When looking back at an entire year of play, numbers become both a reflection of personal patterns and a reminder of how circumstances outside of the games themselves reshape the experience. In 2020, the rhythm of gaming was profoundly altered, yet the total volume of play remained surprisingly close to what it had been for the previous decade. The tally of 317 games across the year sits comfortably within the established range that had developed since around 2010, where the annual median had been 302 and the previous maximum 324. At first glance, one might think that little had changed. The number appears almost ordinary, as if the year could be neatly filed away beside its neighbors. But that total disguises an enormous shift in how those games came to the table, who was there to share them, and which titles became staples of repeated play.
The pandemic disrupted every element of communal activity, and board games, while portable and adaptable, rely on human gatherings more than almost any other form of entertainment. Video games can shift online almost seamlessly, but cardboard, cards, dice, and miniatures need faces around the table. A total of 317 plays might suggest continuity, but the distribution across different games and different groups of people tells a very different story. In earlier years, conventions, weekly game nights, and friendly visits all created opportunities to sample the unfamiliar. New titles would appear on the table, sometimes only once or twice, and then vanish again, but their brief presence added variety. In 2020 that circuit of discovery dried up after the first weeks of March.
The number of distinct games played illustrates this decline in variety. The 134 unique titles played across the year may seem impressive on its own, but when placed alongside the recent median of 171, the difference becomes clear. That is nearly 40 fewer than what had become a regular part of a year’s gaming diet. It is true that the count still exceeds the recent low of 126 from 2016, but in that earlier year the reduction had been more about circumstance than global upheaval. The dip in 2020 is tied to the sudden absence of communal experimentation. Fewer conventions meant fewer hot new releases crossing the table. Fewer evenings at friends’ homes meant fewer chances to try a beloved classic that one did not personally own. Instead, the collection on the shelf at home became the primary source of play.
Owning a large collection softened the blow. Rather than experiencing a year of monotony, there was the ability to rotate among dozens of titles that were already part of the household library. The difference lay less in the absolute availability of games than in the circulation of ideas, people, and social sparks that usually accompany face-to-face play. Games are not merely mechanisms and victory points; they are the context of laughter, argument, shared planning, and joint discovery. Even the most dedicated hobbyist cannot entirely replace the spark of novelty that comes from sitting down to something new in a group.
The sense of continuity in the raw totals therefore masks a deeper transformation. It would be possible to imagine that playing roughly three hundred games in a year means a normal year of gaming, but the texture was altered beyond recognition. The kinds of games played, the company at the table, and the way in which plays clustered all diverged sharply from earlier patterns. For years, a session log might reveal a steady march of diverse experiences: a mix of cooperative and competitive, of light fillers and heavy strategy, of brand new titles and older classics dusted off for another outing. In 2020, the log instead shows clusters of repeated titles, sessions of the same game returning again and again, as if anchoring play in the familiar.
Looking more closely at the distribution reveals how repetition became a defining feature. While in other years a convention weekend might inflate the count of different titles with a half dozen one-off experiences, this time the absence of such gatherings meant that when something hit the table it was often repeated in subsequent days. The total number of plays could remain high because once a game was set up it might remain out for multiple sessions. Titles like Spirit Island or Res Arcana became not just occasional diversions but binge-worthy experiences, appearing over and over across a concentrated stretch of weeks. This clustering is atypical of earlier years, when variety often took precedence.
This transformation speaks to the way external conditions shape hobby patterns. A pandemic is not simply an interruption to the possibility of gathering; it is also a shift in mood and available energy. After long days of uncertainty, the comfort of familiar systems and the chance to improve within a single game can be more appealing than constantly learning new rulebooks. The absence of easy social introductions to fresh games meant that the decision to try something new required greater personal initiative. When choices are limited by necessity, repetition becomes a natural adaptation.
The reduction in unique titles also highlights the degree to which the hobby relies on social catalysts. A convention is not only about playing but about exposure. Tables covered with new prototypes, friends waving one over to try a designer’s latest creation, or simply the buzz of hundreds of people playing dozens of different things all push variety higher. Without those events, the ecosystem shrinks to the domestic sphere. Even with a large collection at home, there is less external pressure to rotate. Instead of a steady infusion of fresh titles, the year becomes defined by the games already on the shelf.
