The days leading up to Gen Con 2023 were filled with an electricity that was hard to miss. Long before anyone set foot in the Indianapolis Convention Center, there was one name on everyone’s lips: Lorcana. The new collectible card game from Ravensburger promised a magical blend of familiar Disney characters and strategic gameplay that would appeal to both dedicated card players and casual fans. That combination alone was enough to build buzz, but the atmosphere around this release felt different. It felt like a perfect storm of curiosity, fear of missing out, and the innate excitement that always swells before the exhibit hall doors open for the first time.
Even outside the usual hobby circles, people were paying attention. This was not just the debut of a game but a cultural moment that merged nostalgia with the trading card phenomenon. The presence of a lawsuit from another publisher cast a dramatic shadow over the launch, but it only added to the intrigue. People wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and they were willing to line up for hours to make sure they were among the first to hold Lorcana cards in their hands.
This pre-convention anticipation led to a situation that could have been predicted but perhaps not fully appreciated by those tasked with managing it. Attendees began forming unofficial lines even before Gen Con officially opened. Many camped out, talking strategy, trading information about what they had heard, and sharing the excitement of the moment. There was a sense of camaraderie among those waiting, an almost festival-like energy that often accompanies big launches. It felt like everyone was part of something historic, something that would be talked about for years to come.
As night turned into morning and the opening hours approached, that energy transformed into a mix of nerves and determination. People jockeyed for position, double-checking bags, comparing notes about what would be available and at what price. Then, just before the doors opened, security made an announcement that changed the dynamic completely. Instead of keeping the orderly lines that had formed, they instructed people to fill whatever space they could, collapsing what had been hours of careful waiting into a chaotic mass of humanity.
The Moment the Doors Opened
When the convention doors finally opened, it was as though a dam had broken. The crowd surged forward, flooding into the exhibit hall with a momentum that felt unstoppable. Those who had been standing quietly only moments before were suddenly caught in a tide of bodies moving toward the Ravensburger booth. It was the kind of rush that calls to mind images of early morning Black Friday sales, with people half-walking, half-running to be among the first.
The scene that unfolded was a mix of adrenaline and confusion. Some people cheered as they neared the booth, believing they had secured their prize, while others shouted in frustration as they realized they had lost their place in line. For those who had been waiting all night, the experience was especially disheartening. What had been a badge of dedication — braving the early hours to be first — now felt meaningless as they were sent to the back of another line that they had not even known existed.
The booth itself became a bottleneck. People crowded around, trying to get the attention of staff members, asking whether there was still product available and whether they would have a chance to buy. The energy that had started as excitement now began to tip toward agitation. There were stories of people being jostled and pushed, of parents trying to shield children from being knocked over, of attendees in wheelchairs struggling to navigate the press of bodies.
This was the moment when the scale of the demand became fully apparent. Ravensburger had expected a rush, but the sheer number of people wanting Lorcana was overwhelming. Those who did manage to make a purchase emerged victorious, clutching their boxes and booster packs like treasures. For everyone else, the disappointment was palpable. To come so far and wait so long, only to leave empty-handed, was a bitter pill to swallow.
The Emotional Impact on Attendees
One of the most striking aspects of that first day was the raw emotion on display. Conventions are usually places of shared joy, where attendees celebrate the things they love in a community of like-minded fans. On this day, though, there was a noticeable undercurrent of frustration and even anger. People expressed it in different ways — some with quiet resignation, others with loud complaints — but it was clear that the experience had shaken them.
For exhibitors near the Ravensburger booth, the situation was more than just a spectacle. It directly affected their ability to conduct business. The area around the booth was clogged, making it difficult for attendees to stop and browse other nearby booths. Some vendors reported that potential customers simply moved on because they could not get through the crowd. The atmosphere was not conducive to leisurely shopping or engaging conversations about products.
There were also moments of genuine fear. Several witnesses described feeling unsafe in the crush, comparing it to crowd disasters they had seen in the news. One attendee was seen in tears, holding a baby close while trying to get out of the crowd. Another reported nearly being tipped over on a scooter as people surged around him. These are the kinds of moments that leave lasting impressions and can shape how people remember the event for years to come.
At the same time, it would be unfair to say that the entire day was negative. For some, the experience of chasing Lorcana became a story to tell, a war story of sorts about braving the chaos and either winning or losing in the attempt. The rarity of the product only added to its allure. Those who succeeded could not help but feel a thrill at their victory, while those who failed sometimes laughed it off, already planning to try again the next day.
