November 1: Dave & Busters

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11775 Commons Drive, Springdale OH
The names which dominate the arcade industry are an instrumental part in the discourse. There isn't the same kind of rivalry among individual players as has developed in the console industry (you certainly won't hear a single "Genesis does what Nintendon't!"), but the companies go to certain lengths to ensure that the playerbase knows who's building their favorite ride. When I surveyed Dave & Busters' inventory of machines, what surprised me most wasn't the extended stock of ticket machines or enlarged smartphone apps. GameWorks had prepared me for that. What caught me was that out of the 76 machines that make up D&B's section of traditional arcade cabinets, 42 of them were Sega properties. These were primarily 90s and early 2000s 3D shooters and simulation games, the likes of Virtua Tennis and Virtua Cop, with Daytona USA as the preferred linked racer of the day. The remaining 34 machines were divided among Konami, Capcom and Namco. This is a similar trend to what I observed back at GameWorks. Konami takes Japanese machines and repurposes them for the American market by pasting English logos and instructions over the cabinets, not even translating the actual game in many cases, while Sega as an originally American company handles overseas releases with a little more finesse. Although Namco's Pac-Man franchise is still a household name in this age, the company itself has nowhere near the raw name recognition of Sega or even Nintendo, who has been dipping their own fingers back into the arcade market with dedicated Mario Kart machines.

Walking into D&B you wouldn't expect to find an arcade nestled within it. Flanked by high definition TVs broadcasting Bengals games and areas set aside for foosball tables, the front hall reads like the entrance to sports diner. That's also a lot of what you see both around and in the arcade itself, many young adult men watching football and drinking Bud Light. But the main body of  customers are families, teen couples and small groups of kids, orbiting around the restaurant tables located centrally within the deep blue arcade floor. Amid the flood of Capcom ticket machines, electronic skeeball and basketball shot games, tucked into a corner near the entrance is a single Galaga and combination Donkey Kong-Mario Bros. cabinet. Like the shoved aside fighters at GameWorks, it's a melancholy sight to see former industry giants brushed under the rug. Moreover, the grandfather game of the industry is nowhere to be found. Not at GameWorks, nor here could I find a single Space Invaders cabinet. Its legacy is absent as well; Taito Corporation has all but withdrawn from the arcade scene. The impact of this is subtle, but in effect the distant but no less major figures that once influenced the discourse are becoming less visible over time.

And while Sega may hold a majority share in the traditional arcade market, in reality this makes up a small cut of D&B's actual content. Expedient large-scale ports of smartphone games are the dominant attention grabbers here, with oversized Doodle Jump, Cut the Rope, Temple Run and Fruit Ninja consoles reigning in the kids. There are very few dedicated arcade properties left, with the space taken up instead by recognizable brand names and licensed intellectual properties like Ice Age and Deal or No Deal. Where this isn't an option, knockoff copies emulating their surface appearance to appeal to or deceive customers happily substitute, as in the "Dizzy Chicken" game subbing in for Angry Birds and Fiesta EX replacing DDR. Sega may hold the world of cabinets in the palm of its hand, but their ten thousand dollar UFO Catchers are nowhere to be found, instead covered for by offbrand claw games. It's as if a Chinese counterfeiter designed an entire arcade, bootlegging whatever he couldn't license in for cheap. Every time someone scores high or throws another reel for a spin, warbling sound effects and victory fanfares ring from one end of the cavernous diner to the other. The constant jingles, blinking coin games, spinning lights on towering slot reels and neon slogans of "Everybody's a winner!" over several machines lends to the interpretation that if GameWorks is the small-time gambling circuit east of Cerulean, then Dave & Busters is Giovanni's Rocket Game Corner--conveniently, the arcade does in fact let you trade in your winnings for Pikachu. Perhaps the most unique feature of this arcade is the overwhelming amount of positive reinforcement used to drive the players to continue until closing time.

I disparage D&B, but one of the real problems with writing about it is that it's rehashing GameWorks on a larger scale and without the neat DDR crowd or endearing Tekken kids to absolve it. Compared to the more altruistic arcades that my study followed, Buster's operation rings hollow. There are venues dedicated to the community that try to keep their doors open for the sake of keeping the authentic experience alive, where profits go back to supporting that experience, by buying and restoring machines, funding tournament play between pro gamers, and by comparison to those establishments members of the discourse have made it clear which among these has authenticity. The most connection Dave & Busters has to the discourse is that solitary corner where Mario Bros. and Galaga are tucked away, and the wave of Sega cabinets flooding the back area. The moment I brought this space up to a hardcore arcade fan it was dismissed; "Those guys are just out for your money."

The contrast does reveal a certain understanding among community members. The discourse strongly holds on to the idea that authentic locations use their money in ways that align with the values of the community, rather than diverting it out of state to support a chain. It's comparable to the BuyCincy movement and the drive to invest in small businesses rather than megacorporations. After hearing these sentiments firsthand, I started to regret ordering their $4 milkshake.
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