At the same time, maintaining a high overall play count is itself a testament to the adaptability of play. Many people in 2020 found their hobbies disrupted beyond repair. Sports leagues shut down, travel was curtailed, concerts disappeared. For a board gamer, the shift was dramatic but not total. Games can be played by two people, even alone, and as long as one partner or family member is willing, the hobby can persist. The record shows that not only did it persist, but it nearly matched the busiest years of the decade.
This continuity reveals something about the role games play in maintaining a sense of normalcy. Amid the disruption of work schedules, the anxiety of news cycles, and the absence of social outings, setting up a board and following rules became a way of asserting order. Each game offers a bounded system in which the variables are knowable and the challenges, however complex, are surmountable through strategy or luck. That contrast with the wider world may explain why the total number of plays did not collapse even when the social fabric frayed.
If earlier years were marked by exploration, then 2020 was marked by resilience. Playing 317 games in such a year is less a sign of consistency than of adaptation. The forms changed, the diversity shrank, but the drive to play remained constant. Each session marked an assertion that play could continue even when gatherings could not. The statistics become more than numbers: they map the persistence of a hobby through disruption. They capture the way people shape their practices to fit altered circumstances, proving that even when stripped of conventions and weekly groups, play finds a way.
The raw comparison with historical medians provides a useful backdrop. For a decade, the pattern of around three hundred games a year had been fairly reliable. That stability gives the 2020 total its deceptive familiarity. But just as one can look at two identical totals on a spreadsheet and know that the underlying distributions may be wildly different, so too with the hobby record. A typical year of three hundred games once meant a lively mix of experiences across many tables and groups. In 2020 it meant concentrated sessions with a smaller circle, heavier reliance on household collections, and a dramatic reduction in fresh discoveries.
Numbers alone cannot tell the story, but they give it shape. Without the comparison to past medians and maximums, one might interpret 317 plays as evidence of little change. With that context, the decline in unique titles and the disappearance of communal gatherings stands out starkly. The statistics do not merely measure output; they highlight the resilience and adaptation of the year.
What emerges most clearly from this reflection is the contrast between quantity and texture. Quantity remained stable. Texture changed entirely. A normal count of plays concealed an abnormal process. In the absence of conventions and casual gatherings, the experience of gaming in 2020 became narrower, more domestic, and more repetitive, yet also more intimate and more resilient. This duality defines the shape of the year.
It is possible to imagine future reflections in which 2020 stands out as an anomaly, a year where the numbers on the surface align but the lived experience underneath diverges dramatically. The record of 317 plays will sit comfortably alongside 302 or 324 from neighboring years, but anyone looking closely will see that this number meant something very different. It meant gaming at home, gaming with fewer people, gaming through screens when possible, and gaming repeatedly with the same titles. It meant that the hobby endured, but in a transformed state.
To recognize this shape is to understand that a year of play is not only about counting but about context. The 2020 record is therefore both ordinary and extraordinary: ordinary in the numbers, extraordinary in the conditions that produced them. It tells the story of a year when play adjusted to global disruption, when the familiar became the foundation, and when the hobby demonstrated its resilience by filling evenings with structured fun even as the world outside lost its rhythm.
Playing Together and Playing Apart
The statistics of 2020 reveal not only how many games were played and how many different titles appeared, but also who sat down at the table. Board games are social by design. Their cardboard and tokens may seem inert, but they come alive only when joined by human interaction. For most years, the network of people around the table has been broad and varied, filled with family, close friends, casual acquaintances, and the temporary partners one meets at conventions or public gaming events. That social landscape was fractured in 2020. The numbers tell the story with a clarity that the emotional experience only amplifies.
In 2020 the record shows games played with 46 different people. Under ordinary circumstances that would be a strikingly low number, but when compared to the historical median of 106, the extent of the contraction becomes undeniable. Even the lowest previous year, at 66, stands far above this recent figure. What had been a wide circle of interaction shrank to less than half its usual size. This did not simply mean fewer friends around the table; it meant that the essential spirit of gaming, its ability to weave together different perspectives and personalities, was narrowed to a thin band.