The Collector Mentality and FOMO
Part of what made the situation so intense was the collector mentality that drives so much of the hobby. Lorcana was not just another game; it was a game with limited availability, a new property with Disney characters, and the added spice of potentially valuable cards hidden within its booster packs. This combination created a perfect recipe for fear of missing out.
The announcement that there would be a previously unannounced sixth rarity — enchanted cards with special alternate artwork — only heightened this effect. Suddenly, the purchase was not just about getting the game but about the chance of pulling something truly special. People imagined being one of the first to reveal such a card online, earning not just bragging rights but an invitation to an exclusive event later in the weekend.
This kind of manufactured scarcity is a well-known strategy in collectible markets, but its impact at a convention setting can be particularly powerful. The ticking clock of the convention schedule means that every hour feels urgent. There is a limited window to act, and missing it means waiting not just hours but potentially months for another chance. Even though Lorcana was scheduled to release in hobby stores within weeks, that promise did little to ease the immediate sense of urgency. People wanted it now, and they were willing to endure the chaos to get it.
For some attendees, the situation was not just about personal enjoyment but about potential profit. Within hours of the convention opening, Lorcana items began appearing on secondary markets at eye-watering prices. This added another layer of tension as some accused others of flipping products rather than genuinely supporting the game. Whether or not this was fair, it contributed to the feeling that the convention floor had turned into a high-stakes marketplace rather than a celebration of gaming culture.
Adjustments and New Procedures
After the chaotic first day, it was clear that something had to change. The energy that had once been excitement had transformed into something closer to desperation, and both the convention organizers and Ravensburger were under intense scrutiny. By the time evening rolled around, there was an almost palpable sense of waiting for an announcement about what would be done to prevent a repeat of the morning crush.
When the official word came, it was clear that Gen Con and Ravensburger had opted for a more controlled approach. Stanchioned lines would be set up to regulate access to the booth on subsequent days. These lines would not open in the morning but rather in the evening, as soon as the exhibit hall closed. This meant that attendees could begin queuing at 6:00 p.m. for entry into Hall F at 10:00 a.m. the next day. It was an attempt to balance fairness with safety, allowing those who were committed enough to line up to secure their place while avoiding the mass rush of hundreds of people surging forward at once.
When the exhibit hall closed on that first day, the effect was immediate. People began forming a line almost as soon as they were allowed, stretching from the interior doors to the exterior ones and then wrapping around the building. From a distance, it looked less like a game convention and more like a concert venue with fans waiting overnight for the best seats. The line extended nearly a quarter of a mile, winding down S. Capitol Avenue and beyond, with attendees setting up folding chairs, unpacking snacks, and preparing for what would be a very long wait.
This new approach created a sense of order that had been sorely lacking before, but it also turned the Lorcana chase into something of an endurance event. People traded stories as they waited, comparing notes about what had happened that morning and strategizing about how to maximize their purchases. The conversations took on an almost conspiratorial tone, as if everyone in line were members of a secret society bound together by their shared mission. There was frustration, yes, but there was also a renewed sense of camaraderie.
The Changing Atmosphere
By the time day two began, the atmosphere was noticeably different. The stanchioned lines had done their job, and instead of a chaotic rush, there was a slow but steady trickle of attendees entering the hall. This not only made the experience safer but also less stressful for everyone involved. Vendors near the Ravensburger booth breathed a sigh of relief as the crowding from the day before eased. Attendees could now actually stop and look at the products on display in neighboring booths without being swept away in the flow of people.
This change also gave Ravensburger staff a chance to catch their breath. The previous day had been a constant press of bodies and questions, with staff members trying to keep track of inventory and communicate policies in the midst of a shouting crowd. Now, with people coming in more gradually, the process has become more manageable. Attendees could ask questions, make their purchases, and move on without feeling rushed.
That said, the demand did not wane. The line outside remained long throughout the morning, with latecomers finding themselves facing hours of waiting even with the new system in place. For some, this became part of the ritual. They would line up early, make their purchases as soon as they were allowed inside, then spend the rest of the day playing games, attending events, or trading with other collectors. For others, the time commitment was simply too much, and they decided to wait until Lorcana was released more widely in stores.
What became clear during this second day was that Lorcana had truly become the centerpiece of the convention. Conversations overheard in hallways, gaming areas, and food courts all seemed to circle back to the game. People speculated about card rarities, debated which characters would be most powerful, and shared rumors about restocks and limits. Even attendees who had not originally been interested found themselves curious just from hearing so many others talk about it.
The Collector Economy in Action
As more products made their way into the hands of attendees, the secondary market exploded. Social media is filled with images of booster packs, starter decks, and enchanted cards being opened. Each reveal was celebrated, and in some cases envied, by those still waiting for their chance. Prices on online marketplaces fluctuated wildly throughout the day as sellers tried to gauge just how much people were willing to pay for early access.
