It’s that time of year again: GOTY season. And with it, the Backloggies have come back around, shambling under the weight of their own still-awkward title. Oh—what’s this? The Backloggies brought something back with them? It’s… a change to their format? Okay, Backloggies, cease your infernal wailing. We can do that. That’s fine.

This year, instead of recapping my favorite games I played this year, I want to award the year’s Backloggies to general experiences I had across the games I played. The idea is to reflect on my year of gaming more than my year of games. 2024 represented a year that, among other things, challenged me to reconsider why it is I play games, and what it is I want out of this objectively time-consuming medium. I found myself taken by Chris Plante’s reflection on the 106 games he played this year over on Polygon, and while I have yet to start my own spreadsheet (though the statistic-obsessed part of me is intrigued), I found a kinship in the base desire expressed in the piece: to ensure that I feel that my time is being well-spent.

Which leads me to the first of the Backloggies:

Long Games (with Endings)

In 2024, I found myself at a crossroads with long games, but not the crossroads I was imagining. The year started, for me, with reviewing Balatro for Polygon, then following that up with a breakdown qua self-interrogation on Backlog: “Is it Balatro, or is it me?” Balatro is, to my mind, an expertly designed game, but it also, due to its roguelike design and relation to poker, a bit of a scary well of addiction for a certain personality type (mine). Blessedly, one only loses time to Balatro, not money, as it features no microtransactions, and, further, its developer LocalThunk has taken steps to ensure that its IP is never used in a gambling context.

This, of course, did not stop the game from being addictive in the way we describe videogames as being addictive. I found myself playing it on my lunch break, forgetting to eat lunch as I tried to squeeze in another round on top of the round I’d already played. I would end work and start playing it, when what I really wanted to be doing was cooking, or running, or writing, etc. I played Balatro for 50 hours, then deleted it, and while I may have subsequently reinstalled it and played a game or two since then, I’ve walked away from it each time feeling that I didn’t want to give it any more time than I already had.

Which is why Big-Ass RPG Month caught me by surprise. 

I started 2024 by finishing Baldur’s Gate 3 and then, having spent around 120 hours on that game, went straight into an 80 hour playthrough of Dragon Quest XI. For those counting at home, between those two games, that’s four Balatros, when it comes to my personal time investiture. And yet, they felt quantitatively different to me. Why? Well, it turns out I’m a man who likes an experience that ends.

Denouement, as a concept, is becoming increasingly underrated in gaming. I don’t mean that games aren’t telling stories anymore—they are—but that as subgenres like roguelikes and live-service titles proliferate, the idea that something can and ought to conclusively wrap up is becoming more foreign. That’s not a problem, inherently. Games are an expensive hobby, especially when you factor in the hardware it takes to play them in the first place, and so the idea that you can get hundreds of hours of satisfaction out of a title that might’ve only cost you $30 is, on its face, a good thing.

But for me? It turns out, a game can be long and I won’t mind, so long as it ends. There’s something about a conclusion. Something about a game that doesn’t force you to be the one to walk away. Going into 2025, I’m no longer scared of long games, which is good, because I’m only about a third of the way through Metaphor: ReFantazio.

Local Multiplayer

I didn’t get to write about it yet, but some of my fondest gaming memories this past year have been with my nephews. Specifically, playing Super Mario Party with them. Their joy as good things happen to them and their comical despair as bad things happen to them has led to Uncle Moments™, where I’ve had to say things like: “Your brother didn’t use a Poison Mushroom on you, so it’s only fair you don’t use a Poison Mushroom on him” and “Oh, now we’re being nice to our uncle, are we?”

I also wrote about the experience of having my friend Nicole visit and play UFO 50 with me. I got to review the game for Polygon, and as glowing as I was about it, I wish I’d had the chance to play more of the multiplayer before turning in my review, as I would’ve been maybe 20% more glowing. For all the pleasure I had figuring out the various games that comprise UFO 50 by myself, it was all the more magical to figure out these purposefully obtuse games with a friend. It reminded me of childhood. It reminded me of that feeling that led me to love games in the first place. It reminded me that it’s good to spend time with the people you love, and that games can facilitate connection just as much as they can facilitate seclusion. It’s just about how you choose to spend your time—and with whom.

Indies Forever

Midway through this year, I got offered the opportunity to write a monthly column for Polygon, covering an indie game that they hadn’t yet featured in their coverage. This was an interesting challenge for a variety of reasons, but chiefly because, due to the nature of the prompt, it challenged me to find games that weren’t necessarily breaking through to the zeitgeist and to make an argument for why, in a year chock-full of exceptional games, they were worth your time.

For six months, I got the opportunity to champion games like Isles of Sea and Sky, Paper Trail, Slider, Leap Year, Shogun Showdown, Europa, and Windblown. I cannot, in good faith, tell you that any one of these games would’ve been my game of the year, were I doing a proper GOTY list this year. What I can tell you is that it expanded my horizons and my sense of what I, personally, value in a game. In a year where I got to write the full, proper Polygon reviews of verified bangers like Balatro and UFO 50, it felt just as valuable to me to play through these other games, which took big swings that didn’t always fully pay off, but were 1000% worth going for. I want more of that in games, and it felt good to play not just the ones that stuck the landing, but the ones that tried for something just outside of their comfort zone, that risked something.

I went in 2024 loving indies, of course. The Backlog archive is a clear indication of that. But I left 2024 admiring even the indies that fly under the radar. There’s a tremendous amount of work being done that deserves celebration, if not for being a triumph, then at least for going all out.

Wrap-Up

That’s it for this year! Thank you, sincerely, for taking the time to read Backlog. In a media ecosystem where you can read almost anything of your imagining, it is an honor to know you’re choosing to spend your reading time with me every other week. Backlog will be taking a holiday break and will return in early 2025. Until then, I hope you spend this holiday season with the people you care most about, with or without a controller in hand. Be well, take care of yourselves, and until next time.

…Oh? What’s this? The Backloggies have spoken to me again (their dire whispers a mixture of baritone and soprano, tinny and sonorous all the same), and they tell me that a final category has broken through the containment zone. I present it now, having given in to its power.

Bonus Category: Jade Jones’ “Driest Game”™™™

Jade Jones—writer, educator, Backlog contributor, and my spouse—has declared that Astro Bot is her 2024 Driest Game. Her review, specifically of its relative wetness: “Pleasantly dry. I didn’t like the beep-boops, but that’s a taste thing and not revulsion.” For those who aren’t aware, Jade penned the Backlog classic: “A humble pitch for Dry Dark Souls.” Leave a comment below if you want to see Driest Game return next year.