The reduction in partners reveals the degree to which the hobby thrives on diversity. When playing with over a hundred people across a year, each session carries the possibility of new insights and new dynamics. A game of cooperative strategy with one group may feel radically different from the same game played with another, simply because personalities and styles vary. One player may approach a puzzle analytically, another theatrically, another impulsively. Each mix creates a unique rhythm. When the pool contracts to 46, the range of those rhythms narrows. Familiarity replaces discovery. Conversations repeat. Jokes and strategies become well worn. There is comfort in that intimacy, but also a loss of variety.
The decline also shifts the mathematics of average player count. The 2020 figure of 3.04 players per game represents a noticeable drop from the historical median of 3.52. While a difference of half a player may sound minor, over hundreds of sessions it changes the entire landscape of experience. Many games are designed with sweet spots that shine at particular counts. A four-player strategy game thrives on the shifting alliances and balancing pressures among its participants, while the same game with two or three may feel less dynamic. Conversely, some games excel at two, but in ordinary years they are diluted by the desire to include more people. The shift to a lower average count therefore reshaped which titles reached the table and how they unfolded once there.
Solo play, once a rarity, became a significant feature. Thirty-one games across the year were played alone, compared to a historical median of one. That transformation cannot be overstated. Solo play changes the fundamental character of the hobby. A board game designed for a group becomes a private puzzle, a conversation with the self through the medium of rules and components. For some players, solo modes are a natural part of the hobby, but for many they have been an afterthought or a curiosity. In 2020, solo play became a necessity. When the choice was between no play and solitary play, the solitary option began to look more attractive.
These solo sessions were not simply filler. They marked a new frontier in the understanding of what games could offer. Without the distraction of others’ opinions or the dynamics of competition, solo play becomes a meditation. The rules unfold at their own pace. The strategy is an internal dialogue rather than a debate. Success or failure belongs solely to the player. For many, the rise in solo play may leave a lasting imprint on the hobby, opening doors to experiences that were previously ignored. It may also encourage designers to continue developing richer solo modes, recognizing that the audience for them is larger than once imagined.
If solo play increased, so too did the proportion of two-player sessions. In 2020 there were 117 games played with just two participants. That figure surpasses the historical median of 87 and even sets a new record above the previous decade high of 109. Two-player play carries its own unique dynamics. It strips away alliances and negotiations, focusing instead on direct competition or tight cooperation. Many titles that feel sprawling with more participants become distilled to their essence with two. The strategic dance is cleaner, the interaction more personal, the victories and losses more immediate.
In 2020, the rise of two-player sessions was partly pragmatic. With fewer people available, the easiest solution was to play with the partner at hand. Yet over time, this practicality became an opportunity. Long campaigns or deep strategy games could be sustained across multiple sessions because the same partner was always present. A shared investment grew. Titles like Gloomhaven flourished in this environment, offering an epic cooperative journey that could be revisited night after night. The two-player setting allowed for consistency and immersion, qualities that might have been diluted in a larger group.
The contrast between solo and two-player experiences highlights the adaptability of the hobby. On one hand, games became a solitary pursuit, a way to fill empty evenings with structured thought. On the other, they became an intimate collaboration or duel with a single partner, building a rhythm that grew stronger with repetition. Both paths diverged from the usual landscape of four or five around a table, but both sustained the act of play.
The decline in average player count also influenced which titles dominated the year. Lighter party games that rely on larger groups became nearly impossible to stage. Hidden role games, social deduction, and sprawling negotiation-based designs were set aside. In their place rose titles that could thrive at two or even one: cooperative puzzle games, deck-building adventures, or strategic duels. Codenames survived in part by moving online, but most other high-player-count experiences receded. The shift was not merely about logistics; it changed the culture of the sessions. Instead of laughter and shouting across a crowded table, evenings were quieter, more contemplative, and more focused.
This shift also underscores how deeply games are tied to human networks. A single number—46 unique players—summarizes the reduction, but behind that statistic lies the absence of entire communities. Weekly meetups ceased. Convention halls emptied. Friends once seen casually every few weeks disappeared into distance. The board game became both a reminder of what was missing and a tool for maintaining connection in smaller ways. Even online adaptations, while imperfect, served as a lifeline. Playing Codenames through a browser while chatting over video was a fragile substitute for the buzz of an in-person group, but it was a substitute nonetheless.