This created a fascinating dynamic within the convention itself. On one hand, some were purely there for the love of the game, eager to open packs, build decks, and sit down to play. On the other hand, some saw the product as a speculative investment, something to be sold rather than used. These two groups sometimes clashed, with the former accusing the latter of hoarding product and driving up prices, and the latter arguing that they were simply responding to market demand.
The presence of Ravensburger’s purchase limits helped to some extent, but it could not fully eliminate the tension. There were still exhibitors and attendees who managed to get their hands on the product before the general public, and this fueled ongoing debates about fairness. Some felt that exhibitors had an unfair advantage since they were already inside the hall and could head to the booth as soon as the doors opened. Others countered that exhibitors had their own responsibilities and often could not afford to spend hours standing in line themselves.
Whatever one’s perspective, there was no denying that Lorcana had become the defining narrative of Gen Con 2023. Every convention has its hot game — the title that everyone seems to be chasing — but this felt like something on another level. It was not just a game; it was an event that had reshaped the flow of the entire convention.
Lessons Learned and Community Response
By the end of the second day, there was a sense that things had stabilized. The new line system was not perfect, but it was far better than what had happened on day one. People knew what to expect, which made the entire experience less stressful. There were fewer reports of pushing or shoving, and attendees were better able to plan their schedules around the wait time.
This episode also sparked a lot of conversation about how conventions manage high-demand releases. Some argued that there should be a lottery system to avoid rewarding those who can physically wait in line the longest. Others suggested pre-orders or timed ticketing to spread out the demand more evenly throughout the day. These discussions were not just limited to Lorcana but touched on a broader issue that affects many conventions: how to ensure that everyone has a fair chance to get the most popular items without turning the event into a test of endurance.
For Ravensburger, the experience was both a challenge and a triumph. They had managed to generate a level of excitement that most publishers can only dream of, even if it came with growing pains. Their willingness to adjust quickly and work with Gen Con staff to improve the process was noted and appreciated by many. It showed that they were listening to the community and taking concerns seriously.
Attendees, too, began to reflect on the experience in a more measured way. For all the frustration and disappointment of the first day, there was also a recognition that this kind of passion is what makes the hobby vibrant. People care deeply about these games, enough to travel, wait, and sometimes even suffer a little just for the chance to be part of something special.
The Larger Cultural Moment
By the time the weekend hit its midpoint, it was clear that what was happening with Lorcana had grown beyond a simple game release. It was a cultural flashpoint within the hobby. The conversations taking place around tables in open gaming areas or over dinner in nearby restaurants all seemed to orbit this single phenomenon. Some people spoke of it with admiration, describing it as a sign that tabletop gaming had reached a new level of mainstream appeal. Others spoke of it with frustration, lamenting the way it had dominated the conversation to the exclusion of other games that might otherwise have had their moment to shine.
This duality is at the heart of many convention experiences. The popularity of one title can be a blessing and a curse. It brings attention to the hobby as a whole, potentially attracting new players who might never have considered tabletop gaming before. At the same time, it can overshadow smaller publishers who depend on these few days each year to showcase their work. Several designers reported that they struggled to get traffic to their booths because so many attendees were either waiting in line or recovering from their time in line.
Yet the sheer scale of the Lorcana event gave the entire convention an undeniable energy. Even people who had no interest in collectible card games could not help but be drawn into the spectacle. The sight of lines stretching out of the hall and down the street became an iconic image of Gen Con 2023. It served as a reminder of just how passionate this community can be when given something to rally around.
Stories from the Floor
Throughout the weekend, stories continued to circulate about what had happened during those opening hours and what people had experienced while waiting in line. Some of these stories became almost mythic in tone, exaggerated through retelling as attendees swapped them back and forth. There were tales of people who had arrived at dawn only to be pushed to the back of the line, of last-minute decisions that led to lucky breaks, of enchanted cards being opened and celebrated by small crowds of onlookers.
These shared narratives became part of the convention’s folklore. Every Gen Con has its moments that are talked about for years afterward, and for 2023, the Lorcana frenzy was unquestionably one of them. Attendees would remember where they were when the doors opened, how far they had to walk to get to the end of the line, and whether they walked away with anything in hand. The emotional highs and lows of the chase would become a touchstone for comparing future years.
This also created a sense of unity among those who had shared the experience. People who met in line sometimes spent the rest of the weekend together, forging new friendships out of their common goal. For many, those hours waiting were not just dead time but a chance to connect with fellow fans, trade stories about their favorite games, and speculate about what the future of Lorcana might hold.
