Opening the door I'm greeted by three men. The shorter of the three extends a hand forward and steps through the doorway. He's a stocky chap, tanned, shirt sleeves rolled up and his overalls splattered with grime. He's a tradesman sent straight from 'central casting'. He has a thick, Italian accent and looks vaguely familiar. Before you get too far ahead of me, there's no moustache and not even a passing resemblance to Bob Hoskins, but I can't shake the feeling that I've met him before.
Before I can even ask him his business, he's striding purposefully into the lounge room, giving the house the once over, the same way one greets an old friend at the International Arrivals Lounge, straining to see if time and distance has changed them any.
"She still looks beautiful", says the tradesman.
"Thank you", I reply.
"How much you think she sell for?", he enquires.
"I'll consider offers above 450", I reply, encouraged to think I'd found a buyer for my home.
"That would make my cut $45,000", says the tradesman.
"Your cut!" Great, I've let a standover man into my home. All those months watching Underbelly and I'm still none the wiser.
Outside, my 87 Saab 9000 Turbo has sprung to life. The 2nd man, a tall reed-thin businessman, with receeding blond hair is now sitting in the driver’s seat, driver’s door still ajar, adjusting the air-conditioning and gunning the engine.
"Excuse me", I say.
"That is quite alright", says the tall blond man as if I'd just farted.
An ID Card hanging from a lanyard around the man's neck identifies the man as Lindell Holmqvist, Global Procurement. He has a Swedish accent with a trans Atlantic lilt. As if reading my thoughts, he looks up. "Spent a lot of time Stateside with GM. Occupational hazard. Now about the car. I'm sure you'll miss her, but it came to our attention that you are extremely keen to sell, and well, she is ours after all, so let’s just make this easier shall we. We'll look after all that messy, selling, money-changing-hands nonsense. Think of it as her finally returning to her native home."
"Trollhättan", I suggest?
"Actually, more likely the Rick Damelian SAAB dealership in Petersham."
Before I can argue the logic of this further, I'm startled by the sound of the garage roller doors being flung upward. The third visitor, a dishevelled, long haired 'muso type' in his late '20's, wearing jeans that didn't look good in the '80's, a black T-shirt, and ballet shoes, strides purposefully into the garage and starts poking through the mountains of unwanted junk, gathered on the trestle tables. He picks up plates, turns over cast-off clothing, old saucepans and dusty Sega Mega Drive cartridges before finally settling on a music CD hidden underneath a broken hairdryer.
"No mate, this won't do", he says, waving the CD at me.
"Too much?", I ask, motioning toward the 'Everything on this Table $5' sign.
"This is my blood sweat and tears", he shouts.
"No, my son did that", I explain. "Too much time and too many crayons. Probably won't shift those marks from the cover but I'm sure you'll find the disc is unmarked"
"You simply can't sell it," the young man implores.
"I agree they weren't a great live band", I concede, "but I'm sure someone will buy it."
I turn back to the SAAB, alerted by the crunching of gravel. Bloody hell, the tall blond Swedish chap is stealing my car. I bolt out of the garage only to run headlong into the Italian tradesman.
"Here is my card. Just mail me the cheque."
"Your cheque?"
"You've a lived in the suburbs so long your mind has gone, how you say, mushy? You were planning on selling the house I built and taking all the money?"
The muso brushes past me, my CD in his hand. "Alright, I'll be off too mate."
My Saab has reached the end of the driveway and pulls out into the stream of early morning traffic. The tradesman and the muso follow the SAAB down the driveway.
"Hey buddy", the muso calls.
I look around for someone's Labrador Retriever but there's only me.
"There was a fourth bloke here with us", he says.
"A fourth bloke?"
"Drunk sailor", says the tradesman.
"Drunk sailor?", I ask.
"Obsessed with pirates. Quite Angry”, explains the tradesman.
"Left a card", said the muso pointing to the flyscreen door.
Wedged into the flyscreen door is a slick business card, three colour, gold embossed, rounded corners, and reeking of money. The card screams ‘GAME PUBLISHER’. No really, in upper case it says GAME PUBLISHER. On the back, scrawled in pen, is a message. "Couldn't be bothered waiting. Your game's up regardless. Two words - 'digital distribution'."
Digital Distribution: the one true way?
Postscript
Digital Distribution is here already, embraced by consumers, publishers and games developers alike.
For the consumer, digital distribution provides convenience and greater choice and does away with all that bulky wasteful packaging. If you’re a Gen Y gamer still living with your folks, you've very likely completely run out of storage space in your bedroom and have embraced digital distribution with open arms. There's also the promise of cheaper prices. Digital Distribution means no manufacturing or distribution; savings that, in theory, can be passed on to you and I, the consumer.
Cost savings aside, the major attractions for Publishers and Game Developers are twofold; curbing piracy and putting an end to that other rampant evil - the 2nd hand games market. Games publishers aren't keen on 2nd hand games sales. Last year in the US, games retailer Gamestop earned two billion dollars from used game sales. Publishers and developers argue that not a drop from that river of gold finds its way back to them.
The counter argument goes something like this. There's been a long held belief that secondary used markets actually serve a valuable role in actually supporting sales of new goods. Consumers who otherwise would not have been able to afford a certain product will be able to purchase and experience it, whether that be a book, or game or car, and be far more likely, if the experience is a good one, to buy another such good - most likely new. In turn, the seller of the used items will have greater disposable income to commit towards more new purchases.
The ability to sell property that you legally own has long been a feature of this wonderful capitalist society that we live in. You would be right to argue that used video game sales aren't going to disappear overnight. There's plenty of evidence to support that point of view. Just the other day Amazon announced they were after a slice of the used game pie. Even if industry was ever able to force retail to get out of the used game business, it's never going to go away completely. If we don't trade in our games at EB's or JB HiFi, we can always sell them on Ebay or better still, trade them right here at PALGN.
No, the threat isn't that the 2nd hand games market will disappear. No matter how bad the economy, we'll continue to sell our stuff. If anything, we'll probably sell more of it. (Why else is my house, my car and the entire contents of my garage up for sale?) The threat is that the physical games themselves will disappear.
Digital distribution is here now, and will only become a more dominant feature of the industry as high speed delivery networks becomes faster and more widespread. However, rather than pushing digital distribution as the 'one true way' of the future, developers and publishers would be better served battling the used-game monster more creatively. Provide consumers with valid reasons to hang on to their games. Continue to release great additional content. That's the reason why you don't see many used copies of Burnout Paradise on store shelves , we're all hanging on to our original copies. What about creative publisher-backed buy-back schemes? Return last years basketball title directly to the publisher and receive a hefty discount on this year's version.
There are great benefits of digital distribution, but the freedom to sell what you legally own, just isn't one of them. Enjoy selling your used games while you can.
Until next weekend, that’s The Wrap.
BackWrap
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