The year therefore became a study in contrasts. On one side stood the longing for variety, the ache of missing friends, and the silence of empty chairs. On the other stood the discovery of new modes of play, the deepening of relationships with close partners, and the resilience of the hobby to adapt. The numbers capture both: the collapse from 106 to 46, the rise from 1 solo play to 31, the surge of two-player sessions. Each figure carries within it a story of absence and adaptation.
What emerges is the recognition that games are not just systems of rules but social ecosystems. They are fragile in some ways, thriving on the diversity of people around the table, yet they are also resilient, capable of mutating into solo puzzles or two-player campaigns when circumstances demand. The year 2020 exposed that duality. It showed the vulnerability of the hobby to global disruption, but also its capacity to endure.
The emotional texture of playing with fewer people cannot be captured entirely by numbers. Sitting at the same table with the same partner across hundreds of nights creates its own atmosphere. Familiarity breeds efficiency, but it also deepens bonds. The shared language of strategy grows richer. The private jokes multiply. Victories and defeats become threads in a longer tapestry. The absence of variety is real, but the presence of intimacy is equally real. A year of 46 players may lack breadth, but it gained depth.
Looking forward, the experience of 2020 may leave lasting traces. Solo play may continue to hold appeal, offering moments of quiet reflection in a hobby once dominated by crowds. Two-player campaigns may remain a favorite format for households that discovered their richness. At the same time, the hunger for larger gatherings may rebound with even greater intensity. When conventions return, the memory of 2020 will make their crowded halls feel all the more vibrant.
The numbers that once seemed disappointing may, in hindsight, become markers of resilience. Playing with 46 people instead of 106 still means dozens of connections preserved in a year of isolation. Thirty-one solo sessions may look like a compromise, but they also mark thirty-one evenings in which play triumphed over silence. One hundred seventeen two-player games may have been born of necessity, but they also represent one hundred seventeen moments of shared focus and enjoyment.
In the end, playing together and playing apart are two sides of the same coin. The year showed that games can thrive in both modes, even if one is diminished. They are social by nature, but not entirely dependent on crowds. They are communal, but they can also be solitary. They are about variety, but also about depth. In 2020, the balance tipped heavily toward intimacy and solitude, but play endured nonetheless.
The statistics thus become more than dry measures. They are testimonies of adaptation. They show how a hobby built on togetherness adjusted to a world of separation. They capture both the loss and the resilience, both the contraction of networks and the expansion of new modes. In that tension lies the story of gaming in 2020: a year of fewer people but no less meaning, a year of solitude and companionship intertwined, a year where the act of play proved its durability against the harshest of circumstances.
Games That Defined the Year
Every gaming year takes on its character not only from the quantity of sessions or the number of participants but from the particular titles that dominate the log. In 2020, the distribution of play was shaped by the circumstances of the pandemic, which favored some types of games while sidelining others. Certain titles emerged as anchors, appearing again and again across the year, providing stability, variety, or simply comfort. Others rose because their mechanisms fit the reduced player counts or because digital adaptations made them feasible at a distance. Together, these games defined the experience of play during an extraordinary year.
The Crew was among the standouts. This cooperative trick-taking game captured imaginations not only because of its clever design but because it was perfectly suited to the conditions of the year. Its compact form allowed for repeated play across short sessions, and its cooperative structure meant it thrived even at lower player counts. In a time when gatherings were smaller, The Crew’s ability to deliver meaningful decisions in a short format made it a reliable choice. Each mission offered a puzzle that could be adjusted to the mood and attention span of the evening. In many ways it became a quintessential pandemic game, one that combined depth with accessibility and rewarded repetition.
Codenames also remained a staple, though its survival owed much to its adaptability to online play. With physical gatherings limited, the game migrated to browsers and video calls, allowing friends to maintain a sense of connection despite the distance. Codenames works because it relies less on the manipulation of components and more on communication and association. The mechanics translate seamlessly to digital formats, and the fun emerges from the wit of players rather than the presence of physical boards. In 2020 it was not just a party game but a lifeline, a way to keep laughter alive across screens.