The Theft That Shocked the Convention
Just as the convention was finding its rhythm after the chaos of the first day, news broke that would add yet another dramatic layer to the weekend: a theft had occurred at the convention center before the show even began. Reports indicated that more than $300,000 worth of gaming cards had been stolen while vendors were setting up their displays. The story spread quickly through social media and word of mouth, with attendees speculating about what had been taken and how it might affect the show.
Based on the labeling of the stolen boxes, many suspected that the cards were Magic: The Gathering Commander decks, though authorities did not immediately confirm the details. What was clear was that the theft had been audacious. The suspects had apparently walked into the convention center, taken the product, and walked out again before anyone noticed. The Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department released images of two individuals they believed might be involved and asked the public for assistance in identifying them.
For many attendees, this incident was both shocking and oddly fitting. Gen Con had already been dominated by discussions of valuable cards, and now here was a real-world heist thrown into the mix. It added an element of true crime intrigue to the weekend, with people speculating about whether the thieves would be caught and what would happen to the stolen merchandise. Some joked that the theft would one day inspire its own board game or role-playing scenario, complete with miniatures and dice rolls to determine whether the culprits escaped.
Safety, Security, and the Human Element
The theft also sparked conversations about security at conventions. If someone could walk out with hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of product, what did that say about the protections in place? Some attendees wondered whether enough was being done to ensure the safety of both people and property. The memory of the opening day crush was still fresh, and it added weight to these concerns.
Gen Con has long been known for its friendly and welcoming atmosphere, but the events of 2023 were a reminder that large gatherings are complex and require careful planning. From crowd control to theft prevention, there are many moving parts that need to work together to create a smooth and safe experience for everyone involved. Organizers faced the challenge of balancing the open, inviting nature of the convention with the need for more robust systems to handle situations like these.
In many ways, these incidents also highlighted the humanity of the convention. Behind every booth, every product, and every line of attendees were people — designers, publishers, staff members, and fans — all trying to navigate the same challenges. The vendors who lost product were not faceless corporations but often small teams for whom such a loss could be devastating. The attendees caught in the crush were not simply statistics but individuals with their own stories, fears, and frustrations. Recognizing that humanity became an important part of processing the weekend’s events.
The Resilience of the Community
Despite everything, the mood of the convention did not remain sour. If anything, the adversity seemed to galvanize many attendees. People rallied around those who had bad experiences, offering support and solidarity. The community’s ability to bounce back from setbacks is one of its defining features. Games are, at their heart, about problem-solving, and that mindset often carries over into real life.
By the end of the third day, conversations had shifted away from anger and toward solutions. Attendees discussed what could be done differently in the future to avoid the same issues. Suggestions ranged from ticketed time slots to improved communication about where lines should form. Some even volunteered ideas for better training for convention staff and security personnel. It was a reminder that this is a participatory community where people care not just about their own experience but about making the event better for everyone.
There was also a sense of perspective that began to settle in. As intense as the Lorcana chase had been, it was still just one part of a much larger event. Thousands of other games were being played, demonstrated, and sold throughout the convention center. Designers were pitching prototypes, publishers were running tournaments, and attendees were discovering hidden gems that might never receive the kind of attention that Lorcana had. The buzz around the hot game might have dominated the headlines, but the heart of Gen Con remained the same: a celebration of creativity, imagination, and play.
The Symbolism of the Balloon Sculpture
Each year at this gathering, the massive balloon sculpture has been a point of wonder for attendees, a whimsical landmark in the middle of an otherwise bustling convention center. In 2023, the sculpture took the form of an intricately detailed moon lander, complete with multiple balloon sizes and textures that created a surprising level of depth. It was more than just a photo opportunity; it was a piece of living art that captured the spirit of the convention.
After several days of rushing lines, packed hallways, and emotional highs and lows, the sculpture became a kind of refuge. People gathered around it to admire the craft that had gone into its construction, taking pictures and pointing out their favorite details. Parents brought their children there to marvel at the sheer scale of it. For a few minutes, it offered a pause, a chance to breathe and simply enjoy the creativity on display.
The tradition of auctioning off the first opportunity to destroy the sculpture on the final day added a layer of meaning. The auction proceeds went to charity, turning the sculpture’s end into something that benefited others. The symbolic act of dismantling the sculpture also mirrored the end of the convention itself: all the temporary spaces, the pop-up booths, and the bustling halls would soon be gone, leaving behind only memories until the next year.
