find the progression, from modest beginnings to increasingly profitable outcomes, deeply satisfying and encourages repeated play.
While thematic depth in these games may be considered lacking by some, the elegance and effectiveness of the core mechanisms render such criticisms largely immaterial.
At number 1, my favourite modern boardgame mechanism, Worker Placement. Worker placement remains my favourite gaming mechanism to date. It is employed across a wide range of titles, including Lords of Waterdeep (LoWD), Dune: Imperium, and Raiders of the North Sea (RotNS), each offering a distinct interpretation of its core structure.
Typically, players are allocated a finite number of meeples to select from a similarly finite array of actions, all directed towards achieving specific in-game and end-game objectives. While the method of deployment may vary, the mechanism consistently follows a two-phase rhythm: one for placement, the other for retrieval.
In Lords of Waterdeep, gameplay unfolds over eight rounds. Each round involves deploying a fixed number of meeples to various locations. Once all have been placed, the round concludes, meeples are retrieved, and the next round begins.
Raiders of the North Sea introduces a variation on this rhythm. Players place one worker to perform an action, then immediately retrieve another from a different location to trigger a second action. Though the cadence differs, the underlying dual-phase structure remains intact.
Dune: Imperium adopts a format similar to LoWD, with meeples deployed and later reclaimed at the end of each round. However, it introduces a secondary layer: the deployment of troops to a conflict zone. This additional element—while distinct—functions as a modified extension of the worker placement concept
As far as I am concerned, Worker Placement came out on top for good reason. It shows how far game design has come, giving players clear choices, shared spaces, and meaningful decisions. But looking beyond the list, it becomes clear that no single mechanism tells the full story. Today’s games are built from many moving parts, working together in clever and thoughtful ways. This shift in design reflects something bigger, the way our world has grown more connected and complex.
This design shift in boardgames can be seen as a reflection of our increasingly globalised and complex society. Just as in the interconnected world we live in, no single boardgame mechanism operates perfectly in isolation. Designers have become highly skilled at condensing these diverse elements into coherent, challenging, and elegant designs. This integration is precisely what makes contemporary games so compelling, reflecting the operational requirement for diverse components to function successfully within a single system.
If we consider Johan Huizinga’s earlier reflection that culture is partially generated within and as play, we must logically examine the potential for games to influence social thinking. I believe that the structures of the games we select and the systems they present are relevant factors. By favouring design principles that encourage cooperative problem-solving and direct player attention toward resolving a systemic issue, rather than merely focusing on defeating an individual opponent, we may cultivate thought processes that are more conducive to constructive real-world social interaction.
Consider the deliberate mechanic in the game Quarto I mentioned earlier on, where one player is required to select the specific piece the opponent must play. This design choice offers a clean demonstration of constraint and consequence. It illustrates that within the established boundaries, players are, to a significant extent, the authors of their immediate circumstances. The game demands intensive forethought. A player presents a piece, the opponent then performs an evaluation of the board state, attempts to predict the most probable countermoves, places the piece, and subsequently selects the next piece for the first player, based on a mental calculation intended to maximise their own advantage.
However, perfect optimisation is a theoretical limit, seldom achieved in reality. Decisions are, out of necessity or circumstance, mediated by factors such as personal cognitive shortcuts, reliance on past data, the influence of personal biases, and the assessment of a rival’s established habits and style of play. These factors inform the choice of the next move, whatever that might be. This process closely mirrors real-world decision-making. In life, we strive to identify the most logical and efficient path. Yet, significant choices are routinely executed with imperfect information. We rarely possess all the necessary data for an optimal outcome. Consequently, our decisions rely upon a summation of available data, established biases, and reasoned estimation, which then leads us to committing to a specific course of action.
Games are uniquely valuable because they provide a safe environment for exercising this complex, constrained reasoning within a logical framework, without the risks or limitations of reality. Therefore, promoting broader engagement with diverse board games is, in my opinion, justified. Yet for real benefits to accrue, players should actively seek new titles and unfamiliar mechanics. The wider the range of game mechanisms a mind is exposed to, from resource management to abstract strategy, the more versatile and adaptable its cognitive framework becomes for addressing real-world problems. I think that modern board games could function as a practical tool for developing structured thought. To achieve this, we need to prioritise quality games that engage the intellect while fostering both individual reasoning and social skills. If done properly, play can contribute to a person’s intellectual and personal development. To fully secure these benefits, the selected games should also facilitate human interaction. Then, once a game's principles are reasonably understood, the right thing to do would be to transition to another totally different experience, which would then compel the mind to form new conceptual frameworks and establish new mental connections.
I am a firm believer that if more people played boardgames in this way, the benefits could go far beyond the players themselves. A society full of thoughtful, strategic, and compassionate people would be better at solving its own problems. People who can think clearly and work well with others are more likely to spot what they really need to do, and to act with kindness and fresh ideas. Instead of reacting in haste, we would plan ahead with care. In this light, play is not just fun, it is much more than that, it is a quiet training for a wiser, fairer future.
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