Quirky Circuits represented another dimension of 2020’s gaming identity. This cooperative programming game blends charm with challenge, asking players to control adorable robots through partial information and limited communication. Its whimsical presentation belies a structure that requires concentration and coordination, traits well-suited to two- or three-player groups. Quirky Circuits exemplifies how lighter games can succeed in intimate settings. Without the buzz of a larger group, its humor and cooperative puzzles filled evenings with just enough chaos to break the monotony.
Chess, an eternal classic, also reasserted itself in 2020. For centuries it has offered the perfect duel for two players, and in a year dominated by pairs and solos, its timeless design found new relevance. Online platforms made it easy to connect with distant opponents, while physical boards allowed for quiet sessions at home. The game’s depth is inexhaustible, and in 2020 it reminded players of the value of simplicity. No miniatures, no elaborate rulebooks, just the tension of two minds in opposition. The renewed popularity of chess across the wider culture that year mirrored this personal resurgence, showing how old classics can feel newly vital in times of constraint.
Gloomhaven took on a special role. This sprawling cooperative campaign is not an easy undertaking. It demands consistent partners, long sessions, and a willingness to track storylines and character progress across dozens of scenarios. Under normal conditions it can be difficult to sustain, as groups fluctuate and schedules clash. In 2020, however, the constancy of home life and the reduction of outside distractions created the perfect environment. Playing Gloomhaven became not just a hobby but an ongoing journey. The discovery that one’s partner truly enjoyed it was a silver lining, a shared adventure that transformed long evenings into epic tales of strategy and survival. The game’s depth and variety made it a pillar of the year, and the memories of those sessions stand as a bright counterpoint to the restrictions elsewhere.
Marvel United and Marvel Champions represented another trend: the rise of thematic cooperative card and miniatures games. Both drew on the popular Marvel universe, offering accessible entry points for fans and hobbyists alike. Marvel United, with its chibi miniatures and straightforward rules, provided lighthearted cooperative fun that could be enjoyed in shorter bursts. Marvel Champions, by contrast, offered a more intricate deck-building experience, allowing players to embody heroes and strategize through scenarios. Together they provided a thematic escape, a way to step into the roles of superheroes during a time when the world itself felt fragile. The repetition of these games reflected their versatility: light enough for casual play, deep enough for repeated engagement.
Dominion, the pioneer of deck-building games, continued to assert its relevance. In 2020, its modular setup and endless combinations gave it a freshness that offset the reduction in variety elsewhere. Each session felt familiar yet new, a balance that suited the year’s constraints. Dominion also worked well at two players, allowing for competitive tension without requiring a larger group. Its elegance and efficiency made it a reliable fallback, a game that never overstayed its welcome and could be tailored to the time available.
Spirit Island emerged as one of the defining binge experiences of the year. This cooperative game of anti-colonial defense is complex, demanding, and immensely rewarding. In 2020 it became a focus for concentrated attention, played repeatedly across a stretch of weeks. Its layered systems of powers, invaders, and escalating threats rewarded strategic growth, allowing players to feel themselves mastering its challenges over time. Spirit Island is not a casual filler; it is an immersive puzzle. To binge it in this way marked a shift in gaming style, away from sampling and toward deep engagement. The year’s circumstances encouraged that transformation, and Spirit Island was one of the great beneficiaries.
Aeon’s End continued this pattern of cooperative strategy. As a deck-building defense against waves of monsters, it combines accessibility with depth. Its twist on deck-building—never shuffling the discard pile, instead cycling through it predictably—adds strategic weight and makes it stand apart. In 2020, its cooperative format and ability to scale to smaller groups made it a natural fit. Like Spirit Island, it offered the satisfaction of repeated engagement, building familiarity and mastery over time. It also provided a thematic escape, letting players battle monsters when the real world felt equally overwhelming.
Hero Realms rounded out the list of heavily played titles. This fast-paced deck-building duel thrives at two players, making it perfect for the year’s dominant format. Quick, punchy sessions allowed for multiple games in a night, and its expansions added variety without requiring large groups. Hero Realms demonstrates how compact designs can thrive under constrained conditions. It may lack the grandeur of Gloomhaven or the thematic richness of Spirit Island, but in 2020 it was no less important for filling evenings with competition and fun.