When the winning bidder stepped forward to begin the demolition, a crowd gathered to watch. Children waited eagerly for their turn to join in. Soon, the moon lander became a flurry of popping balloons and laughter. It was a cathartic moment, a communal release that marked the close of the event. In a weekend that had been marked by tension and scarcity, this moment was defined by abundance and generosity.
Finding Perspective After the Frenzy
The frenzy over Lorcana and the theft of valuable cards had dominated the narrative of the convention, but by the final day, a different tone prevailed. Attendees were tired but content, carrying bags filled with games and souvenirs, recounting their favorite moments. Conversations shifted from the stress of day one to the highlights that had made the experience memorable.
In many ways, the chaos of the first day had served as a reminder of just how passionate this community is. It had also sparked necessary discussions about logistics, fairness, and safety that will likely influence how future conventions handle high-demand product releases. Many left with the sense that the challenges of 2023 would lead to improvements in 2024, ensuring a smoother experience for everyone.
For Ravensburger, the event was both a triumph and a learning opportunity. They had successfully launched one of the most anticipated games in recent memory, creating a buzz that extended far beyond the walls of the convention center. At the same time, they had seen firsthand the importance of planning for overwhelming demand and the need for clear communication with attendees. The changes implemented after the first day were a step in the right direction, but they also provided a blueprint for even more robust systems in the future.
The Legacy of Gen Con 2023
As the final hours of the convention ticked away, there was a sense that this year would be remembered for more than just the release of a single game. It would be remembered as a turning point, a year that revealed both the strengths and the vulnerabilities of a rapidly growing hobby. The massive demand for Lorcana showed that tabletop gaming has entered a new era, one in which pop culture crossovers can attract crowds rivaling those of major media events.
It was also a year that highlighted the resilience of the community. Despite the setbacks, attendees adapted, adjusted, and found ways to make the most of their time. They supported one another, celebrated each other’s successes, and came together to enjoy the unique magic that only this convention provides. The stories that emerged — of near-misses, lucky breaks, late-night line bonding, and shared moments of discovery — will be told and retold, growing into the kind of lore that makes the convention special.
The theft that occurred in the days before the opening will also be remembered, not just as a curiosity but as a wake-up call about security and the value of what is on display. For many, it reinforced the idea that the products and experiences we cherish are worth protecting. It also sparked conversations about the balance between openness and caution, between making the convention welcoming and keeping it secure.
Looking Toward the Future
In the weeks after the convention, as Lorcana rolled out to hobby stores and then mass-market retailers, the conversations that had begun in Indianapolis continued online and in local game stores. People compared their convention experiences with their release-day experiences, debated the secondary market prices, and speculated about the future of the game. The excitement of the convention had seeded what looked like a long-term presence for Lorcana in the gaming landscape.
The lessons of 2023 will likely shape how both organizers and publishers approach future events. More robust queuing systems, improved communication strategies, and perhaps even ticketed time slots could become standard practice for high-demand product launches. The goal will not just be to avoid chaos but to ensure that the convention experience remains welcoming and safe for everyone.
For attendees, the memories of 2023 will serve as both a cautionary tale and a badge of honor. Those who were there will talk about how they stood in line for hours, how they braved the crush of the first morning, how they either walked away triumphant or vowed to try again next year. These shared experiences bind the community together, creating a sense of continuity from year to year.
The Spirit of Play Endures
Ultimately, what makes this convention enduringly powerful is not the product releases, the lines, or even the spectacle of a balloon moon lander being dismantled. It is the spirit of play that underlies it all. In the end, people come to this event not just to buy games but to experience them, to sit down with friends and strangers alike and share moments of creativity, competition, and joy.
Even amid the stress of a high-demand release, that spirit was present. People played games while waiting in line. They taught each other rules, traded cards, and offered snacks to those nearby. They turned a difficult situation into an opportunity to connect. This spirit cannot be stanchioned off or stolen away. It is what makes the hobby vibrant and what will bring people back next year, ready to face whatever challenges and surprises await.
As the last balloon popped and the final goodbyes were said, the convention center began to empty. Volunteers and staff dismantled booths, packed away tables, and rolled up carpets. What had been a bustling city of gamers only hours before was now returning to an ordinary convention space. Yet the energy lingered in the air, carried away by those heading home, ready to share their stories and their games with friends who had not been able to attend.
Conclusion
Gen Con 2023 was not just the end of an event but the start of another chapter in the story of the hobby. It reminded everyone that the world of tabletop games is alive, unpredictable, and capable of moments that inspire awe, frustration, and joy in equal measure. For those who were there, it was a year that would never be forgotten — a year of lines and balloons, of theft and triumph, of chaos and community.