Jeff reminds me that I never mentioned, here, an article of mine that The Escapist published an issue or so ago: Bow Before the Worm-Slayer.

The issue’s about achievements in games — or more accurately, achievement systems. For me, it was largely an academic matter, because I don’t get much fun out of the achievement lists in many games. So I wrote about how Lord of the Rings Online (which you know I dig) changed my mind:

On one level, titles are all about showing off your zaniness, obsessions or accomplishments to other players. When a visiting LOTRO GM awarded me the rare title Fathomer of Riddles for winning a chat-based riddle contest during a live event, I activated it mostly to gloat. I imagined Elrond would lower his sunglasses, nod his head and say “Looks good on you” as I strutted around Rivendell.

[read the rest at The Escapist]

To be fair, I won that Title even though my buddy Zack and I were /tell-ing back and forth about the riddle in question (the answer was “Tomorrow”) and we agreed it was the right answer. But my character was the one physically present for the riddle contest, so my character got to be the Fathomer of Riddles. Still: Thanks, Zack.

LOTRO isn’t the only game with this kind of achievement system in place, but it’s the one I know, so it’s the one I wrote about. The editors at The Escapist wisely cut some chaff I wrote about other achievement mechanics, but I am not wise, so here’s some of that chaff:

Cut From The Article

I’m ashamed of what other players on Xbox Live must think of me. I’ve hardly dented the Achievement lists on The Force Unleashed or Prince of Persia, but I’ve finished those games as far as I’m concerned. The little gold stars I get for doing extra-credit assignments just aren’t worth the time I could spend touring new games. And so my gamer card must stay hidden, so people won’t see my lousy Achievement stats. What if someone finds out that I’ve played The Force Unleashed all the way through twice, but I only played the demo of Mirror’s Edge? Sure, I completed Assassin’s Creed… after it had already been out for a year.

Achievements add a massively multiplayer element to every game on the 360, and that element is the capacity to feel superior to that lame schmuck who only scored 5 out of 37 Achievements on Call of Duty 4. (I am that schmuck.) All of Xbox Live becomes a MMOG and every game becomes a zone for grinding out more quest objectives.

The gamer card feels like a report card — an objective measure of the quality of your fun. I can’t just enjoy a game, because my console automatically files a public report on my performance. I had a lot of fun playing through Call of Duty 4, but apparently I had inferior fun, because my grade was 100/1,000. I am a child left behind.
Am I less of a gamer if I defy the tyranny of the Galactic Empire without defenestrating every damn stormtrooper?
Achievements turn games into aptitude tests, and more ways to embarrass myself in front of the whole school. It’s not enough to be conversant in a game. I feel like I have to sprint through it, as if the ten hours of gameplay in my new alien-dismembering adventure should properly be those ten consecutive hours immediately following the moment I swipe my debit card at Best Buy. As if I’m supposed to type in my PIN, take a deep breath, tap the green “Accept” button and then bolt for my car, my front door, and my controller as fast as I can. Am I less of a gamer if I defy the tyranny of the Galactic Empire without defenestrating every damn stormtrooper?

So I friend almost no one on Xbox Live, for fear that I’ll be judged solely on my gamer GPA. I’m trying to opt out of the Xbox Achievement culture for the sake of my own imaginary dignity.  “Game history” sounds to me like “criminal history.” Xbox Live keeps a file on me. But that file is less about what I’ve done and more about what I haven’t done that you have.

Sure, I could just block my game history from everyone, but that’s like donning a leper’s cowl.