Taken together, these titles reveal the contours of 2020’s gaming identity. Cooperative games flourished, offering solidarity and shared purpose at a time when the world outside felt fragmented. Deck-building systems appeared repeatedly, from Dominion to Marvel Champions to Aeon’s End to Hero Realms, suggesting that the structure of gradually improving a personal deck resonated with the year’s need for growth and progress within boundaries. Classic titles like Chess reminded players of the enduring power of simplicity. Online adaptations like Codenames kept social ties alive. Campaigns like Gloomhaven thrived because consistent partners and schedules suddenly became more attainable.
The absence of other genres is equally telling. Social deduction games, once a staple of larger gatherings, were almost entirely absent. Party games requiring five or more players struggled to find a place. Heavy negotiation games lost their audience. These absences are not failures of design but reflections of circumstance. The games that survived and thrived were those that could adapt to the reduced circle of play, either by working well at two, offering solo modes, or translating smoothly online.
The concentration of plays also reshaped the emotional landscape. Instead of sampling many titles once or twice, the year was defined by repeated encounters with a smaller set. This created opportunities for depth and mastery. Spirit Island became familiar in ways that a one-off convention play could never allow. Gloomhaven became a shared story rather than an occasional event. Even lighter titles like The Crew accumulated weight through repetition, as strategies evolved and communication sharpened. The year may have lacked variety, but it gained intensity.
In reflecting on the games that defined the year, it becomes clear that they were not simply chosen by preference but by necessity. They were the games that fit the available conditions: cooperative, two-player, solo-capable, or online-adaptable. Within those constraints, they became beloved. Their presence in the log is not only a record of enjoyment but a record of survival. They carried the hobby through months of isolation, providing structure, comfort, and escape.
When future years are compared, the 2020 log will stand out not only for its numbers but for this particular constellation of titles. The Crew, Codenames, Quirky Circuits, Chess, Gloomhaven, Marvel United, Marvel Champions, Dominion, Spirit Island, Aeon’s End, and Hero Realms form a portrait of adaptation. They are the games that rose to the occasion, the ones that could thrive in unusual conditions. Their collective presence defines the year as clearly as any statistic.
The experience of focusing so heavily on these titles may also shape future habits. Having discovered the joys of deep repetition, there may be less urgency to sample dozens of new games each year. Having enjoyed the consistency of a Gloomhaven campaign or the mastery of Spirit Island, the appeal of depth may linger. At the same time, the hunger for variety may rebound with a vengeance, leading to a flood of new experiences when gatherings resume. Either way, the memory of 2020 will be inseparable from the memory of these games.
Ultimately, the games that defined 2020 did more than entertain. They structured time, sustained relationships, and provided meaning. In a year when the world contracted, they expanded imagination. In a year when social networks fractured, they created islands of connection. They are more than names on a list; they are symbols of resilience. The Crew and Codenames kept communication alive. Gloomhaven turned evenings into adventures. Spirit Island transformed isolation into collaboration against common threats. Chess reminded players of timeless competition. Each game carries within it the imprint of the year, making the log not just a record of play but a chronicle of adaptation and endurance.
Silver Linings and Lasting Impressions
Looking back at 2020 as a year of gaming means more than tallying plays or noting which titles filled the log. It also means searching for the silver linings, the moments of discovery that would not have occurred under ordinary conditions, and considering the lasting impressions that may shape habits in the years to come. For all the disruptions and losses, there were also bright spots: new patterns of play, unexpected connections, and a deeper appreciation for what games can offer.
One of the most memorable personal highlights was the discovery that a close partner enjoyed Gloomhaven. This sprawling cooperative epic had long been admired for its ambition, but sustaining its campaign demands consistency and investment. In 2020, the conditions that made larger gatherings impossible also created the perfect environment for such a campaign. Even more important than the sessions themselves was the shared enthusiasm they revealed. Discovering that someone in the household not only tolerated but actively enjoyed Gloomhaven transformed it from a solitary indulgence into a joint adventure. It was more than a game; it became a narrative the household lived together, a story that unfolded night after night. That silver lining carried a weight no convention weekend could replicate.
Other cooperative games thrived for similar reasons. Spirit Island became a binge-worthy pursuit, not just because of its mechanics but because it provided a sense of partnership against a common challenge. In a world that often felt overwhelming, the act of defending an island from invaders carried metaphorical resonance. Each session was not just a puzzle but a symbolic victory, a reminder that cooperation could triumph even in the face of escalating threats. The repeated plays deepened that message, turning it into more than a pastime. It became a ritual of solidarity, one that brought structure to weeks when the wider world felt chaotic.
Online adaptations provided another kind of silver lining. Codenames, played through a browser while chatting on video calls, was a reminder that human connection could transcend physical absence. The laughter and clever wordplay that defined those sessions were fragile but real, keeping friendships alive when in-person gatherings were impossible. These online sessions were imperfect substitutes, yet they preserved the spirit of the game. They also expanded the understanding of how games could function as tools of connection. In years past, digital play might have been dismissed as inferior. In 2020 it became essential, and its success may encourage more hybrid approaches in the future.
The rise of solo play also left a lasting impression. Thirty-one solo sessions in a single year was a dramatic departure from the historical median of one. Those sessions revealed dimensions of the hobby that had previously gone unexplored. Playing alone stripped away the social layer, leaving only the dialogue between player and system. It became a form of meditation, a chance to engage with puzzles in silence. For some games, the solo mode felt like an afterthought, but for others it revealed new depths. That discovery may not fade with the return of social gatherings. Solo play has proven its value, and it may remain a quiet companion in future years, a way to engage with games even when schedules or moods do not align with group play.
Two-player sessions, which rose to a record 117, also created lasting changes. In ordinary years, the push to include more friends often meant that games were played at higher counts whenever possible. In 2020, necessity focused attention on the two-player format, revealing its strengths. Many games shine brightest at two, where competition is pure and interaction is constant. Campaigns unfold more smoothly, strategies deepen, and the sense of partnership or rivalry is sharpened. Having experienced the richness of two-player formats, future years may see them embraced more readily, not as compromises but as valuable experiences in their own right.
Beyond these specific modes of play, the broader silver lining was the reminder of resilience. Despite the collapse of conventions, the disappearance of weekly groups, and the narrowing of social circles, the hobby endured. The total of 317 games stands as proof that play can persist even under constraint. The numbers reveal adaptation rather than decline, a reconfiguration rather than a collapse. That resilience is a testament not only to the flexibility of the games themselves but to the human desire for play. When the world outside grew uncertain, the structured challenges of games became a refuge.
The lasting impression of 2020 is therefore one of duality. It was a year of loss, with fewer people, fewer unique titles, and fewer moments of communal discovery. But it was also a year of discovery, with new modes of play, deeper engagements, and unexpected joys. The two sides are inseparable. Without the loss, the discoveries might never have occurred. Without the constraints, the silver linings might have been overlooked. The year was extraordinary precisely because it forced adaptation, and adaptation revealed possibilities that had always been present but rarely explored.
For example, the act of binging Spirit Island or Res Arcana for weeks at a time would have been unusual in an ordinary year, when variety and novelty dominate. Yet those binges provided a depth of experience that was enriching in its own way. They showed the value of mastering a game, of exploring its nuances through repeated play, of building a shared language with a partner over time. That intensity may inspire similar binges in future years, not out of necessity but out of choice. The discovery that depth can be as rewarding as variety is a lasting lesson.
The shift toward cooperative play also carries implications. The popularity of games like The Crew, Gloomhaven, and Marvel Champions during 2020 underscored the appeal of working together in difficult times. These cooperative experiences offered more than entertainment; they offered reassurance. They reminded players that victory could be shared, that challenges could be overcome collectively. In a year when isolation was common, the symbolism of cooperation was powerful. That symbolic weight may linger, shaping preferences for years to come. Cooperative games may continue to hold a larger place in the hobby as a result.
Even the limitations of 2020 offered lessons. The absence of large-group party games revealed how dependent they are on specific social contexts. Their decline was not a failure but a reminder that some forms of play are inseparable from community. When those communities return, the joy of such games will be amplified. The hunger for crowded tables and boisterous laughter will be sharper for having been denied. The contrast will make their return all the sweeter, a lasting impression born of absence.
The year also highlighted the importance of collections. With conventions canceled and opportunities to try new titles limited, the games already on the shelf became invaluable. A large collection was not simply a sign of hobbyist enthusiasm but a resource that sustained play. Each box became an opportunity, each expansion a reminder of variety. The value of those collections was affirmed, and the habit of returning to older titles gained renewed appreciation. In the future, this may temper the constant pursuit of the new, encouraging players to revisit and rediscover the treasures they already own.
Perhaps the deepest silver lining is the renewed understanding of why games matter. They are not only diversions or entertainment but structures that bring order, connection, and meaning. In 2020, they provided stability when routines were disrupted, companionship when gatherings were impossible, and imagination when the world felt limited. The lasting impression is that games are more than pastimes. They are tools of resilience, capable of adapting to circumstances and sustaining spirits through difficulty.
Looking forward, the lessons of 2020 suggest a more balanced approach to the hobby. Variety will return, and with it the joy of conventions and new releases. But depth will not be forgotten. Solo play will remain a companion. Two-player campaigns will be valued for their intimacy. Cooperative games will continue to resonate. Collections will be cherished not only for what they promise in the future but for what they sustained in the past. The hobby will be richer for having endured its most unusual year.
The final impression of 2020 is therefore paradoxical. It was a year of fewer players, fewer titles, and fewer gatherings, yet it was also a year of more depth, more discovery, and more resilience. The numbers alone cannot capture this paradox, but the memories of specific sessions do. Evenings of Gloomhaven with a newly enthusiastic partner. Weeks of Spirit Island mastery. Laughter over online Codenames. Quiet reflection in solo play. Quick duels in Hero Realms. Each of these moments was a silver lining, each a reminder that play endures.
In the end, 2020 will be remembered not only for its challenges but for the way games responded to them. The silver linings of that year were not small; they were profound. They revealed the adaptability of the hobby, the importance of partnership, and the enduring power of play. The lasting impressions will shape habits, preferences, and perspectives for years to come. Above all, they will stand as evidence that even in the most unusual circumstances, the act of gathering around a game—whether with many, with two, or alone—remains one of the most resilient and meaningful ways to navigate the world.
Final Thoughts
When 2020 began, it seemed poised to be just another year in a decade of steady gaming habits, with totals hovering around familiar medians and new titles waiting to be discovered at gatherings and conventions. What unfolded instead was a year that broke patterns, redefined expectations, and revealed aspects of play that had always been present but rarely acknowledged. The numbers—317 total plays, 134 different titles, 46 unique players—tell a story of contraction and adaptation. They mark the year as an outlier, one in which familiar rhythms were disrupted and replaced with something both narrower and deeper.
The central theme that emerges from looking back is resilience. Play did not vanish; it reshaped itself. Social circles shrank, but online connections filled some gaps. Large gatherings disappeared, but two-player campaigns and solo sessions expanded. Variety diminished, but depth increased, as games like Spirit Island, Res Arcana, and Gloomhaven became immersive anchors. Even the act of counting and reflecting on these plays took on new significance, turning numbers into a narrative of perseverance.
There were silver linings, many of them profound. The discovery of new gaming partnerships at home, the joy of shared victories in cooperative titles, the laughter preserved through digital adaptations, the meditative value of solo play—all of these emerged from necessity but carried lasting meaning. The year demonstrated that games are not fragile luxuries but adaptable companions, capable of providing connection, structure, and joy even under unprecedented constraints.
The lasting impression is not simply that 2020 was different, but that it was transformative. It forced a rethinking of what gaming could be and what it meant personally. Going forward, the lessons of the year will remain: an appreciation for the intimacy of two-player experiences, a willingness to explore solo play, a deeper respect for cooperative storytelling, and a renewed gratitude for collections that sustain play through droughts of novelty.
In time, conventions will return, groups will expand, and shelves will once again host the excitement of the new. But the habits and insights born of 2020 will continue to shape the way games are chosen, played, and valued. The year was a reminder that play is not only about variety or scale, but about meaning—the meaning found in connection, in discovery, in perseverance, and in joy.
2020 will always stand apart in the logbooks, marked by fewer names and fewer titles. Yet it will also stand out as the year when games proved their resilience, when they revealed their power to comfort, to connect, and to sustain. That paradox—of loss and discovery, of contraction and depth—is the final thought to carry forward. Play endures, and in enduring, it transforms.